Page 44 of Bad Attitude
I told my brother I would, I just didn’t say when. But now seems like a damn fine time. The job is done, and I don’t want tobe here. And even if I don’t want to see my folks, at least they’re family. Psychologically safe, in their psychologically unsafe way.
Besides, Idowant to see Dad, especially since he’s unwell. It’s Mom who’s the problem. Always been the problem.
The reality is the opposite: I’ve always beenherproblem. She’s never wanted me, the girl who doesn’t conform, never good enough for her. Too rebellious, too spirited, too many questions, too goddamnindependentfor my devoted mother.
It’s still a better option than hanging around here. How pathetic is that?
Decision made, I get my laptop out. Flights to Utah are frequent, and there’s one leaving from LAX at ten. Time enough to drop in on Kurt as I pass, let him know I’ll be gone. I’m sure he can spare me a week.
It’s four hundred dollars for an open return trip, which is a decent chunk of my savings. Another reason to visit Kurt: I could use some cash.
Seven-thirty, and I’m out the door with a backpack of clothes, ignoring the empty space where that bastard parked his Fireblade. With any luck, Kurtwon’t use him next time, and I’ll never have to see him again. If he does want to use him, that’s fine too—it doesn’t meanIhave to be there.
I ride over to the Arts District and the new unit, dressed in normal clothes for once. Jeans and a leather jacket that isn’t a biking one, no armor on its shoulder or elbows. Something I can wear on the plane until I change into the conservative summer dress in my bag that my parents will expect their daughter to wear.
Along with another pair of jeans and a few tops, because I might chicken out.
I park up outside the unit and hit the buzzer. There’s a delay before the door clicks open, and I walk in and head up the stairs. Tasha’s here as she always is, working on her laptop.
“Hey, girl. I was just about to make a coffee. Want one?” She rattles that off without looking up, then she does, and her face shows shock, then hardens. “What’s happened?”
Do I look that bad?
“Nothing, far as I know. Just came by to see Kurt.”
“He’s not here. He’s riding up to San Fran for a couple of days on… business.”
Fencing the proceeds of the bank job, in other words.
“Crap. Well, I’m also taking some time off. Going to be gone for a bit.”
Tasha’s eyebrows go up. “Where to?”
“Home.” I give a poignant smile. “My dad’s not well, and I’ve left it too long.”
Her stare seems to go straight through me. “Kurtsaid you left with Declan last night.”
“Uh… no. Left by myself.” Technically true. He followed me.
“Right…” she says, unconvinced. “So the whole ‘just been fucked and sad about it’ look is… what… a disappointing evening with a vibrator?”
It takes two seconds for her words to sink in, then the blush that hits I can’t hope to control. My face heats, my body tightens, while tears fill my eyes. I can’t look at her.
“Oh, baby,” she says, getting up from the sofa and coming to take me into her arms. “What the hell happened?”
I’m saved from trying to answer by the door below opening, and Dario runs up the stairs. I’ve never been more glad to see him, because there’s no way I’m going to open up in front of him. I step out of Tasha’s hug, just as he walks into the room, glancing between us like he can sense the atmosphere.
“Morning?”
“Yes, it is,” Tasha says dryly.
He looks at her, back at me, frowns. “Do I need to go back out?”
“You’re fine.” I wave him to the other couch. “Tasha was about to make coffee.”
“Yeah, I was. Give me a hand, Raven?”
“Yeah, give her a hand, Raven,” Dario echoes. “Double espresso. I’m gonna sit on the sofa and not listen to whatever you two are talking about.” He flops down and pulls out his phone, studiously ignoringus.
