“What’s Uncle Tex doing in your living room?” I asked Hank.
“Don’t know. I gave him a key when you moved in, just in case. He obviously used it.”
We skirted a block out of the way so Hank could park in front of his house. I got out of the SUV, met him on the sidewalk and we walked up together, Hank holding my hand.
He opened the door, dropped my hand, keeping me back at the door and went in first.
“Sweet Jesus,” I heard my mother say from somewhere inside the house.
Holy f**king cow.
I pushed in beside Hank.
Shamus came lurching toward us, in ful body wag, he head-butted Hank’s thighs.
That’s al I saw. I was staring at my mother and father, who were sitting on Hank’s couch.
My Mom looked like an older version of me; tal , curvy, she’d gone a bit round and her hair was now dyed blonde.
she’d gone a bit round and her hair was now dyed blonde.
My Dad looked like a cuddly gnome, redheaded, blue-eyed, shorter than my mother (and me) by at least four inches and he sported a big beer bel y.
Obviously, Uncle Tex had done as he’d threatened and cal ed my Mom.
Shit.
“Sweet Jesus,” my mother repeated, stil staring at Hank and slowly coming up from the couch.
Dad was staring at me. “Roxie,” he whispered and I watched as he also got up.
I took in his face, wearing an expression I’d never seen before in my life, an expression that could only be described as “ravaged with worry”.
“Dad,” I whispered back.
Dad walked across the room, grabbed my upper arms and pul ed me roughly to him.
After he hugged me, he pushed me away, again with his hands at my arms, and stared at me. Although I knew the swel ing on my face was long gone and the bruising was (almost) completely gone, the scabs where Bil y cut me with his rings were healing but stil there.
“I’m going to f**king kill that motherfucker,” Dad said.
I closed my eyes.
“Herb!” Mom snapped and I opened them again. “Not in front of Roxie’s young man.”
Good God.
For the first time, Dad’s eyes moved to Hank and he let me go.
“I’m Herb Logan, Roxie’s Dad,” he put his hand out toward Hank.
Hank took his hand and they shook.
“Hank Nightingale.”
“Sweet, sweet Jesus,” Mom whispered, staring, bright-eyed at Hank shaking hands with Dad.
Dad dropped Hank’s hand and backed away.