Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(65)

Small miracles to be thankful for and all. I bet he was better off without her.

"I met a girl." I changed the subject. As if she cared. As if it made any difference at all.

"Oh?" she responded, sounding both surprised and unhappy. "I thought you always meet girls. Your reputation precedes you."

"Our reputations are similar, Nina. You outshine me in the fucking-people department. At least there's one thing you excel at."

"Sensitive much, Dean? I was only being conversational."

She was only being a fucking headache. Of course, Nina wasn't deterred by my lack of interest in humoring her.

"Does she know that you don't find women reusable?" She chewed on something on the other line. Someone else's dick probably.

"She's a keeper." My jaw tightened.

"Why?"

"Because she is the opposite of you."

And she was. Rosie was brave, sassy, loyal, and witty. With the potential to be an amazing mother. She was a hardworking girl who didn't like taking favors from other people. And, unlike me, Rosie didn't use any of the shortcuts given to her. Her illness meant she could have had it the easy way. But Baby LeBlanc never walked the line. She danced all over it, her flip-flops smacking on the floor throughout.

I brought a bottle of rum to my lips and took a swig, then another. I did so well for three days, not touching a drop of alcohol-even in Vegas-and it was all flushed down the toilet the minute I answered my goddamn phone.

"You know you still love me, despite everything," Nina droned, laughing her coy laugh. And I had to admit that, horrifyingly, she wasn't completely wrong.

I stared at the blooming trees from my viewpoint on Vicious's balcony.

"Oh, and Dean?"

"Yes?"

"This is one truth you don't want to miss out on. It will change everything."

I had no doubt.

"Stop calling. I stopped answering. Bye, Nina."





"Yo, shithead. Where art thou?" Trent's voice echoed from the sparse landing. I peeled myself off of Vicious's antique couch, holding onto my head like it was about to burst. Rosie's parents lived on the second floor, but I don't think they were home. Her mom joined the Todos Santos Pie Committee, and her dad worked part-time as a landscaper. Vicious once told me that there was no convincing the LeBlanc folks to slow down and stop working altogether, even after retirement. I wasn't surprised. Their daughters weren't any different.

"Right here," I groaned, not moving an inch.

Trent and Luna entered the large living room. She wobbled on her feet like a duck, her honey-brown curls and smooth, tan skin making her green eyes pop out. Luna threw herself between my legs for a hug. I picked her up and brought her to my chest, and she wrapped her chubby arms around my neck.

Trent placed his temple against the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"How is she doing?" I asked, squeezing Luna to my body, sniffing her hair.

He shrugged, looking out the window.

"She thinks she's on vacation with Grandma and Grandpa. She keeps putting my phone to her ear and expects to hear her mommy."

"I read somewhere that our earliest memory can be from the age of two. Maybe she won't even remember that bitch had ever left." I offered my support by giving him bullshit data I picked from a dated magazine while I waited for my dentist appointment. I think most people tried to convince him that Val was going to come back eventually, but I wasn't one of them. What was the point in lying? I knew her kind. They popped a kid, abandoned them, and would only check on their offspring if they saw an opportunity waiting to be cashed.



       
         
       
        

"And I read somewhere that your earliest memory could be from the womb. Maybe she'll remember everything," he offered me a dry look.

Touché.

I put Luna down on the floor. She swayed until she gained balance, then clutched my hand and smiled.

"Look, no offense, man, but you don't know what it's like, okay? You've never had to deal with this kind of bullshit before."

I wasn't going to correct him. It wasn't about me. I wanted to be there for him, even if he was going to be a pissy little shit for a while.

"Put your big girl panties on, Trent. You have enough money to hire the best nannies in the world and Luna is a cool kid. You have your parents, your friends, me. You're not alone in this."

"I know, I know." Trent scrubbed his face, walking over to the liquor cabinet and taking out a bottle of Glenmorangie. "Luna, show Uncle Dean how you dance," he asked tiredly as he poured himself a drink, his smile flaccid. Girl started shaking it like Beyoncé in Madison Square Garden, and we both clapped for her for a few minutes, before Luna got distracted by a door and decided to close and open it five hundred times in a row.