As the angel just shrugged, Rhage shook his head. “You’re crazy—”
“When she asks about how the father died, don’t fudge it. She already knows it was you and your brothers who killed him. It’s in the file. She hates the violence, but she knows that the two of them wouldn’t have survived otherwise. She wants you to have the kid. You and Mary.”
As Rhage felt all the blood leave his head and end up in his shoes, he wished he had something to hold onto.
“How do … did Mary talk to you about this?” Even though he found that hard to believe. “Marissa?”
“And the beast. That makes her nervous. Don’t try to calm her down about it—you’ll dwell too much on the subject and it will rattle her. Mary will handle that. Mary will tell her all she needs to know on that issue.”
“How do you know all this?”
Lassiter put the square of chalk down and shifted those oddly colored eyes over. “I’m an angel, remember? And it’s going to work out. Just hang tight—you’re going to have to keep the faith. For both you and Mary. But it’s going to happen.”
“Really?” he found himself asking.
“No lie. I might fuck with your bathroom. But never, ever about this.”
Rhage’s feet moved of their own volition, crossing the way to the pool table—and the next thing he knew, he was bear-hugging the blond-and-black motherfucker.
“You got this,” Lassiter said as they clapped each other’s backs. “But just remember. You’ve got to keep the faith.”
Before things got too sappy, Rhage backed off and headed for the front door again. Stepping outside through the vestibule, he took a deep, bracing draw of the cold air … and off he went, traveling through the night in a rush of molecules, zeroing in on a very human establishment.
When he arrived at his destination, he was careful to re-form in the back of the shallow parking lot, and yes, he did a re-check on his hair and his shirt before he walked around to the I’ve Bean Waitin’ coffee shop’s front door.
Opening things up, he got hit in the nose with a whole lot of coffee aroma, and he had a momentary wobble about the whole not-ordering thing. What was he going to do with his hands while he sat there?
With a curse that he didn’t smoke or bring needlepoint, he looked through the human men and women, a lot of whom glanced up at him and kept on staring … and then met the stare of the only other vampire in the place—no, wait, there was a pretans in the crowd he didn’t recognize.
He knew who Rhym was, though. He’d seen her in plenty of pictures from Mary’s work.
As he took another deep breath, it wasn’t quite the cathartic experience the one on the front stoop of the mansion had been, but there was oxygen in here. Right?
God, that coffee smell was making him suffocate. Or maybe that was his adrenal glands.
Rhage tried to pin down his freak out as he began making his way to one of the tables in the back.
When he stopped in front of Rhym, he wanted to pass out. Instead, he rubbed his hand on the ass of his pants as discreetly as he could, and then extended his arm.
“Hi, I’m Rhage.”
The female was a little wide-eyed as she stared at him—but that was common, and no, he wasn’t being arrogant. People did tend to do a little double-take when they first met him, and then yes, they usually ended up looking at him closely, as if trying to figure out whether he was for real.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I, ah, I’m Rhym.”
As they shook, he nodded at the vacant chair. “You mind if I sit down?”
“Oh, please. I’m sorry. Wait, I already said that. Jeez.”
To her credit, she didn’t ogle him unnecessarily or come on to him. And the fact that she was also nervous made him feel a little better.
“Are you going to get something?” she asked.
“No. I’m fine. Would you like another … what is that?”
“It’s a latte. And no, thank you, this is plenty.” There was a pause and she opened a little notebook. “So … I, um … listen, I’ve got to be honest. I’ve never been in the presence of a Brother before.”
He smiled, being careful to conceal his fangs because they were in mixed company. “I’m just like everyone else.”
“Not even close,” she muttered under her breath. “So, I, ah, I have some questions for you? If that’s okay? I know Mary’s talked to you about all this.”
Rhage crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “Yes, she has. And listen, if I could just…”
He looked down at the wood grain under his elbows and tried to figure out what he was attempting to say. As the chatter around them and the ins and outs of the front door and the seething of the coffee machines droned on, he started to worry that he’d been quiet too long.
Rhage looked at the social worker. “Bottom line is, I’m prepared to lay down my life for that little girl. I’m ready to get up at high noon for her if she has a daymare. I’m ready to feed her and clothe her, and show her how to drive. I’m also prepared to hold her close when she gets her heart broken for the first time, and present her to her mate if she finds someone she wants. I want to help her get a good education, and follow whatever dreams she has, and be there to pick her up when she stumbles. I understand that it’s not going to be all puppies and unicorns, and there’s going to be conflict, and maybe even anger … but none of that will change my commitment. I knew my Mary was the one I was supposed to be with the moment I met her, and I knew the other night, with the same clarity, that Bitty is my kid. If you’ll let me have the chance to be her father.”
He sat back and held his arms out. “Now, ask me everything.”
Rhym smiled a little. And then a lot. “Well, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
Rhage smiled back. Which yeah, was what happened when you got the very clear sense that you had just hit one out of the park.
“Let’s do that,” he said with a sense of profound relief.
SIXTY-SIX
Jo Early could not stop staring.
Then again, she wasn’t the only one in the coffee shop whose lattes were left unattended and cooling as they tried not to look at the guy. He’d come in alone, sucking up most, if not all, of the oxygen in the building, and then proceeded over to a back table to sit with a nice-looking, if unremarkable, woman.
All things considered, he should have been with a Miss America type: He was huge, just incredibly tall, but also built big, as if he were a professional athlete of the football, not basketball variety. His hair was blond, but it seemed to be actually that shade, no roots showing, no professional streak job growing out, just thick and healthy and … blond.
His eyes, though, were the big thing. His eyes were totally a thing. Even from across the crowded coffee shop, they glowed with a color blue that was something you’d see in the Bahamas by the ocean, the color so iridescent, so clear, so resonantly teal that you had to wonder whether it was contacts, because how in the hell could that be found in nature?
And P.S., the clothes weren’t bad at all. Nope. He was wearing all black, from a silk shirt and very well-cut and well-tailored slacks, to a jacket that had lapels like something a suit would have? but a loose body like an overcoat.
The shoes were spectacular, too.
It was as if a movie star had wandered into I’ve Bean Waitin’, and for a moment, Jo wondered if maybe she’d seen him on the big screen…?
As her cell phone went off, she was grateful for the distraction. This hyper-focus of hers kept up and she was going to see that handsome face every time she closed her eyelids. Not that that would have been any great sacrifice.
When she saw who it was, she rolled her eyes, but accepted the call anyway. “Dougie, what’s up. No. No, you may not. What—no! Look, I told you, I’m leaving my job, I’m not going to be able to lend you money for a while … Well, then ask one of them. No. No. Okay … fine, but only the Fig Newtons. I come back and you’ve eaten my Milanos and you and I are going to have words. And would you go out and get employed, for godsakes?”