in a lot of respects. They don’t look at it like women are stupid or whatever...just that we’re protecting them from the bad stuff...”
“Oh, give it a rest. It’s the twenty-first century and trust me, there are a lot of women who could put anything any of you men in that club do to shame...”
“I’m not arguing that point, just trying to tell you how they think and where the rules come from.”
“I don’t give a shit,” she said. “This is my life he’s poking his head into and I’m not going to sit back like a princess in a gilded castle and let him be the Knight in Shining Armor. He didn’t even want to admit that he’d fucked my mother and made a child—I should trust him on this?” Gabe could see the tears swimming in her eyes and he began to realize her anger with Blackheart was about a lot more than his leaving her out. Somehow, Patrice had imagined things differently in her head, that Blackheart would open his arms and simply welcome her into his family. But that wasn’t the way it worked with Blackheart. Ever since he found his father dead, and killed the man he thought was responsible, any trust or respect anyone got from him was hard earned...even if she had his face. Gabe stood quietly and waited for her to calm down. Finally she took a deep breath and said, “Fine, I’ll call the airlines and see how early we can fly out in the morning. Can you find out where he went, exactly?” He wasn’t absolutely positive Le Singe would tell him now, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.
“Of course,” he said.
It took a few hours, and Gabe had to call Lowlife, who as the Road Captain was on the road with Blackheart. He pretended to just be checking in, letting them know he was out of the hospital, and leaving it like that would get him into even more trouble. But he had a driving need to help Patrice, so he was willing to accept his consequences for that; he just hoped Blackheart would forgive him. Patrice booked them a seven-hour flight from New Orleans into Portland. From there they’d have to rent a car because the town Blackheart and the guys were headed to was a little place about an hour and forty-five minutes from Portland known as Lincolnville. There was one post office, an inn, and a couple of restaurants in the coastal town, and apparently it was where Patrice’s mother lived before returning to New Orleans and dying.
Once that was all finished, Patrice ordered Chinese food in, and they were finally seated in her comfy little living room, eating, if not still silently. He tried to act completely interested in his food because he didn’t know what to say, but finally she seemed to shake off her anger and by the time she cleaned up the supper mess she was bringing him his pills and talking about setting him up so he could shower and she could change his dressing. Normally, he’d have a problem with being treated like a kid, but the idea of her helping him shower greatly appealed to him.
Patrice helped him back to the master bedroom and he watched while she went into the bathroom and laid out two fresh towels and what looked like enough supplies to change his bulky dressing. Then she leaned in and started the shower, holding her hand underneath the water to check the temperature until it seemed to satisfy her. Then she pulled a small trash bag out of one of the drawers and pulling up a small wooden stool she said, “Have a seat and let me cover that.” It was hard for him to reach the low stool, but he finally managed. Patrice covered his bandages with the plastic bag and used tape to secure it at the top and bottom. When she stood up she said, “You need help getting undressed?” He almost said yes, without thinking, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
“Nah, thanks...I can do it.”
“Okay,” she said with a smile. “But if you need help into the shower, or out of it...or anything...I’ll be right outside; just yell at me.”
“Thanks.” Already sexually frustrated, he let her help him back to his feet and watched her leave. He peeled off his shirt facing the mirror and was almost taken aback by the bruises and scratches all down right