Chapter 37 Rex
THIRTY-SEVEN
REX
“Are you going to her gala?”
My mind was torn in three different directions—Dad’s will, then the fact that Kendra was my fucking half-sister, and Rachel and that conversation where she’d sounded so fucking young that it reminded me of being in the clubhouse’s crawl space back in the day.
When Wynter asked me that as we walked toward the coffee shop where she worked, I turned to look at her. “No.”
“Why not?”
“You have to be invited to these things,” I said with a laugh.
“No, you don’t.” Her brow puckered. “You have to pay for a seat, don’t you? At least, that’s what happened in House of Cards.”
“You watch political series?”
She shrugged. “It was enjoyable.”
“Not factual,” I pointed out, knowing how she felt about that.
Yesterday, I’d had a diatribe/lecture about a kid in her ethics class who’d rewritten the whys and hows of the US invasion in Iraq and how he’d gotten an A grade from the teacher.
Wynter liked facts.
It amused me because it was one way in which she was very different from her parents.
Rachel and I blurred facts for a living. I broke laws and she bent them to protect my liberty.
“Still fun,” she disregarded. “Why aren’t you going? It sounds like this charity is important to her.”
“Once upon a time, my business used to be her sole client.”
She frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“She figured out a workaround. I couldn’t argue with her doing charity work, so she started the foundations. Then, because your mom is canny as hell, she figured out how to get extra clients.”
“Does she need the money?”
“No, she likes the challenge.”
Understanding blossomed in her eyes. “I can understand that.”
“Plus, she’s always working. She never stops.”
“She sounded tired.”
She had, hadn’t she?
“You were kinda mean to her.”
I started to argue, “I didn’t say much—”
“You didn’t have to. Words aren’t the only means of hurting people out there. Tone is one thing, actions another.”
Another lecture.
I didn’t usually mind, but this time, I felt bad.
I’d hung up the fucking phone on her. I’d literally shot the goddamn messenger, when she hadn’t done anything to hurt me. Not intentionally anyway.
With a guilty sigh, I reached for my phone and typed out:
Rex: I’m sorry I hung up on you. I’m sorry for acting like a dick. This isn’t your fault. I shot the messenger, and this is on Dad, not you. Can I call you later?
Wynter, as nosy as her mom, peered over and read the message. I saw her satisfied smile and had to shake my head over it.
We both saw the two ticks turn blue, but when Rachel didn’t reply, I grimaced.
“You must have really hurt her feelings.” Wynter emphasized the ‘really.’
I heaved a sigh.
We carried on walking in silence for a few minutes, then she battered me again by asking shyly, “Do you think she liked me?”
We didn’t really touch, but I raised my arm and cautiously curved it around her shoulder. She didn’t back off and only peeped those chestnut eyes of hers up at me, her nerves clear.
“I know she did,” I told her.
Her grin made me feel as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds after a month of darkness.
Something that I could only liken to giddiness overcame her as she bubbled and effused about the short conversation with her birth mother.
It took me aback because I knew Rachel. Stressed, calm, drunk, unhappy, happy, pissed, grief-stricken. I knew her.
That had been anxious Rachel.
She’d been taut and nervous, fumbling over her words where she was usually as sharp as a scalpel, capable of slicing up a person’s bullshit better than a butcher could carve up a side of beef.
Wynter didn’t know her mom though.
She clearly wanted to.
When we made it to the coffee shop, Wynter repeating and rehashing most of that awkward conversation, I just smiled and kept the ball rolling so she had someone to bounce it off of.
I took a seat as she shuffled inside to put on the apron she wore, and a few minutes later, she brought out my regular order of a triple-shot espresso.
Rachel, in that time, had yet to message me back.
As Wynter placed my drink on the side, I asked, “Did you get yourself a sandwich?”
Her cheeks burned. “Thanks, Rex.”
I didn’t look at her, just typed out:
Rex: I’m sorry I fucked up.
“You don’t have to thank me for food. Thought we agreed on that.” I cast her a look and saw her nod.
“I-I’m not hungry yet—”
I arched a disbelieving brow at her.
“No. Really. I had a big lunch.” This kid, I swore, I had no idea where she packed it all. “But, later, when it’s my break, I’ll come and eat with you, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She peeped a smile at me then wandered over to a table in need of serving.
As she left, Rachel finally replied.
Rachel: You didn’t fuck up. It was a conversation I knew you wouldn’t take well. I steeled myself for it.
Rex: I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.
Rachel: No, you shouldn’t have, but we take these things out on the ones we love, don’t we?
