His phone rang before he could dial her number.Trent’s name flashed on the screen.He pulled out of Connor’s driveway as he answered.“Yes, I ordered the new ink.No, I didn’t burn the place down.And yes, everything is fine in your holy absence, except everyone who walks in wants you to do his or her ink.The rest of us are chopped liver.”
“Admire the sense of humor,” he said, his voice rough, like he’d just gotten out of bed.“How’s Drea?”
“She’s okay.Why?”
“Can’t be easy for her man.Tell her I’m thinking of her.Didn’t want to bug her or Harper, without giving you a shout first.”
Some turd in an Audi pulled out, cutting him off just ahead of a large van, forcing Cujo to slam his breaks.He honked his horn with awhat the fuck, manhand gesture.
“Bug her about what?”
“Are you on the road?”
“It’s Friday.Working the afternoon shift.Why?”
“Why are you not with the girls at the hospital?Would have called Harp, but just assumed you’d be with them.”
Shit, the messages.I really need you.Please call me.
“What the fuck is going on at the hospital?”Cujo shouted.“Is Drea hurt?Is she okay?”
“Dude, what is going on with the two of you?I thought you were—”
“I ignored her texts and call because I’m a dick.Just tell me what happened.”He wanted to disconnect, desperate to call Drea.
“Her mom died.”
Shit.Cujo stepped on the gas.The engine roared as he raced back to the city.He blew past the Audi, threw them a one-fingered salute for good measure.
“When?Do you know what happened?”
“Harp left me a message.Turned my phone off last night.I’m in Seattle.Drea found her mom on the floor.I just woke up, checked messages, and called you first.”
“I’m on my way there now.Thanks for the heads-up, bro.”
“No worries.I’ll be home tomorrow.Look after our girls for me.”
Shit.The thought of her alone in the hospital while he’d been eating fucking pancakes.How long had she taken to call Harper?He looked at his phone.It was at least another ninety minutes before he could get to her.He raced the truck home, dodging the heavy Miami traffic with back roads and shortcuts.Anything to get to her as quickly as possible.
“Come on,” he mumbled, hitting redial on his phone.No answer.Again.She was screening him.His heart bled for her.Hopefully Drea had been able to make some kind of peace with her mom before she died.
He put a call into Alonza, a freelance tattoo artist Trent trusted.Thankfully he was free.Eric had opened, and there was no way the shop could manage the evening with only Lia and Pixie.He honked at the delivery van blocking two lanes.
Fuck.He’d let her down.The promise he’d made to be with her when things got hard was now worthless.Because he’d bailed.And it wasn’t even because of her.It was his own reaction to seeing his mom that kept him away.Guilt at letting it ruin one of the truly wonderful things in his life gnawed at his gut.
He pulled into Drea’s neighborhood and took a hard left onto her street.Yeah, they’d be scraping his tire rubber off the road for years to come.Trent’s Plymouth was parked, half on the curb.He cringed.
The girls were definitely at the house.He pulled in behind the Plymouth, jumped down from the truck, and pounded up the steps.
He’d let her down.Now it was time to see if she would let him put it right.
***
Funeral home.Check.Aunt Celine.Check.José.Check.Hotel.Check.
Drea tossed her cellphone onto the coffee table and pulled her knees up onto the sofa.She wrapped her cardigan around her legs and stared at the faded image of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart hanging over her mom’s bed.
Mom was dead.For ten years they’d co-existed without any kind of relationship, but in those last five minutes of her life, Drea gained a glimpse of exactly what it was she’d lost.The pain in her heart so strong, her chest was going to crack open from the pressure.
