“Wood blames Pop ‘cause that’s Wood,” Tate interrupted me. “He’s gotta have someone to blame.”
“A trait you two share,” Stella put in smoothly, Tate’s eyes cut to her and his mouth got tight.
My whole body got tight.
They held each other’s eyes and I stood there, supremely uncomfortable while they did it. Something was happening there and I didn’t get it.
Stella proved herself the Queen Biker Babe by not backing down from Tate’s dark look and instead saying, “You two share a lot, Buck.” Her eyes slid to me and then back. “And not just taste in women.”
“That’ll do, Stell,” Tate warned in a low voice.
“You let it go, he finally might be able to,” she went on.
“What’d I say?” Tate asked.
“He took your old lady’s back, Tate,” she reminded him of a fresh memory. “Goes without sayin’ that was big, seein’ as he was thinkin’ Lauren would be on the back of his bike.”
“Stella,” Tate’s tone had degenerated from scary to ominous.
In return, her voice got soft. “Cut him some slack, Buck, all I’m sayin’.”
Tate didn’t speak but a muscle in his jaw jumped.
Stella kept at him. “You get Jonas, and you’ll get Jonas, Tate, Neeta’ll make it a pain in your ass but you’ll get him, what with her history, her record and that ass in her house not to mention Pop and me at your back. Then when you get him, you’ll need all the family you can find. Wood loves that kid. He’d do anything for him. And you’d be a fool to harbor bad blood when you can let it go and build a family for Jonas.”
“You done?” Tate asked.
“Never,” Stella answered.
“You are for now,” Tate replied and then turned us away from her, tagging the cart with a hand and moving the cart and me unavoidably forward without saying good-bye.
I twisted my head to look over my shoulder at Stella.
“Um… see you later?” I called.
“Yeah, darlin’, you take care,” she called back.
“You too,” I replied, smiled an embarrassed smile and looked forward again. “What was that all about?” I asked Tate under my breath.
“Curtains, Ace,” was Tate’s non-answer.
“Tate, honey, I think you get I’m not big on you keeping stuff from me,” I reminded him gently.
He stopped the cart and looked down at me.
Then he stated bluntly, “Wood killed my Dad.”
I blinked.
Then I whispered, “Sorry?”
“Car wreck. Wood was drivin’. Wood walked away. Dad died at the scene. Now you know. Can we buy curtains?”
I didn’t hesitate even a second in my response.
“Yes, baby,” I was still whispering but my arm had moved to slide around his waist both to support him and also to keep myself standing.
I had questions. Lots of them. But they weren’t for a home wares store.
I led Tate to the curtains.
*
I wasn’t paying attention when we walked up to the cash registers.
This was because they always put the good stuff around the cash registers and therefore my attention was turned and I was wondering if Tate had a cool spoon-slash-bowl scraper in the awesome color of teal. Then I wondered if he should have two, one teal and one purple. Anyone could easily use two spoon-slash-bowl scrapers in their house. You could use them for everything.
“Ace!” Tate called, I jumped, looked to see he was at the head of the line at a register and I grabbed both the teal and purple ones because, from the look on his face he was pretty much done with Deluxe Home Store and I obviously didn’t have time to make a considered decision about the spoon-slash-bowl scrapers.
I rushed to the cart and started unloading. Curtains for the bedroom (denim). New curtain rods (awesome). New kitchen towels (bright and cheery). New bathroom towels (thick and lush). And one of those shelf things for the shower because Tate really needed one.
Our cart was so full because Tate had been distracted by brooding over his conversation with Stella. I wasn’t proud of my behavior but I couldn’t deny I took advantage.
“Girlfriend!” our cashier cried, I straightened and looked at her.
It was my cashier from when Wendy and I were there a few days before. Her eyes were fastened on Tate in a way it looked like it might cause bodily damage if she was forced to tear them away.
“Hey,” I greeted, her body jolted and her eyes came to me.
She asked with a tilt of her head to Tate, “This your hot guy?”
Tate looked at me.
I bit my lip. Then I said, “Yeah.”
The clerk’s head shot around and she shouted, “Hey, Maybelline! This is the sheet chick and her hot guy.”
A rotund, older black lady four registers down turned to us, gave Tate a once-over and shouted, “Oo doggies. That boy’s hot all right!”
Wow. Conversation in the staff room at Deluxe Home Stores must be relatively limited for my sheet purchases to make the agenda.
“Uh… Ace,” Tate called and my head swung in his direction to see his eyebrows were up but his mouth was twitching.
“Don’t,” I warned.