I still wiped, Tex still stared, Hector still kept me tucked tight to his side.
Daisy handed me a Kleenex and then Tex spoke (or boomed) again, “Don’t know your Ma. Figure she was good people, she did what Indy says she did. Do know, she was here, she’d be fuckin’ proud. You been through what you been through and you’re still standin’. Lotsa women wouldn’t only bend, they’d break but you didn’t do either and you’re still standin’. You were my daughter, I’d be so fuckin’ proud, I’d shout it from the rooftops. I figure, so would your Ma. And you can take that to the fuckin’ bank.”
Then he was gone and I stared in the space where he was for several, speechless, open-mouthed seconds, letting his words penetrate my brain.
And then something else hit my chest, it was that weird, warm, happy glow but it was so intense, so invasive, so overwhelming that it made the painful, burning, hot ball that had been there before seem puny.
Then I burst into fresh tears, these loud and wailing.
Smooth Move Hector divested me of my coffee cup, handed it to the waiting Daisy and pulled me into his arms.
I shoved my face into his chest, wrapped my arms around his waist and bawled like a baby.
And I didn’t care who saw that either.
Finally, I said into his chest between sobs, “After this, if I cry again, shoot me.”
“No fuckin’ way,” was Hector’s (unhelpful, in my personal opinion) response.
I looked up at him. “Seriously, Hector, shoot me! My mascara’s ruined! It’s going to take me hours to unpuff my eyes enough to put makeup on again!”
Through my watery, mascara-clogged eyes, I watched his brows draw together. “You want me to shoot you because your mascara’s ruined?”
“Yes!” I cried.
He burst out laughing.
“I’m not being funny!” I wailed, smacking him on the shoulder.
Hector’s head descended and he gave me a light kiss on my quivering lips.
His mouth moved away half an inch and he said, “Mi cielo, you’re hilarious.”
“Holy crap, we need a party,” Ally announced behind my back before I could retort and I turned in Hector’s arms.
“You’re partying at my gig tonight. Bring Sadie,” Stella put in.
“We’ll all put on sparkles!” Daisy shouted.
“Oh shit, white man rock ‘n’ roll and sparkles. Fuck,” Shirleen muttered.
“Pre-gig margaritas and girlie dress up at the loft!” Ava declared.
“I’ll get Nick to babysit,” Jules threw in.
“I’ll bring my guac and chips,” Jet offered.
“Rock on!” Indy shouted.
“You got that right, sister,” Roxie added and, for some bizarre reason, they all burst into fits of giggles.
Hector stopped laughing and murmured, “Fucking hell.”
I looked up at him, not crying anymore, and whispered (with a small tremor in my voice), “I think I’m in trouble.”
At that, Hector’s head bent to look at me and, slowly, he smiled.
Chapter Eighteen
Eighties Rock Video Bimbo
Sadie
“Yeah?” Luke’s voice sounded over the security speaker by the elevator to his and Ava’s loft.
“It’s Hector and Sadie,” Hector replied.
My heart clenched at those words.
He said, Hector and Sadie.
Hector and Sadie!
Oh my God.
We were Hector… and… Sadie!
“Elevator’s on its way,” Luke said through my freak out, clearly not seeing anything wrong with a “Hector and Sadie’.
Then a different panic seized me and, without a word, I turned and started toward the door.
I got three steps when an arm sliced around my waist, Smooth Move Hector caught me and turned me into his body.
“Where you goin’?” he asked, his brows drawn, his eyes scanning my face.
“I can’t do this,” I blurted, Pretend Sadie gone, Ice Princess Sadie enjoying a cocktail by an imaginary pool, Take Charge Sadie getting a facial, it was just me and I couldn’t do this.
No way.
I was no Rock Chick; I’d never been to a rock concert in my life.
My favorite recording artist was Madonna, for goodness sake!
“Why?” Hector asked.
“I like Madonna,” I told him, unable to stop myself.
Hector stared at me like I’d just announced my devotion to Engelbert Humperdinck.
“What?”
“Madonna!” I cried as the elevator doors opened. “Like a Virgin? Confessions on a Dance Floor? You know, Madonna!”
His face cleared and he started grinning. “I know Madonna.”
“Well then, there you go. I’m not a Rock Chick, I’m a Pop Chick. Pop Chicks aren’t cool, they don’t go to gigs. They don’t rock out! They go to clubs and dance! And I didn’t ever do that either!”
He ignored my rant, turned us, arm firm around my shoulders and guided us toward the elevator.
I struggled.
With little effort, Hector controlled the struggle and got me in the elevator.
“Hector!” I snapped. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“You’ll be fine,” he said as he leaned to the side, taking me with him and tagged the button.
“I won’t be fine.”
“You will.”
“I won’t!