He could barely hear her when she whispered, “That makes the next day Saturday.”
The fingers of his hand still resting at her neck tensed into her scalp.
“Flowers aren’t gonna come.”
“What if he comes?”
“He does, Colt or I’ll deal with it.”
She pressed her face into his shoulder and her arm gave him a squeeze but she didn’t let go and he knew why when she whispered, “Joe, he freaks out my girls.”
“We’ll deal with it, buddy.”
She went on like he didn’t speak. “I could handle it, if it was just me, but he freaks out my girls.” She took in a breath, let it out and her head and arm relaxed again. “They act like they’re cool but those flowers scared them.”
“You’ll be okay and they’ll be okay.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because there’s no alternative.”
She gave a sharp, surprised laugh and her head came up to look at him. “You know, you’re right.”
He did know he was right so he didn’t reply.
She dropped her head and her arm left his stomach and then both suddenly stilled. She seemed suspended for a minute before her cheek went back to his shoulder and her arm draped around his stomach again.
She was going to touch him somehow, do something like she did before, running her fingers along his jaw. But she didn’t, she was holding back and Cal felt the loss of that and the emptiness it left locked in his chest.
“I’ll shut up now,” she muttered but then asked, “Should we set your alarm?”
“You’ll be okay.”
“Maybe we should set your alarm.”
“I’ll get you home on time.”
“Sure?”
“Go to sleep.”
She hesitated then she whispered, “Okay.”
He knew she didn’t sleep for awhile but she didn’t say another word.
Cal stared at the ceiling and ran the tips of his fingers along the skin of her hip and ass until he felt the weight of her body settle into him.
Then he stared at the ceiling and wondered why the fuck he was lying in bed talking to Violet and after, running the tips of his fuckin’ fingers along the skin of her hip and ass so she’d relax and go to sleep.
Coming up with no answers, he fell asleep.
*
Cal heard it, a car on the street, bumping the curb violently and his body jolted awake.
He opened his eyes, the room was dark and Vi was a dead weight against his side, her leg curled over his thigh, arm heavy on his gut, forehead pressed against the side of his neck.
He listened, the window still open in his room, and heard a car door slam.
It wouldn’t be Hart. Hart liked to make statements so Hart wouldn’t do his business in the dark when there was no one around to notice. And Hart wouldn’t send someone who would be loud and therefore sloppy.
It had been a long time, years, but Cal knew what it was, knew it was coming and he knew it because he felt the acid injected straight into a vein.
Then the banging came at his door.
“Fuck,” he whispered as Violet woke with a start at his side, her head coming up, her hand lifting to pull her hair out of her face.
The banging didn’t stop.
“Joe,” she breathed, fear in his name.
His hand went to her jaw, forcing her to look at him and his head came up from the pillow.
He put his mouth to hers and said, “It’s not that, baby, it’s okay. Don’t worry. Just stay here, I’ll take care of it.”
He kissed her lightly then slid out from under her, grabbed his jeans, yanked them on and buttoned them as he walked out of his room.
He didn’t need this shit, not ever but mostly not with Vi in the house. He didn’t want her to see or hear what was about to happen. Cal couldn’t be sure how the scenario would play out and in what order but it always played out the same scenes, it always had a theme and it was never pretty. It used to happen frequently but it had been so long since the last one, he thought it was over.
Unfortunately, he was wrong.
He turned on a lamp in his living room, went to his door and looked out the peephole.
There she was, still banging on the door.
Bonnie.
He unlocked and threw open the door and Bonnie lurched forward drunkenly, her arm flying out to grab onto the doorframe to steady herself.
Her head tipped back and he looked down at her, not shocked at what he saw even though she’d deteriorated significantly since the last time he saw her. However he was surprised that the familiar pain he always used to have when he saw her didn’t slash through his gut.
“Hey Joe,” she slurred as if she’d seen him only yesterday, twisting her face into a travesty of a come on and he winced when he heard her say his name.
He didn’t reply and looked beyond her to see an old, beaten up, faded Nissan Sentra parked on the street in front of his house. The front wheel was up and over the curb in the grass between the sidewalk and the road.
Christ, in her state, she’d driven there.
She put her hand on his bare chest.