A shocked breath escaped me at her words.
We didn’t talk like this.
We never fucking talked like this.
Was this goddamn proof that the calls, even though they’d only been happening for a short while, were working?
Heart pounding and blood rushing in my ears, hope fucking filled me.
Goddamn hope.
I was a murderer. I’d stolen. I’d maimed. I’d broken so many laws I deserved to be locked up—I knew that.
There was no way I should be reacting like a zit-pocked teenager because of her throwaway comment.
But playing it cool with Rachel had never been a possibility.
Rex: We do. Call you later?
Rachel: Yeah. Around six your time?
Rex: Fine with me.
When she didn’t reply, I raised the espresso cup to my lips and took a sip of the strong brew. Flipping the cell in my hand, I contemplated my next move.
I rarely acted without forethought. Trying to predict what circumstances would arise from whatever path I took, but in this, it was too difficult to say.
There were so many goddamn variables where Rachel was concerned that this could blow up in my face, and I was tired of that.
I liked the feeling of us moving forward.
Of us stepping toward something better and brighter than before.
The prospect of me fucking that up and taking us back a couple steps was something I didn’t think I could bear.
Wynter walked past, her tray full, and I kept my gaze locked on her as I calculated the odds and made the call to Lily.
“Lily Lancaster speaking.”
“Hey Lily, it’s Rex.”
“Rex! Oh, my God! It’s so good to hear from you. Do you want Link? I know he’s desperate to speak with you.”
“Yeah, no. I want to speak with you.”
“Me? What? Why?”
Indecisiveness wasn’t something that plagued me often. When it did, it was always with Rachel.
Why?
Because Rachel was strong. Powerful. A ball buster.
She defended criminals for fun and got them out on loopholes because she could.
She was take charge and domineering and a shark that everyone in legal circles knew to avoid.
That was the Rachel the world saw.
I knew the side of her that cried when she watched black and white movies from the forties, that ate up reality TV shows like they were going out of production.
I’d watched her down more hot chocolate than I’d ever seen her drink wine, but when she did, it was always a glass of rosé she chose.
Ice cream was her crack, and hot fudge was her amber nectar.
She was nostalgic and caring and a fiercely loyal friend.
Her vulnerabilities were many, and that was why I was lucky—because she let me see them.
The rest of the world weren’t so lucky.
They just saw the attorney.
I saw the woman.
Flaws and all.
The two distinctly warring sides of her nature were why I was indecisive.
I never knew which side of her I’d catch on any given day.
“Rex? Are you there?”
“Yeah. Sorry. My mind wandered.” I grimaced at just how damn long I’d been sitting there vacillating over a simple fucking decision. Pissed at myself, I drawled, “Rachel tells me you’ve been helping her out with the gala?”
“I have, yes,” she said warily. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I’m grateful. I wish she’d had your help from the start.”
Lily’s nervousness abated. “My mom used to hold these kinds of events all the time. This is… well, I’m in my element.”
“Regardless, I’m grateful that you’re helping her.” Something occurred to me. “Is she paying you or the club?”
“No, she’s paying me.”
I hummed. “I’ll speak with Maverick and have your salary shifted onto the MC’s books.”
“Oh! Well, shouldn’t you ask Rachel about that first?”
“She knows I pay for her staff.”
“Clearly not if she decided to pay me herself,” Lily retorted, her unease clear.
“Mistakes happen,” was all I said. “Anyway, that isn’t why I called you.”
“Oh? It isn’t?”
“No. I want to buy a ticket to the FAST gala.”
Her surprise was revealed by her sharp exhalation. “You? You want to go to a gala?”
My lips curved at her shock. “Yeah. I do. But I want to keep it a surprise. Can you help me out?”
“I, well, oh, I mean, yes, I don’t see why not.”
We discussed the particulars of the ticket purchase for a short while, then she mumbled, “You know it’s black tie, don’t you?”
“I didn’t think I could show up in my cut,” I joked, lifting my cup to drain the last few drops of espresso.
She snorted. “Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were signing up for.”
“I do. Thanks for this, Lily. And… if you could keep this conversation between me and you, I’d appreciate it.”
“You mean don’t tell Link?”
“I mean, don’t tell the rest of the MC. If, need be, you have to tell him, I’d never do anything to come between you and him.”
The sound of a soft breath rushed down the line. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Rex.”
“I’m capable of it sometimes. But, if it’s not urgent, I’d appreciate your discretion.”
“I understand.”
“Okay, send me the details and I’ll make payment later on tonight. Bye, Lily.”
I didn’t wait for her to reply, just cut the call.