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Not to mention, when her ordeal was over, he’d come home to a house that was sparkling clean, and her shit was gone.
He’d sorted that right fucking quick, but the Rock Chicks had a way of finding trouble.
It had been weeks, the shit with Hank and Roxie had come and gone, Roxie was in Chicago preparing to move back, all seemed calm.
But Eddie still didn’t like the fact he was home, Jet’s car was in the garage, and she wasn’t answering his call.
Jet’s shit had been worse than Indy’s.
Roxie’s had been worse than Jet’s.
If this kept going, he didn’t know how he was going to handle it.
One way he knew would help was if all the shit stopped happening to Jet.
But she was supposed to be home, and she was not.
And he didn’t like that.
Before he could call her again, his phone rang, and the screen said, Jet Calling.
He took the call by saying, “Where the fuck are you?”
“Eddie?”
Oh fuck.
He knew what the sound ofthat“Eddie” meant.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“Lavonne and Bear’s.”
This seemed innocuous, but since her father was staying at Lavonne and Bear’s, he knew it was not.
“And, um, Indy’s here with me,” she went on hesitantly.
Indy. Wildcard, with an emphasis on wild.
“Give it all to me,chiquita,” he ordered.
“And mom and Lottie. And, um…Tex.”
He turned on his boot and retraced his steps to the door, asking, “Do I need grenades?”
“Probably not…” More hesitation, then, “but maybe a call to Lee wouldn’t be remiss.”
Fuck.
* * *
When he got to the house, a house he’d only been to once and he’d never been inside, he walked in without knocking.
He was momentarily stunned at what he saw.
The yard was a disaster. It looked like Chernobyl twenty years post-meltdown.
But the inside was neat as a pin, countrified so much it made him appreciate his new purple bathroom, and choked in hearts.
