“No.”
“Great. Fuckin’ great. I need to kick someone’s ass. But do you need me to do that? No! You f**kin’ do not. Jesus Jones, what is it?”
I told him about my strategy, Mace’s Mom and Stepmom’s imminent arrival and I needed the Rock Chicks in on it but sworn to secrecy under threat of certain death if they breathed a word.
“I get to kil ‘em if they let the cat out of the bag?” Tex asked.
“Knock yourself out,” I replied.
“Leave it to me.”
Disconnect without even a good-bye.
I ticked that off my mental list.
Onward.
* * * * *
Mace and I were sitting in Lee’s office. I was behind the desk in Lee’s chair. Mace was on the desk, sitting close. Next to his thigh were the wrappers from our spicy chicken tortil a wraps.
I sucked on the straw, procrastinating by consuming the watery dregs of a long since dead Diet Coke. I was staring at the phone Mace placed in front of me next to the wrappers.
“Kitten,” Mace said softly.
I didn’t take my eyes from the phone.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“Do it fast. Get it over with,” Mace encouraged.
I looked up at him. Then I set down my dead Diet Coke.
Then I tossed my hair.
“Right. Fast. Over with. Here I go.”
I picked up the receiver, dialed the number to my childhood home that, even after years I hadn’t forgotten and sat and listened to it ring.
“Hel o,” my Mom said. She sounded seven hundred years old.
My eyes flew to Mace. He leaned forward and put his hand on my neck right where it met my shoulder. Then he squeezed.
Strength flowed though me.
That may sound stupid but it was true.
“Mom?” I cal ed.
Silence.
“Mom? You there?”
“Stel a?”
“Yeah, Mom. It’s Stel a.”
“Stel a,” she breathed.