She'd never had to want for anything in life, and the few times she came to visit us in Eads, her father liked to pretend life was all peachy keen. His little princess knew very little about the life he actually led, and as I grew older and more aware of it myself, I couldn't blame him for keeping it from her.
He wasn't the man she thought he was though. He was responsible for the deaths of coutless people – both innocents and rivals of his. Roy Ross was not a good man, not in the least, and if one of these days, a rival took him out, I woul
dn't be too broken up about it.
I didn't bother to apologize for calling her princess. Instead, I let a hint of my amusement shine through, casting a smirk at her.
“Your dad is a very, very bad man. Ask any one of these guys here –”
I motioned at the men around me. Some, sitting nearby, scowled at me. They knew Roy kept his daughter out of the life. They'd probably lie to protect him. Not that Hannah would ask them anyway. But, I wasn't going to keep lying to her.
“Do these look like the type of men who go around helping grannies cross the street and rescue kittens from trees?” I pressed.
Hannah looked around the room. Not too far from her at the bar was a burly man only known as Claw. No one knew why, no one knew his real name or even dared ask him where the nickname came from. At least no one I'd known.
Claw wasn't a tall man, he was shorter than me, standing only about five-foot-nine, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle. He was at least three hundred pounds of pure muscle, if not more. Claw was covered in tattoos from head to toe – literally. He was shaved bald, but in the dark, you couldn't tell because blue ink covered his entire head. His face even had tattoos, including tear drops from his eyes – which, I was guessing that he'd gotten in prison.
He didn't look at us. Probably didn't even hear us. He was too focused on his whiskey in front of him. Claw was a quiet man who hardly spoke. But, he didn't have to, really. No one bothered him much for fear of getting the shit beat out of them.
Hannah's voice trembled, but she held her head high. “You shouldn't judge a book by its cover,” she said. “I would think even you'd know that by now.”
“If you're talking about –” I started to say, but then a familiar face walked through the door. “Shit, what's she doing here?”
Hannah looked at where I was staring. Shawna Mobley stood in the door. My ex – well, not my ex-girlfriend since we never got that serious. My ex-fling? Friends with benefits? Hell if I knew what to call her. Last I'd heard, Shawna was in rehab, where she belonged.
And yet, there she was in all her damn glory, standing in the doorway of my bar.
Shawna's eyes met mine, and they looked even more sunken in than before. She'd lost even more weight and looked practically skeletal. Meth was a horrible drug that did bad shit to a person. What could I say? It wasn't something I cared to mess with, that was for sure. And it was the big reason Shawna and I never worked out. She loved her highs more than she loved anyone or anything else.
Hannah had no idea who she was. She eyed her carefully, then whispered to me.
“What's that in her arms?” she asked. “Is that what I think it is?”
My heart dropped. I froze as Shawna made her way toward me. Chuck, one of the other bartenders shouted at her.
“Hey! You can't bring that baby in here!”
Shawna didn't listen. She pretended she didn't even hear him and made a beeline straight for me. My stomach was tied in knots as she stopped before me, a half smile on her face.
“Long time, no see, Eli,” she said, her voice cracking as she spoke.
My eyes never left the bundle in her arms. Maybe Chuck was wrong, maybe it wasn't a baby. It wasn't moving, and it was wrapped tightly in a blanket, it could be anything – right?
“About ten months? Almost a year since I last saw you,” I said, doing the math in my head.
She nodded, her eyes moving to the pink blanket in her arms. And when she pulled the blanket back, and Hannah gasped.
“Oh, my lord, she's adorable!” Hannah almost squealed. “What's her name?”
“Aubree,” she said.
Then Shawna looked up at me and spelled the name out carefully. I held onto the bar, trying to steady myself on legs that had suddenly gone very weak.
“I named her after your mother, Eli,” she said. “Just a different spelling.”
My mother's name had been Aubrey.
Hannah looked at the baby, then at me. “Are you saying that this is –”