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You doing okay?
My throat burns, all these tears wanting to come out again. I think about taking the easy route, not overloading him like I did last night. But that’s not me. At least I don’t want it to be me. I want transparency. Total honesty. If he can’t deal with it I’ll find out soon enough.
Honestly, no. I’m a mess.
I hit send, knowing it could be a while before he responds. But then I see the bubbles next to his name.
I’m sorry. I’m a good listener if you need to talk.
I sniffle, reading it several times over.
Bubbles again.
You want to hang at my place tonight? I make a mean ass chili.
A smile pulls at my mouth.
Sure. What time?
Come over any time after six.
Then he sends me his address.
I reply with a thumbs up and start my car. I do my best to put all of this out of my head on the way home. I just can’t deal with it right now.
When I do get home, Ritz is walking in circles around my feet so I go ahead and sprinkle some dry food in his bowl. From my purse I pull out Jackson’s business card and look at the number on the back. My heart thuds a few times but I’m filled with an overwhelming urge to call the number. Fuck having someone else do this for me.
And fuck giving the number to Daddy. I’ve allowed the men closest to me to make some of these decisions for me, to try to control my life, and all in the name of ‘looking out for me.’
No more. Especially not for something this important.
I dial the number and a female answers, identifying herself as Catherine.
I give her my name, tell her I got this number from Jackson to arrange a meeting with a family member.
“Last name?”
“Nilssen.”
I hear her tapping in the background. Several seconds later, “One moment.” And I’m put on hold. She comes back a few minutes later and asks if I can be at the Hyatt downtown Friday at 9:00 a.m.
That’s three days away.
“Uh, sure. Am I … actually meeting them?”
“That’s the plan, hon. Mr. Dane gets an availability window from his clients ahead of time and he will let them know you’ve reached out, what time to be at the Hyatt and all that. He’ll also be present to mediate the meeting. If things go smoothly he won’t stay.”
We hammer out a few details about where to meet inside the Hyatt and I hang up, feeling reassured about the fact that we’re meeting in a very public place and it’s highly unlikely that I’m walking into dangerous territory.
And of course my first instinct is to call Rigger. Wanting to share this with him, it’s the most natural thing in the world. But I can’t—or won’t. Because I’m too mad. Too mad and too sad.
Ritz jumps on the couch and into my lap. I scratch his head for a moment, feel his purrs against the tip of my fingers. “Well, bud. You might be meeting your human aunt or uncle soon. But only if they’re cool and shit. I’m not dealing with uncool people.”
I spend the rest of the afternoon vegging on the couch, watching television. Every time I think about Rigger kissing me I chew on my scar and force the memory away, refusing to deal with it.
I expect to hear from Daddy at some point, bugging me about that number. But surprisingly, he’s quiet. Not complaining about that at all.
By 5:00 I’ve nearly forgotten about my breakdown in the Circle K parking lot as I go through my closet, looking for something to wear to Ben’s house. I keep it casual because I’ll be damned if I dress sexy just to be rejected once more. I’m cool with taking things slowly, especially if he’s willing to take things slowly. Besides, I kind of want to talk business with him, one of the topics being what he’s done to find King, what kinds of leads he’s pursued. It would be nice to compare them with my dad’s leads but he’s always been a little hesitant to give me much information when it comes to that, saying that I don’t need to worry my pretty little head about such violent things. And, naturally, I don’t push the issue because I can’t let him know my violent ass is hunting him down too.
