“You lied to me,” he accused her.
“No, I didn’t. I… omitted certain details?”
If glares could kill, she would have dropped dead on the spot. “Omitted? You knew how I felt about junkies, and you hid your past from me. If it’s in the past, which I doubt very much. What about your regular trips to Boston? You go to score? Are you using again?” He grabbed her and lifted her sleeves, checking for marks. “Is that why you don’t want anyone with you when you go?”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wrenched her arm away. “Of course not. My trips to Boston have nothing to do with using or dealing drugs.”
“Sure,” he scoffed.
She put her chin up. Enough of cowering and trying to apologize. It was falling on deaf ears anyway. “Are you calling me a liar, Adrian?”
“Never seen a junkie who wasn’t a liar, sweetheart. And never seen a junkie who could stop being one for any significant amount of time. Much less when they keep their past hidden. Tell me, what about the business of stolen parts that asshole spoke about? Are you into that now? Is that why he’s seen you around? Am I going to find inconsistencies once I start checking your books? After all, maintaining a drug habit is expensive.”
That did it. Before she could refrain, she’d slapped him across the face as hard as she could. “So that’s what you think? Thanks for clarifying it for me. Whatever I do in Boston is my fucking business, and I don’t have to give you any explanation, asshole. Now get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see you ever again.”
“For once we agree.”
He opened the door and slammed it so hard on his way out, the glass cracked and splintered into a thousand cobwebs.
Chapter Twelve
Adrian needed his damn foot to be in good enough shape to go train at the gym, and he needed that outlet soon, before he exploded. He surveilled his workstation. Pristine. Nothing out of place, nothing left to do. Not even on his deputies’ tables or the dispatcher’s.
“Please go home, Chief,” Holly said. He was getting on everybody’s nerves, he knew, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Taking into consideration that half the town wasn’t on speaking terms with him, he ought to preserve the few friends he had left.
Adrian stood up with a grunt and nodded. Her sigh of relief was probably heard outside the office.
He didn’t know where to go or what to do with himself. He couldn’t go to the garage. Well, he could, but no one would talk to him there. Now that he was in such a foul mood, he should go check on his grandfather—for once, visiting the old man couldn’t make matters worse.
He bought some groceries and drove there. As luck would have it, Horatio was napping, and the nurse opened the door for him. After restocking the kitchen cupboards, he peeked through the bedroom doorway at the old man, a pang of guilt and sadness surprising the hell out of him. Horatio looked so old and so frail.
Some sound must have woken his granddad, because he opened his eyes. “Ace? Is that you?” he asked, disoriented, a childish smile spreading on his wrinkled face.
Ace. That’s what his grandfather used to call Adrian’s dad. And what he called Adrian before the booze transformed him into a hateful motherfucker.
Suddenly Adrian felt sorry for him. He shook his head and closed the door. For fuck’s sake, he was losing his damn mind. He needed to get to the gym and work out until he couldn’t move anymore, much less think.
“I’m going to leave now,” he said to the nurse. “Is he okay?”
“He’s been disoriented more often these days.”
Fantastic. Onset of dementia.
Adrian had been wrong; visiting his granddad could and did make matters worse. It made him feel like a jerk for holding on to a grudge for dear life. Shouldn’t he be the bigger man and at least try to let go? It might not have been easy for his grandfather to find himself alone and in charge of two unruly kids.
He stopped dead in his tracks. What the fuck? That was it. Today he was scheduling a time for the doc. He needed to regain full mobility. In the meantime, he was going to use his doorway chin-up bar and do pull-ups until he dropped dead, if need be.
On his way home, he stopped by Wilma’s. He thought he’d be safe, that Rachel would be at the garage. He should have known better. The low rumble of a V2 motorcycle reached him from afar. Josh was parking his Harley in front of the house. Rachel, wearing a dress and sporting a big smile, came out to greet him and took the helmet he handed her. She put it on and, waving at the OGs, jumped on behind him and they sped away—to Boston, probably, to do whatever the fuck wasn’t Adrian’s business.
He shut his eyes and clutched the steering wheel, forcing himself not to follow them. And fine them for everything under the sun. Arrest them if he could get away with it. Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. Forget pull-ups. He was going home and working his way through a six-pack or two.
When he got there, he saw XL, Ash, and Monti on the couch. “Hi, guys.” The second they noticed him, Ash and Monti got up and left. Right. It’d been several days since any one of his thugs had talked to him. It looked like he’d lost the kids in the divorce.
After a short detour to the fridge, Adrian sat beside XL and finished half his beer in one chug. “You still giving me the silent treatment?” XL muttered something inaudible under his breath. “Come on, kiddo,” he begged. He had the same shitty feeling as when he used to piss Jade off and end up in the doghouse. Only now he was in a kennel, because everyone was giving him the cold shoulder.
“You’re a fucking hypocrite, I said,” XL repeated, this time louder.
Miracle of miracles. The punk could talk. “XL…”
“You always run your mouth about how we should change our lives around. About how it all depends on us and how hard we work at it. And now you can’t forgive something that’s in her past?”
“I see you heard our conversation.”
XL lifted his hands, looking aggravated. “What conversation, man? You did nothing but yell.”
So that was a yes. He’d figured that much. No wonder even her employees were giving him attitude. “To be fair, she yelled too,” Adrian mumbled. “You don’t understand—”
“You don’t understand. There were seven of those motherfuckers. Seven, and all of them were packing, I’m sure. I tried to stop her, but she stood in front of me twice in order to protect me. A barely five-foot-tall woman, empty-handed at first, then pointing a shotgun at Tito’s head, threatening to waste him if he dared try to take me away.” Adrian winced at this recollection of events. Jesus, she’d been reckless. “No one in my life, and I mean absolutely no one, has done something like that for me. Risked that much against such bad odds without expecting anything in return. And you insult her the way you did?”
Adrian lowered his gaze, peeling the bottle label. Granted, it hadn’t been one of his finer moments. He’d been scared shitless for her, then stunned, and then mad. The array of emotions had come crashing down as soon as the danger passed. He’d been jacked up on adrenaline and unable to choose his words more rationally. “I understand you have a ginormous hero crush on her at the moment, but she did lie to me.”