Had to Be You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (7 page)

Nicki flew through the door to the apartment, skidded to a stop, and caught Slater with his duffel over his shoulder. “You’re leaving?” She tossed the backpack that was almost as big as she was onto the breakfast bar and drew her hands to her hips. “You just got here.”

He looked at her, trying to figure out why he felt so off around her.

Nicki dug her sneaker into the carpet. “Slater?” She’d caught him staring. Her eyes bore into his with a combination of fear, hurt, and frustration. Damn, she was already getting attached.

“Rocki’s brother was in an accident in New Hampshire and we have to check on him but I’ll be coming back before I have to leave again.”

Nicki’s eyes practically tripled in size. “Rocki has a brother too?”

“Apparently. You didn’t know?”

“No, she never talks about her family. I just figured we were it. Around here, family is what you make it. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, Nicki. I know.” He knew all about being a part of a family with no blood relation. He couldn’t even remember his own parents.

“Is he hurt bad?”

“Who?”

“Rocki’s brother. Duh.”

Right. Rocki’s brother. Slater scrubbed his hand over his face not knowing what to say and settled on a shrug. Head injuries were iffy at best. The guy could die or he could come out of the coma and be just fine. Slater didn’t want to lie and tell her everything was going to be all right when he didn’t have a clue. It didn’t stop him from having the urge to say whatever it took to wipe that worried and scared expression off Nicki’s face. “It’s too soon to tell. They should know more in the next day or two. I’m sure we’ll be checking in with Pop.”

She didn’t look any less worried. God, he really sucked at dealing with kids.

“Look, Nicki, I have to go because it’s a long drive and Rocki needs to be there for her brother.”

“Okay, but wait a minute. I have something to give her.”

He must not have stifled the impatient grunt as well as he meant to because Nicki stopped and shot him an annoyed glare before running to her room. A second later she returned holding something behind her back. She looked up at him and smiled before she held out a rock the size of a softball. She shrugged her little shoulders and dug her foot into the carpet again. “It’s my lucky rock. Nothin’ bad happens when I have it, so it might be lucky for Rocki too. Will you give it to her to borrow? Maybe it’ll make her feel better.”

He dropped the box of tissues and his duffel, knelt down, and looked into eyes so familiar he knew he’d seen them before. “Sure, Nicki. I’ll tell Rocki you’re lending it to her. It’s really nice of you. I’m sure it will help.”

She handed him the rock and then moved in close. She smelled like Johnson’s Baby Shampoo and little girl and peanut butter.

“Did you get Rex to make you another peanut butter and bacon sandwich?”

She bit her lip and shrugged.

“You’d better brush your teeth before Bree sniffs you out.”

“Okay.” She threw skinny arms around his neck and hugged him.

Slater had no choice but to hu
g her back. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to, but the feel of her—so small, so freakin’ fragile kind of weirded him out. She felt like a delicate little bird—he was afraid to squeeze because she might break. He was ready to take off but couldn’t because she was still wrapped around him like a monkey. He gently lifted her and set her away. “You be good for Pop, Storm, and Bree while I’m gone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He picked up his stuff and hurried out the door. The last thing he wanted to do was get caught up in Nicki’s all too familiar gaze again. He shook off the chill making its way down his spine. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, and for the first time in his life, he’d begun to wonder if he’d suddenly turned into one. Nicki was an amazing kid. She deserved better, and running away like a coward was not his best. He forced himself to turn and face her.

Nicki stared back with eyes that held hurt and worry. She reminded him of the way he’d felt as a kid every time he had known his time was running out at one of his foster homes. Nicki was scared. “Hey, Nicki. Come here.” He crouched down so they were eye to eye.

Nicki bit her lip and walked the few steps toward him.

He took her little chin in his hand and tipped it so she met his eyes. “Look, kiddo, nothing’s happening except that I have to take Rocki to see her brother. Nothing else is going on, so there’s no reason for you to worry.”

“You promise? First Skye left, and then Logan came back but he’s sad all the time, and now you and Rocki are leaving too. . . .” A tear dripped down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb.

“Logan and Skye have grown-up things to work out, but that has nothing to do with you. As for me, all I can promise is that I’ll come back and stay for a while at least. We’ll figure everything else out then. I promise I won’t leave you high and dry, Nicki. Okay?”

