“Good for you,” Rebel said, finally lifting her shot, tipping it to Amy, and drinking her tequila.
“Okay, I can’t drink much ’cause I’m driving, so should we switch to wine?” Amy suggested when Rebel was done.
Rebel started to get up.
“Got it,” Rush muttered. “Red or white?”
“White, Rush. Thanks,” Amy said.
“Yeah, honey,” Rebel agreed.
He got them their wine.
Then he got the fuck out of there.
But as he was walking out, he heard Amy whisper, “I like him, Rebel. At first he scared me a little. But the way he looks at you, you’re his world. I love that for you, doll. I really do. I just wish Diane had lived to see it.”
This meant Rush was smiling when he hit her living room.
Not a shock, Rebel was all about Christmas and the tall narrow tree in the corner of her living room screamed it. Stuffed full of bright decorations, you could barely see the needles. So many, there were some sticking out. Precisely little branches that had small, bright-colored pompoms at the ends.
She had a huge wreath in the same theme on her door. Fluffy pompom garlands leading from foyer to living room through bathroom, bedroom, kitchen and back to the front door. Colored lights everywhere.
On the other hand, Essence’s pad was decorated for what she called “Yule.”
But it was a lot of the same shit. Just a boatload more of it.
He snatched his phone from her coffee table that had three doves in different patterns of purples, reds, pinks, blues and oranges sitting on it. It also had a big box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a big silver ribbon that was not for Christmas, but for that weekend. Elvira’s wedding.
He was supposed to wear a suit.
That shit was not happening.
He went to the bedroom and nabbed his headphones.
He had no idea how long it was before he watched her come in from where he was on his back on her bed under her pompom garlands and Christmas lights and year-’round ornaments, his stocking feet up on the back of one of the chests that wedged in the bed.
She just smiled at him as she collapsed on his chest and popped out one of his earphones, plugging in her ear.
And then he watched the beauty of her face get even more beautiful when she heard what he was listening to.
It was the song Hop was going to sing when she walked through the garden to him in six months.
The wedding was hers. He’d give her whatever he wanted. He’d told her that.
That song was the only thing he’d asked for.
And although the words might not be what someone would want for the first day of the rest of their lives together, Rush had learned pretty much since he could cogitate with his dad as the example that every day was the first day of the rest of your life and you had to live it that way.
But he wanted her to know, when it was all said and done, they would not live the time they had together as vampires.
He was going to hold her hand.
And give her every second he had to give.
His Rebel had immediately agreed.
When Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit ended “If We Were Vampires,” Rebel shoved her face in his neck and whispered, “I hope we have more than forty years.”
He’d take forty minutes if Rebel was with him.
“We will,” he whispered back.
She snuggled closer.
“Amy said goodbye,” she said.
“Hope you said goodbye from me,” he replied.
“I did.”
He was sure she did.
He then replayed the song.
They didn’t get through it before her phone rang.
She popped out her earbud, pulled the phone out of her back jeans’ pocket, looked at the screen, didn’t look at him, and because she didn’t, he knew what this was, so he turned his gaze to the ceiling and sighed.
His Rebel, of course, took the call.
“Hey, Naomi,” she greeted. “Unh-hunh. Unh-hunh.” Pause. Then, “Well, she has done this before. And she’s a nurse. So I’m pretty sure Tab’s taking her prenatal vitamins. But, uh, you know, you could just call her and ask.”
Rush looked at his girl.
She pressed her lips together, gave him big eyes, then unpressed her lips.
“Unh-hunh. Okay. I’ll call her and ask. Are you still going to the group?”
Within seconds, she sat up abruptly.
Shit.
“Naomi, we agreed you’d stick with that group,” she snapped. Paused to listen, then snapped on, “Okay, so during the sessions, all the rest of the women bitch about being raped. It’s a sexual assault support group. That’s supposed to happen. You’re supposed to be there for them and listen. And you are supposed to let your shit out.”
Her eyes cut down to Rush and they were squinty.
“Yes,” she bit out. “Misery loves company. That’s the point. You aren’t alone. They get you. For God’s sake, woman, let them get you.”
Her eyes got squintier.
Fuck.
“That’s it, Naomi. I’m coming up next Wednesday and taking your ass myself.”
Jesus.
His Superwoman.
“You don’t think I won’t track you down?” she threatened. “I’ll track you down, and if I have to sit on you to stay in that session, I fucking will. Am I understood?”
She looked pissed another beat before her face cleared and she went on.
“Cool. We’ll go out to dinner after. Rush can meet us. And I’ll ask Tab if she’s free to come.” Pause. “Yeah.” Pause. “Yeah. Mexican rocks. That’d be perfect. See you then. Later.”
With that, she hung up, more than likely knowing that all that bullshit from his mother was to get to the end of it and what she really wanted.
Rush coming up for dinner.
And Tab coming too.
But Rebel would do what she had to do to make beauty happen for the people she loved.
Even taking on Naomi Allen.
Doing that, giving him and his sister their mother.
“I have to call Tab and make sure she’s taking her prenatal vitamins,” she declared.
Rush stared at her a second.
Then he busted out laughing.
Doing it, he tossed his phone to the side, caught her in his arms and pulled her to him, rolling on top of her.
“You can do it after we fuck,” he told her.
“No. Naomi’s waiting for me to confirm Tabby’s doing something we all know Tabby’s doing. We can fuck after.”
Rush sifted his fingers into her hair, using it to pull her to him and saying, “Baby, I think your watermark is fading. We gotta get on that.”
She knew exactly what he was saying.
Which was why she tossed her phone to the side and kissed him.
Forty-five minutes later, her nail marks on his back and in the flesh of his ass, Rush hauled that ass to the bathroom to get a washcloth to clean her up.
Half an hour later, holding her in his arms, his chill playlist Bluetoothed to her speaker playing low, she called his mother back and assured her that her daughter was taking her vitamins.
After they talked for five minutes, she handed him her phone.
And Rush talked with his mom for twenty.
Valenzuela
Two months later . . .
Benito was not in a good mood.
He’d selected Santa Fe because the cost of living was cheaper, and he wasn’t too far away, so he’d be ready to head right back up after he recouped his losses and strategized his reentry into Denver.
But this city was a wasteland.
He didn’t hike. He didn’t mountain bike. He didn’t ski. He had absolutely no interest in Native American markets, jazz festivals, river rafting, rodeos and folk art.
Christ.
Total wasteland.
His plan had hit a snag almost immediately, considering Rodrigo got some muscle, and Benito had none. Before he’d even left Denver, Rodrigo had paid him a visit and strong-armed him into signing documents that gave up rights to all the films produced at Bang.
So, Benito could understand that Rodrigo perhaps wasn’t thrilled with the low royalties he earned on his “creative endeavors.” It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made this known already. The man had complained about it bitterly over the years. It did Benito’s head in, and if he wasn’t so good at what he did and did it without taking too much time (unless he was bitching) or money, Benito would have had him shot.