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“In what way?” I ask, my stomach rolling.
She reaches into her purse and grabs her phone. Flipping through photos, she turns the device to show me one. “They beat him up,” she says with a quavering voice. I wince as I take in Randy’s swollen face, blackened eyes, and busted lip. “They said this was just a taste if he doesn’t show up with all the money—including the new job they gave him—in thirty days.”
“Jesus.” Nausea surges as I think of someone doing that to my mother.
“Have you been able to figure out a way to get me the money?” she asks, her eyes filling with tears.
“No.” I feel utterly helpless. “I told you I don’t have that kind of money, Mom. Can’t you go to the police or something?”
“And what?” she asks with a warble to her voice. “Go to jail? Do you want that for me?”
“It’s better than getting hurt.”
My doorbell rings again, and I take a deep breath before pushing off the couch. I see a man through the glass holding something.
When I open the door, I’m met with a man holding a massive bouquet of white roses in a blue vase. “Stevie Kisner?”
“That’s me.” He hands me the vase, and it’s so big, I can barely hold on to it. There have to be at least two dozen roses, maybe more.
“Enjoy,” he says.
I close the door and bring them to the coffee table, my pulse hammering. There’s only one person who would send me a gift, and my hand shakes a little as I pull the card free of the plastic stake.
No one has ever sent me flowers before, and while I don’t know much about the business, I assume this many roses cost a small fortune.
The card slips free of the envelope, and I read a typewritten message: Wear the necklace as a reminder of how we first met. Hendrix.
Necklace?
My gaze goes back to the flowers, and nestled in the middle is a white box with a white satin ribbon tied in a delicate bow.
I take a breath to calm my racing heart, but my hand shakes harder as I lift the box free. I untie the bow, lift the lid, and then laugh in delight as I see a delicate silver chain with a single pendant—a porcelain nine ball painted in yellow and white.
To symbolize the first game of pool we played that entitled him to ten minutes of my time, which then secured my agreement to go out with him.
I lift the necklace free, my fingertips brushing the links.
“Who’s that from?” my mom asks. I actually jump because I was so immersed in the romantic gesture, I’d forgotten she was sitting a foot from me.
“Hendrix,” I murmur. “He’s in Nashville on a road trip.”
“Oh, wow,” my mom says, reaching out for the necklace. I hand it to her as I read the card again. “What does it mean?”
“We played a game of nine ball when we first met.”
I read the card a third time, unable to control the smile on my face.
“I take it this is getting serious,” my mom says softly, and I turn to face her. She hands the necklace back to me with a knowing grin. “I’m so happy for you, Stevie.”
“No,” I immediately deny. “We started dating less than a week ago.”
“And he’s giving you roses and jewelry, and not just any jewelry. It has meaning. I wonder how he found a necklace with a nine ball on it while he’s on a road trip? That took some serious effort.”
Okay, that makes me flush with pleasure as my gaze drifts to the flowers. The great lengths he went to get me something meaningful… while he was in another state. I know it’s been six days since we first met, but maybe this is serious. Does time matter when you have a really great connection?
We have amazing conversations, comfortable silences, and our sex is through-the-roof hot. I actually crave him with the ferocity of a starving animal.
“You could get the money from Hendrix,” my mom says.
My head whips her way as I exclaim with astonishment, “What?”
She shrugs. “He’s a wealthy guy. He clearly likes you a lot. I’m sure he’d hand over ten thousand without even batting an eye.”
Jaw dropping slightly, I give a slight shake of my head. “Do you even hear yourself sometimes?”
“Why? What’s wrong with what I just said? He has so much money, ten thousand wouldn’t mean anything to him.”
“It would mean everything to him,” I say harshly. “It would mean he had misjudged my character because he knows money doesn’t mean anything to me. You’d want me to put myself in a disingenuous position with him?”
My mom crosses her arms over her stomach and folds in on herself. She rocks back and forth, her expression awash with fear. “I’m scared, Stevie, and you’re the only person in the world who cares about me. I’m desperate and afraid of getting hurt or killed or whatever is going to happen to me when we don’t come up with the money. I have no one else to turn to.”