She didn’t say anything; she just nodded her head and looked as if she was doing her damnedest to staunch the flow of tears. The next thing he knew she had her arms wrapped around his neck and her wet face burrowing into him. “Shh, it’s okay, Nicki.”

“No, it’s not. Nothing is okay.” She let out a gulping hiccup.

Someone cleared his throat behind him.

Nicki looked up, pushed out of his arms, and ran to Pop.

Slater rose, knowing he’d been right. He sucked at dealing with kids.

Pop caught Nicki and shot him an apologetic look before turning his attention to the little girl in his arms. “What’s going on, Nicki? What’s with the tears?” Pop pulled Nicki over to his favorite chair and she climbed on his lap. “Slater, you go ahead down and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Slater should have felt relieved to hand the crying ten-year-old off to his father, but what he felt was anything but. He didn’t know what it was, and with Rocki downstairs waiting for him, he didn’t have time to identify it.

Nothing made sense. He was so confused—not something he’d ever experienced before. He couldn’t wait to get away from Nicki, but then felt as if he shouldn’t leave her.

He’d wanted to get to know Rocki and didn’t like the way she’d avoided him all week. He especially didn’t like the way she flirted with every man between the age of two and eighty-two. He’d wanted to spend one-on-one time with her, but being trapped in a car for six hours while she was upset and sniffling was not exactly how he’d envisioned it.

He didn’t know if he suffered from a Sir Galahad complex or what, but he wasn’t able to let a damsel in distress fend for herself. Even if Pop hadn’t suggested he escort Rocki to New Hampshire, he would have volunteered. Whatever the complex, he had no option but to take Rocki to her brother and stay until he knew she’d be all right.

When Slater returned to the office, Rocki was right where he’d left her, looking like her world had imploded. Lost, alone, and shaking. The only difference was that she wore her coat and hugged her purse to her chest. Her red-rimmed eyes were circled with what was left of her mascara—the black rings looked like shiners and accentuated her unhealthy pallor.

“Are you doing okay?”

It seemed to take a minute for her to register he was even there.

Rocki rose from her chair like an arthritic geriatric and looked right through him before turning and walking out.

“Pop, Rocki and I are leaving.”

Pop met them in front of the door and grabbed his arm.

“Is Nicki going to be all right?”

Pop gave him a look Slater couldn’t decipher—surprise mixed with something else. “She’ll be fine. Change of any kind makes her nervous—it was the same with you boys. I guess I should have expected it but it’s been a lot of years since any of you were in that position.” He stepped closer. “Here, you’re not going to have time to stop for cash, so take this.” He held out a wad of money.

Slater didn’t want anyone to think that he expected to be paid to help Rocki out or, God forbid, he needed the cash. He didn’t. “No, I’m good, but thanks.”

Pop dragged Rocki into a hug and whispered something in her ear—something that brought a wobbly smile to her lips.

Rocki kissed his cheek and refused his cash too.

He ran his hands down her arms and slipped the wad of bills into her coat pocket before stepping away. “Call me when you get there. We’ll be here praying for him, sweetheart.” He dragged Slater into a hug, and then gave him a slap on the back. “You take care of my girl, son. Drive safe.”

“Will do. Come on, Rocki. Let’s go.” Shit, the way Pop talked made it clear that he thought of Rocki as a daughter. Slater was beginning to appreciate the hell Storm must have gone through growing up and wanting to date Bree—the daughter Pop had never had. He couldn’t imagine that Storm had an easier time of it as an adult. Maybe the fact that Pop always seemed to take in strays wasn’t such a good thing. It certainly cut down on his sons’ dating prospects.

Pete slipped into his office, pocketed a stogie, and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell his kids were going to do when he bellied up to the big bar in the sky. When that happened, he wanted to be able to kick back and shoot the shit with St. Peter, and not worry about his kids.

He knew if he weren’t steering them in the right direction, the lot of them would be chasing their own tails. As entertaining as it was to watch them do just that, it got old fast. Since his heart attack, he worried he wouldn’t be around to make sure his kids were finished with the tail-chasing part of their lives—both their own and the tails of the opposite sex.

He was sure Storm and Bree were going to be okay, thanks to him—though Storm would die before he’d ever admit it. He’d even thought he’d had Logan and Skye on the right path until Logan went and screwed it all up. Screwing up was one thing—after all, what the hell did Logan know about being in a loving relationship? For Logan, learning relationship rules was akin to a blind man feeling his way around a crowded room without a guide dog or a cane. Pete shook his head. It was a painful process. He was going to have to step in soon because Logan’s inaction was just making matters worse.

