With a strangled cry, she broke down—good and fucking proper.
She cried so hard she couldn’t breathe, taking ragged and uneven inhales before letting them out in horrific sobs. Her entire body was trembling, and I was pretty damned sure the quaking arms weren’t fake. It would have moved the most hardcore person, but not me. Not someone who had lived a life no child should because the woman before her was too chicken shit to do something about it.
I waited until she had control of herself before I spoke. “Carrie, I’m not going to bullshit you. I’m still angry at you. I still blame you. And I still think that you’re an absolute piece of shit.” Her new, unstoppable spray of tears didn’t stop me, not that they ever could. “But you’re trying to make up for what you’ve done, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for most people. If you’re sincere in trying to make amends, do right by my sister. Make sure she receives the best care afforded to her. Do anything and everything in your power to see that she gets the best treatment possible, so that she at least has some chance at making a recovery.” I retrieved a piece of paper that contained the number to my cell from my pocket. “If you can’t get her the help you feel she needs, call me. I’ll make sure it happens.”
When she finally calmed, she accepted the piece of paper, and I pivoted on my heel, ready to depart. I’d accomplished what I needed to by facing my past and forcing myself to balls up. While it didn’t feel as good as I thought it might, it was a start.
“Rhiannon?” Carrie’s voice was weak and shaky, as if she were liable to fall apart at any moment.
Turning in her doorway, I looked at her. “Yeah?”
“Don’t stay away from Jennifer so long. A few months ago, she broke out of her stupor, and there was only one thing she kept repeating over and over.”
When she didn’t say more, I prodded, “Which was?”
“Your name.” She continued crying, clutching the piece of paper. “Rhiannon.”
I thought nothing could possibly hurt as much as Disco’s betrayal, but damn it, I was wrong. Closing the door and walking down the cleanly manicured sidewalk, I kept myself numb, forcing my brain to function on autopilot.
Somehow I managed to leave Carrie’s home without breaking down, but once I made it to the first available bathroom—inside a nearby musty old gas station—I allowed myself to fall apart, heaving into the nasty toilet, until my stomach had nothing left to give. I sobbed uncontrollably into the grimy, unsanitized wall. When the last tear had fallen, I stood, walked to the sink and washed my face.
As I wiped my fingers over my eyes, removing the traces of my pain, I wished it could be just as easy to remove the scars of my past, the betrayal I wasn’t sure I could forgive, and the heavy ache in my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhiannon’s Law #7: Home is where you make it, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a domicile where Betty Crocker is your mother. It can be any place you feel comfortable in your own skin. Be it a video arcade, a pool hall, or in my case, a local tittie bar.
Music blasted from the speakers, Diva Avari’s “Fucking Bitch” drowning out the hoots and hollers that came from the patrons when Cassie took the stage. As I predicted, she kept Lacey on her toes, upping the ante with her exotic looks, raven-colored locks with streaks of red, and legs that didn’t stop working. The minute Lacey heard Cassie’s song of choice, she took it like the middle finger it was, and I grinned.
That was The Black Panther Lounge, always keeping things real.
“Bartender!”
Normally, the BP’s resident fat ass and loud mouth, Lonnie, would have made me angry. Now, he made me break out in a smile. I never thought I’d miss being treated like shit, but I had. This was my zone, the place I felt safe, and Lonnie was one of many reasons I was reminded of it.
Ambling over, I asked, “What can I get you, Lonnie?”