I decided to ask, “Uh…how are you?”
“Wonderin’ how I keep missin’ my shot at the good ones,” he replied even more weirdly.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“Nothin’, darlin’,” he muttered then went on, “Just wanted to say, I made you a promise.”
My breath caught.
Tack wasn’t done.
“Haven’t forgotten it.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“And I won’t.”
“Uh…okay,” I repeated.
“My world, shit like that goes down, someone pays.”
Oh boy.
Maybe I should let him off the hook about his promise.
“Tack –”
“Stay beautiful,” he ordered then he was gone.
I stared at my phone.
“Who was that?” I heard Bobbie ask and I looked up to see her and Billie in her cute, little hot pink bathing suit with the baby pink ruffles on her booty walking into the living room-slash-kitchen-slash-dining room.
“My angel of vengeance,” I answered and she blinked.
Then she smiled and asked, “What?”
“Nothing,” I murmured.
“Pool!” Billie shrieked.
I smiled at my girl.
I tossed my cell in my beach bag, grabbed the handles, moved around the counter in my flip-flops and replied, “Pool.” Then I shouted, “Bud! Light a fire under it!”
Bud ran into the room in his trunks and a tee.
Bobbie corralled her kids.
We walked out of my apartment and headed to the pool.
Once I was lounging, I called Mitch to tell him about my phone call from Tack. He made no comment (though he did give me heavy silence for a moment) and then he shared that he was at the attorney’s office handing off the papers Bill signed.
I looked at the kids horsing around in the pool.
“They’re yours, sweetheart,” Mitch said softly in my ear.
They were.
My soul sighed.
“Hurry home tonight,” I said softly back. “Casa Bonita. Bray and Brent confirmed though they did it under protest and informed me they’ll be wearing disguises because if any of their g*y posse sees them in Casa Bonita they’ll get kicked out of the club. Tess called and told me she, Brock and the kids are meeting us there. So are Kenny and his kids. LaTanya and Derek are following us.”
“Got it.”
“We’ll be ready when you get home.”
“Got it.”
“We still on for those viewings with the real estate agent on Saturday?” I asked.
“Yep,” he answered then threw out his own question. “You sittin’ by the pool right now in a bikini?”
“Yep,” I answered.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
I grinned.
My man thought I was hot.
“I’m also covered in suntan oil,” I shared.
I heard that sound I knew and loved come from deep in his chest, Mitch’s immensely attractive chuckle.
Then he said, his voice deep and vibrating with his laughter, “Mara.”
I closed my eyes.
That was mine.
Mine.
A life ahead of me with a beautiful, good man who said my name often with his deep voice vibrating with laughter.
And again, my soul sighed.
“Auntie Mara!” Billie yelled. “Come dunk me!”
I opened my eyes.
“The princess speaks,” Mitch muttered again, a smile in his voice.
“You know it,” I replied, my smile in mine.
“And love it.”
My soul sighed yet again.
That was mine too.
All mine.
“Right,” I whispered. “Love you, baby.”
“Love you too, honey.”
“Ready?” I asked.
“Ready,” he replied, a smile again in his voice.
“Break,” I whispered, my smile also in mine.
Then he was gone.
Epilogue
Hometown Bud Lawson
Mitch
Thirteen years later…
“That shirt burnin’ your skin?”
Mitch was looking down at his wife who was wearing a Colorado Rockies jersey.
The number on the back, 9.
“Absolutely not,” she replied and he grinned.
“Any Cubs fans see you in that, they’re gonna throw you out of the Die Hard Club,” Mitch warned.
“I’ll take my chances,” Mara muttered.
Mitch grinned.
“We’re late, we’re late! Sorry, we’re late.” They both heard and Mara’s head turned as Mitch’s eyes went down the row to see Billie and her latest boyfriend scooting along the row, her dark hair shining in the bright Colorado sun, way too f**king much of her long, tanned legs exposed by her short-shorts.
It was early April. It should be cold. At least chilly.
Not in Colorado. It was eighty-six degrees and had been for two weeks.
Tomorrow the forecast was snow.
But today, Billie was in short-shorts. And she had been for two weeks, Mitch knew from the evidence of her legs being tan.
“For the record,” Mitch muttered, his eyes having moved to Billie’s most recent, “I do not like that guy.”
He felt Mara’s gaze and he looked down at her to see her lips pressed together but her eyes dancing.
Then she unpressed her lips and whispered, “You never do.”
“I like this guy less,” Mitch informed her.
Mara’s shoulders started shaking as her eyes continued dancing and she pressed her lips together again.
“And also, you need to have a word with her about those f**kin’ shorts,” Mitch went on.
Mara’s entire body started shaking.
“I’m not jokin’,” he whispered.
“You never are,” she whispered back.
No, he never was. When Billie hit fifteen what Mara called The Battle of Skin commenced. Mitch thought Billie exposed too much. Billie disagreed. Mara waded in explaining to Mitch that he was overprotective. Mitch explained to Mara that was his job. Mara told Mitch to relax. Mitch told Mara it wasn’t his job to relax; it was his job not to let his girl leave the house exposing too much skin seeing as he was a guy and he knew what guys had in their heads. Especially at fifteen. And sixteen. And, like Billie’s most recent, twenty-one.
Mitch lost a lot. Women, he found, since his f**king house was full of them, ganged up on you. They also had staying power. It was worth the effort but it wasn’t worth the headache you got in the long run. So he always gave the effort but he usually gave in.
Billie was nineteen, he got that. But his girl would be forty and he’d always give a shit.