Gear had come back on Friday night, and we’d had a good weekend.
And then Tatie made the decision, because of school, that she needed to go home.
That hadn’t been so good, and it stayed not good.
She called me all the time.
Before school, at school, after school. Girls being mean to her, her mother being a screaming bitch.
It was morning and that had to mean Kristy had started early.
I engaged my phone and put it to my ear.
“Hey, baby,” I greeted.
“Mom’s a complete, fuckin’ bitch,” was Tatiana’s greeting.
Yes, Kristy had started early.
I sighed.
“Tell me,” I invited, and she did, and she was right.
Kristy was definitely a bitch, and she proved it every day.
Tatiana finished with, “I’m callin’ Dad. I’m done with this shit. No one likes me in school anyway. It’s been years, but most of my friends are there, not here. I can switch schools, no problem. I wanna live with Dad.”
“Okay, but you need to get to school now. I’ll talk to him later and have him call you.”
“No fuckin’ way, I hate it there. I’m ditchin’ today.”
Right.
This was very bad.
She might have acted out, but I’d discovered that grades were important to her.
And grades were important to her because she was charming, but she was also smart. School smart. Book smart. And smart enough to know, if she got an education, eventually, she’d find it easier to gain independence, and she would be able to get away from her mother.
Thus, the only reasons she went home were because she was worried her grades would suffer and, “Gear can’t be with them all by himself. He’ll get the lot of it and that’s not cool.”
Gear getting “the lot of it” further did not make her father happy, or me.
It wasn’t okay Tatie was facing whatever was happening up there.
The both of them?
But, for now…
“No, Tatie, don’t. Go to school, tough it out. Your dad will call you later.”
“Fuck that!” she snapped.
I had learned to pick my battles with Tatie, and addressing her cursing tended not to take priority when assessing the bigger picture.
Like now.
“Tatie, sweetie, listen to me. You know the only person you hurt is yourself if you don’t go to school. Learn. Be smart. Try to ignore the stuff around you. I know it’ll be hard, but concentrate on your teachers, your books, your assignments. Each minute that passes is a minute closer to getting away. When you get home, go to your room, avoid your mom, and your dad will call you the first chance he gets. I promise. Listen to me, okay?” She was silent so I prompted, “Tat? Okay?”
“You don’t mind,” she stated bizarrely.
“Mind what?”
“That I come and live with you and Dad.”
I felt my brows draw together. “Of course not. It’s your house, why on earth would I mind?”
She was silent again, and when she spoke, I had to concentrate to hear her, her voice was so quiet.
“You’re the shit, Toots. I’ll go to school.”
On that, I heard her disconnect, and I turned off my phone, feeling that warm sweetness rushing through me.
I’d tossed the cell aside, and it barely bounced on the seat when it rang again.
I snatched it back up, keeping my eyes on the road, but I chanced another look at the display.
It said Buck Calling.
I took the call and put the phone to my ear.
“Hi,” I greeted.
“Where the fuck are you?” he replied, sounding gruff and sleepy.
And annoyed.
I blinked at the road.
A week ago, he gave the all clear for me to move around without a bodyguard. He told me that Esposito was firmly out of the picture (and fortunately, he didn’t go into detail about that, but I got the gist) and my “shit was cool.”
I was relieved.
I hadn’t really noticed it, but it was nice to be able to get in the car and go to the grocery store or pop out to get donuts for the boys without an escort.
Life felt normal again.
That was, normal for a biker babe.
“Didn’t you see my note?” I asked.
“Yeah, Toots, saw it, can read, so I read it. But, deal is, you wake me, you go down on me, I go down on you, or both, I fuck you, and we go to work together.”
This was the deal, though I hadn’t exactly signed a contract, just fallen into a rather enjoyable habit.
“You got home late last night.”
He had. It was poker night with the boys at the Dive.
These were not scheduled, they were haphazard. He’d had a couple of them before.
And last night was one.
“Yeah, so?” he replied.
“Very late.”
“Right. So?”
“Very, very late.”
“Clara,” he growled his warning.
“I thought you’d want to sleep in.”
“I got a choice between sleeping in and your mouth workin’ my dick, babe, I pick door number two.”
Well, you couldn’t get any clearer than that.
“So noted,” I replied.
“How far away are you?” he asked, and I realized he expected me to come back, and realizing this, I didn’t know whether to laugh or clench my teeth.