45. Chapter 45
Pops is home and Spot and I are hovering around him like we’re wasps and he’s a picnic.
Well, Spot is anyway. I’m just being a helicopter-daughter.
The living room is filled with flowers and get well wishes from friends and customers, a testament to how much my pops is loved and respected. It makes me proud to be his daughter.
I haven’t seen Reaper in two days, though he’s called and told me not to worry.
I’m worried anyway.
“Don’t worry,” Pops says as he kicks back in his armchair. “He can look after himself, and besides the rest of his gang’s got his back.”
I sit cross-legged on the floor and look up at him. He looks good, his usual self, but the heart attack clearly messed with him. Normally, he likes to keep busy, either puttering around at home or work. He hasn’t even gone to the bakery since the heart attack. I’ve been the one overseeing the repairs.
We have insurance (the real kind), but Hell’s Jury is paying for everything. Pops isn’t even protesting.
“I’m not worried,” I lie. It’s for his own good, God.
“He’s cleaning up the mess Miguel made. He’s not bad for being a criminal.”
“High endorsement, Pops,” I reply. “I thought you despised him.”
Pops feeds Spot a piece of the toast he’s eating, then takes a bite himself. “I’m changing my mind. He’s done right by you and so has the gang.”
“You know, if you quit feeding Spot, he’d quit begging.”
“That man stuck around and supported you even after he got accused of murder and thrown in jail.” He gives Spot’s snout a squeeze, then affectionately bats it away. “The dog was born a beggar. Nothing’s gonna change that.”
“So you’re okay with Reaper and me getting married?”
He frowns. “Might be good to spend a few months together first. The priest is going to want that anyway. He won’t marry you otherwise.”
I knew that already. “Then I’m going to live with him and you’re gonna have to accept that.”
The wrinkles on Pop’s forehead deepen. “I thought you’d stay here and look after me for a bit.”
“Seriously, Pops? You know you don’t want me coming back to live with you. We’ll drive each other batty.”
“Then go back to your apartment.” He passes his toast crusts to Spot, who gobbles them up like he’s breaking a four-week fast.
“Eat your crusts, they’re good for you.” I uncross my legs and stretch them out. “No point paying rent on an apartment I won’t be at, is there?”
“Why won’t you be there?”
“Because, I’ll be at Reaper’s having sex with him. Then staying over.”
Pops winces. “You never used to be so mouthy.”
He’s in denial, mom says. You’ve aways been mouthy.
I kneel in front of him and take his hand. “Pops, I respect you and love you, but I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do and I’d rather you support my decision.”
“What if you get pregnant?”
I roll my eyes. “Good grief, Pops. You’re not that naive. Or hypocritical. After all, I’m an only child and it wasn’t because mom couldn’t conceive again.”
Pop smiles. “One of you was more than enough.”
“Now who’s mouthy?”
“I guess I should be more mercenary instead of worrying about you. Hell’s Jury won’t be able to extort from me because we’re family now.”
“Yeah. You don’t have to worry anymore and neither will anyone else. I’ll be talking to Hangman about that aspect of his criminal empire. He’s gonna have to give it up.”
Pops shakes his head. “I know you’re a one-woman wrecking ball, Ximina, but don’t overestimate yourself. That man is uncivilized and unpredictable. You don’t know how he’ll react to your interference.”
“Have you met me, Pops? I’m relentless. He’ll give it up just to get rid of me.”
The doorbell rings and I jump to my feet as Spot barks. “It’s Reaper.”
I’m right. He’s standing on the front step looking perfect as usual, his big hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing a faded jean jacket that’s a replica of his cut and his T-shirt stretches tight across his muscular chest.
“Reaper!” I shout and throw myself at him.
He catches me in his arms and staggers back a couple of feet. Not enough to fall down the steps though. “X,” he says as he hugs me hard. “I missed you.”
I hold his cheeks and plant a kiss on his lips. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
He returns my kiss. “You miss me?”
“Like a Catholic wife misses her period.” Irony. It’s one of my many gifts.
I take his hand and pull him inside. “Pops. Reaper’s here.”
“I saw,” Pops says drily. “Sit down.” He nods towards the couch.
Reaper sits. I sit beside him. Spot jumps on the couch and sits beside me.
“How you doin’, Paulie?” Reaper asks.
“Good enough,” Pops replies. “You look tired.”
“Pop’s is back to his old self,” I say. “And you do look tired.” I run my hand across the rough whiskers of his chin. “Need a shave too.”
Reaper takes my hand and squeezes it. “Been a busy couple of days.”
“Catch up to the bastards who took our girl?”
Mom grins. He said our girl. He’s such a softie.
“Yeah,” I reply. “He is.”
Pop looks at me, his brows furrowed. “Who’s what?”
Darn. Gotta work on the voices in my head. “I meant, yeah, he did.”
Reaper raises his eyebrows at me, then says to Pops. “Sent them on a permanent vacation.”
Pop nods like he’s pleased. “Good man.”
Reaper shifts. “Just wanted to see you two. Make sure you were okay. Gotta go home. Clean up, get some sleep.”
“What’s that mean?” I say. “You think you’re leaving without me?”
Reaper looks from me to Pops. “I’ll come back. You need time with your pops.”
I jerk to my feet. So does Spot. “I just spent two days with my pops. You think he wants me to stay longer?”
Pops grunts a laugh. “She’s got a point. Take her with you. Besides I gotta get to the bakery, see how things are moving along.”
Reaper doesn’t move. “You’re gonna open up again?”
“Why wouldn’t I? A little heart problem isn’t going to sideline me. Just gotta find help to do the prep.”
“What does that mean?” I reply, outraged.
Pops shrugs. “You got plans, now, sweetheart. You need to start thinking about yourself.”
“Nothing’s gonna change, Pops. I’m still doing the prep, finishing college, taking over.” I grin at Reaper. “Well, except for moving in with you and getting married. That’s a change.”
He looks at me through hooded eyes. “I don’t get a say?”
Pops smirks. “Why the hell should you get a say? I never have.”
Spot draws our attention with a sharp woof.
Reaper glares. “Fuckin’ dog. I didn’t bring my truck.”
“He can stay with Pops for a while. Learn how to be a therapy dog,” I tell him.
“Stop swearing in front of my daughter!” Pops growls at Reaper.