He nods. “Said you apologized the night you came back.”
“Well damn.” I rest my head back against the couch, remembering the words she and I exchanged that night. I had apologized, but it’d been about her father. Wait. “Does she ever talk about Andrew around you? What she knows about his death?”
He shrugs. “No, not really. I stay clear of the subject like you’d asked.”
“Gia ever say anything about it?”
“Just that the Feds wouldn’t release any names. Told Reese it was for safety reasons. She knows his killer is dead.”
He’s dead all right. And I’d kill him again with no regrets.
Relief and apprehension pour over me. If what he’s saying is true, all the hatred I’ve gotten from Reese has been about Rachelle. Damn! I could fucking strangle the woman. My grip tightens on the bottle. “You said Reese met her twice … my imaginary wife?”
He laughs. “That’s what Gia told me.”
I can only imagine all that Rachelle said to her; that woman is a schemer. “What time you guys heading up?”
His eyes light up, and he checks his phone. “In about an hour. You gonna go?”
“Thinkin’ about it.” I rub my chin.
“Dude, you should.”
“Do me a favor. Don’t say anything to Gia. Send her over before you go, and I’ll clear the air with her.”
Back in Gia’s good graces, I shower and clean up before heading down to the brewery. She’d bombarded me with her questions, and I figured it’d be best if I didn’t beat around the bush. My answers had shocked the hell out of her. She’d cried over the fact that I’d shot my dad, calling me a hero. I’d told her I didn’t deserve the title. The real hero is the man I couldn’t save—the father of the woman I love. It’ll be on my conscience the rest of my life.
Gia did what she could, to get me to see Reese’s side of the misunderstanding. Doesn’t mean I’m not hurt or angry over the lack of trust she has in me. She’d run off with the neighbor¸ giving him time that should’ve been mine—letting him touch her, kiss her, and whatever else he’s done with her. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty pissed, and I plan to play with her head a bit before I give her the truth.
Now we’re sitting in the back of the bar, and the person I came to see isn’t here yet. The douchebag mentioned her mother had called unexpectedly, so she’d be running a few minutes late. That was nearly an hour ago. My eyes keep roaming over to the entrance, expecting to see her walk in.
Her boyfriend wasn’t happy when I’d taken the seat across from him. I reveled in the clear disappointment on his face. He’d been shocked to see me, and I’ve watched him pound back four or five beers since then. He hasn’t put any effort into joining our conversation either, which is fine by me. I’d rather he sit quiet the rest of the night. It’ll help me keep my fists to myself.
Logan sits beside me, and Gia next to him—obviously on better terms than earlier; in fact, they’re so close they’ve got their chairs touching.
“Book your room yet, brotha?” Logan asks, hounding me about Vegas. I’m not thrilled about the idea of hangin’ with the four of them, but now that I know what I know, I’m starting to consider it.
I cross my arms over my chest, letting out a breath. “Still haven’t decided.”
He looks disappointed. “Decide, man. Time’s runnin’ out.”
“I’ve got a couple days.”
“You have to. It’ll be fun!” Gia joins in. “We’ll lay by the pool, drink dirty martinis,” I roll my eyes, and she adds, “Drink whatever you want. It’s going to be a good time.”
Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t.
“Everything’s got to be booked already,” comes from Sean across the table.
We all stare at him. Funny he chose this time to offer his opinion.
His eyes move between us. “What?”
“You afraid of a little competition?” I lean back in my chair.
“Just trying to save you time. The fight isn’t the only event in Vegas next week. It’s going to be packed.”
“Don’t matter,” Logan retorts. “We got a couch in our suite. Worst-case scenario, you sleep on that.” He flashes his teeth. Sean guzzles the rest of his beer, avoiding eye contact, hating the idea of my going.
I slip my straw into my mouth, watching him closely. “I’ll think about it.”
“Accept it, man. You’re going.” Logan grabs his empty mug and looks around the bar. “I need another beer. Where the fuck’s our waitress?”