"Hell, we can FaceTime or Skype. You don't have to do that to see me." They'd already been doing that most nights; in fact, she was surprised to get a simple call. "Which ones did you watch?"
"Santoya and Caruthers." She cringed a little. "Meyers."
"Yeah," he said, and she heard the gravely strain in his tone. "First or second?"
"Oh, you've fought him more than once?"
"Yeah. Ended the same way both times. Fucker is the thorn in my side. You know, some guys . . . they just have your number. I've easily beaten guys who've kicked his ass all over the cage, but he gives me hell every time."
"That must be frustrating."
"You have no idea. I was the one who, when I got my ass beat in the schoolyard, was there ready for the rematch the next day until I finally won. Things happen so much slower now and it drives me nuts."
She laughed. "You must have spent a lot of time in detention."
"That or suspended."
"Meyers has the belt now, doesn't he?"
"Keeps me up at night sometimes. He's defending in a couple of months and I hope he gets the shit kicked out of him."
"I don't know him, but from what I saw, I didn't like him."
"He was one of the main ones running his mouth to the press after Tommy died about the safety of the sport and how we couldn't let a handful of accidents dictate its future. I mean, I don't disagree. But he can't let one damn opportunity go by without throwing his two cents in or taking cheap shots at me, when I doubt anyone who really knows this business gives a fuck about his opinion."
Yeah, as if she didn't already have reason enough not to like him . . . "Wow. I didn't know about that."
"I'm glad. Don't look it up, either; it won't improve your feelings about the guy."
She'd seen enough social media comments when she dared to pull up an article about the matter-Sad for the guy who died, but no reason to fuck with the sport, or Must've never learned to take a punch, or Dugas sucked, can't say I'm surprised he bought it in the cage-to know the human race could be pretty horrible when cloaked in the anonymity of the Internet, or untouchable because of their elevated positions. She didn't need further proof.
"Don't worry, I won't." She leaned back in her chair, bringing her knees to her chest. "Where are you now?"
"Home." Something else she'd been imagining since leaving him-his beautiful apartment. And, of course, his mouth between her legs while the Houston cityscape sparkled beyond his windows. Rolling across his four-poster bed, making love on his kitchen floor.
"Wish I were there," she said softly.
"You could be, you know, anytime you want."
"Oh, don't tell me that. You might open your door in the morning to find me standing there with all my luggage." God, that sounded desperate, but it was so close to the truth.
He laughed, seemingly not put off by the idea at all. But he didn't pursue it further. "Are things better with Rowan?"
And just like that, her mood dimmed to black. "I haven't talked to her."
"I know I told you I'd make him keep his distance, but Zane has been asking if he can talk to her. I didn't like the idea, but I'm tempted to let him try. Not so much because she can think better of me, you know, but because you guys have to repair this. He thinks he can help."
"I don't know if anything can help." Except calling this off between you and me . . . whatever it is.
"Maybe you should try showing up at her door with your luggage," he joked. It was an idea. If Savannah knew Rowan, she had a ton of things to say, and getting the opportunity to say them all-screaming or crying or throwing things or whatever she needed to do-was sometimes all she needed. This was a little different, though.
"I don't know about letting Zane talk to her," Savannah admitted. "I know he's your brother, but-It's the whole rock star lifestyle thing, I guess. It would be so easy for her to get caught up in it. I still want to look out for her, you know."
"Completely understood. I said the same thing."
Then again, Rowan was a big girl. If Savannah wanted freedom to make her own choices without intruding family members looking over her shoulder, she had to afford her sister-in-law the same opportunities. "She would probably love it, though. Can't deny that."
"Well, if you want to give me her number, I'll pass it on to him. With strict instructions to back off if she tells him to."
Savannah chuckled. "Will he listen?"
"That's what I'm worried about."
She didn't know what to expect when the text came from her mother the next night. No preamble, no explanation. You need to come over.
Groaning, Savannah tossed the phone down and rolled over in her bed, clutching Oscar the Ninth. It was only six thirty, but she was exhausted and already in her pajamas waiting on Mike to call. And this was the summons she had been dreading, having avoided her parents like the plague ever since getting back from Houston.
She didn't doubt for a second that Rowan had finally ratted her out. Not that she could blame her-Rowan had to be as sad and confused and Savannah herself was, and she had no one else to confide in. Her primary confidante had betrayed her.
Well, this is it, she told herself. You're cut off, disinherited, on your own. She could hear the words now. Either that, or there would be an ultimatum of some sort, and she could easily guess the terms.
Savannah would almost prefer the former, rather than being forced into a choice she didn't think she could make right now. In absolutely no hurry, she dressed and made the too-short drive from her apartment to the Lakefront, where her parents had lived for the past fifteen years. The stately house they called home had been spared the brunt of the flooding from Hurricane Katrina despite sitting directly across from Lake Pontchartrain-had they lived farther south by a mere few streets, they might have been under ten feet of flood water from the Seventeenth Street Canal levee breach.
She wasn't sure why she thought of that terrifying time as she pulled into their drive, except that it was one example she could think of where her family had pulled together and leaned on one another. They'd had to flee everything they owned and watch the city they loved become mired in death and destruction, another one of those scars that time couldn't seem to fully heal.
They'd gotten through that. Scarred, yes, different, surely, but they'd gotten through it. She hoped to God they could get through this too.
Along with thoughts of the hurricane came inevitable memories of Tommy, the way he'd been like a rock for them during that very dark time, and she found herself pleading with his image in her head, even if doing so was a sort of sacrilege in itself. A little help here, please, brother? You always handled them so much better than I could.
Yeah. Tommy would probably remain silent on this one. She really was on her own.
As she was trudging to the front door with a warm breeze blowing in off the lake, her phone rang from the depths of her purse. Mike. She pulled it out and shot him a quick text letting him know she would talk to him later. If he knew where she was going, he might start to worry. She didn't want that.
There were few formalities at her parents' house; she had a room there (for now, at least) and could always come and go as she pleased. Opening their front door, she called out a "hello" she hoped was cheerier than she felt and left her bag and phone in the foyer closet. There near the front door was the same family portrait she had at home, the Dugas family smiling in the sunshine. For perhaps the first time in a while, though, she focused on her own image, the fifth wheel, noticing how her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
"In here," her dad called from the living room. He didn't sound himself, but neither did he sound as if he was in a thunderous rage, so that was a positive. She plastered a smile across her face as she entered the room, but felt it freeze in place when the couch came into view and Rowan was sitting on it, her face red, her eyes teary. She didn't meet Savannah's gaze, instead keeping her own trained on the wad of tissue she was worrying in her hands.
Regina sat beside her, one leg tucked beneath her, one hand on Rowan's shoulder.
Play dumb. For now. "Is everything okay?"
Her dad stood and gave her a long hug, which she returned fiercely, still looking worriedly at Rowan and her mother over his shoulder. "Are you okay, Van?" he asked her, using the nickname he'd given her when she was knee-high to him.
"Oh, sure, I'm making it," she said cautiously as she released him and looked into his assessing eyes. Hell, if they knew about Mike, what did they think? That he had abused her somehow?