I hadn’t been in worse spots than this, it was true, but I had also always made my own way.
I’d do it again.
Somehow.
“Fine,” I snapped and walked away from Eddie, right by Smithie and through Daisy, Indy, Al y, Lee, Carl, Tod and Stevie and a dozen dancers, bouncers and waitresses.
Fuck it.
Fuck it al .
I walked into the club and behind the bar, grabbed my purse and coat, pul ed my cel out of my apron and handed the apron to the bartender.
“I’l come back for my tips,” I said to him and walked to the front door.
Eddie was standing there. I didn’t look at him.
I had no idea where to go or what to do. The only thing I knew I wasn’t going to do was cry, even though I wanted to, real y, really badly.
I hesitated when I got outside and Eddie grabbed my hand and pul ed me to his truck. We got in, took off and rode to his house in complete silence. I should have protested but I didn’t have it in me. I was struggling for control of my emotions. I had a man with a knife after me, another man was planning on raping me and another man had shot at me. I had to pick my battles.
Eddie walked me into his kitchen and I slammed my purse on the counter then stood in the middle of the room while he closed the door.
He came at me but I skirted around him, walked back to the door and threw it open.
I leaned over and took off one of my stiletto-heeled pumps and threw it in the backyard and did the same with the other one. I closed the door and turned to Eddie.
He was staring at me, residual hostility stil glittering in his eyes.
“I hate those shoes,” I told him.
I walked through the kitchen and into his bedroom and started to open and shut drawers, or more like, yanking open drawers and slamming them shut, looking for a tshirt.
Eddie came in, gently tugged me away from my assault on his innocent dresser and started to pul me in his arms.
“No!” I wrenched free, “I need to go to bed. I need a tshirt.”
I turned to the drawers. He pul ed me back and into his arms, this time less gently and with more determination.
“Don’t, Eddie. I’m hanging on by a thread here,” I told his throat. If he held me, I’d lose it, I knew it.
“Why?”
My eyes lifted and I noticed his were guarded but the hostility was gone.
“Why what?”
“Why are you hangin’ on?”
I stared at him.
“I can’t let go,” I told him, thinking it was obvious.
“Jet, everyone has to let go.”
“Not me,” I replied.
His arms tightened and I tensed and pushed away. It didn’t get me far but I concentrated on the act anyway.