“That better not be a stogie I see in your pocket, Pete.”

Bree. Damn the woman. She had amazingly bad timing. Where was she when he’d needed her? “Oh come on. Who died and left you my keeper? I’ve been doing the job long before you were born, young lady.”

Marriage obviously agreed with Bree—she and Storm had spent the last month in New Zealand and Australia—much of that time on a boat or beach from the look of her tan, and he’d never seen either of them so happy. Bree was a redhead and it surprised the hell out of him to see her normally pale skin bronze. He couldn’t remember the girl ever having a tan before. “I’m glad you’re home, even if you are a royal pain in the ass.”

Bree crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “I’m only a pain in your ass when I catch you. I swear, I’m going to every smoke shop in Brooklyn and will threaten the life of every store owner. If I can’t stop you from buying those foul things, I can do my best to keep the owners from selling them to you.”

“You can try.” Pete couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He was glad that Bree and Storm were back home and happy. Things were just the way they should be. He only wished he could say the same for his other two sons.

“Where’s Nicki? Rex said she seemed a little off after school. Is something really wrong or was Nicki just tugging on his heartstrings so she could wrangle a PB&B sandwich out of him?”

“Both. Rocki had to take off for New Hampshire—her brother’s been in an accident—”

“Whoa—Rocki has a brother? Since when?”

Pete sat and rocked back on his chair. “Her whole life, since he’s three years older than she is.”

“How could I not know this?” Bree sat down opposite him and shook her head, looking both hurt and bewildered. “Rocki’s my best friend.”

“Bree, there are reasons people keep things to themselves. I’m sure Rocki has a good one.”

“Is he . . . God, I don’t even know his name. . . .”

“Jackson.”

“Is Jackson going to be okay?”

“We don’t know. He’s in a coma. From what I gather, he was in a skiing accident. Rocki was so upset, I could hardly understand her. I didn’t want her driving. Besides, I’m not even sure the girl has a license, so I gave Slater my car and told him to take care of her.”

“Slater? What the hell were you thinking?”

Pete smiled and stuck out his hand.

Bree’s eyes rolled like a slot machine, and he just hit the jackpot. She stuffed her hand in her pocket, fished for a Lincoln, and slapped it onto his palm.

He added it to the ten he’d taken from Slater earlier, making sure he didn’t expose his cigar. “Slater’s hardly hidden the fact that he’s interested in Rocki, and since he could use some breathing space, he might just find it and all the answers to his questions about Rocki in New Hampshire.” Pete leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk while surreptitiously closing the drawer, hopefully hiding the contraband. “It was like killing three birds with one stone. It was ingenious if I do say so myself.”

“No wonder Nicki’s upset. Slater just got here, and now he left right after Skye took off. The poor kid doesn’t know who is coming and going. Her life’s been like a revolving door lately.”

“I know, Bree, but both Logan and Slater were in such prickly moods, if the two of them stuck around, one of them would end up taking another swing at the other and I’d be forced to get the bat out again. How could I explain that to Nicki? I think ‘boys will be boys’ only works once. It’s definitely better this way.” Pete wished he could light up and follow it with a glass of scotch. “I think it will be good for Slater and Rocki to help each other deal with the changes they’re facing in their lives. And since you just returned, it’s not a good time for you to leave. Nicki’s been waiting for a month for you to come home. Leave Rocki to Slater for the time being. We’ll know soon enough if I’m right—and I haven’t been wrong yet.”

Bree shook her head. “You’d better be careful, Pete. People don’t like feeling like pawns on a chessboard of your own making. No matter how right you are.” She leaned over the desk, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and swiped the cigar right out of his pocket before turning on her heel and slipping out of the office.

It was a damn good thing he had more where that came from. He just prayed that Bree didn’t make good on her threat to talk to his suppliers.

•   •   •

S
later drove to Rocki’s place and searched for a parking space as soon as he turned onto Mott Street.

“You can park here.”

“In the loading zone?”

“It’s fine. I know the owners—they’ll say I’m waiting for a delivery.” She got out of the car, went to the restaurant, stuck her head in, and spoke to one of the women by the counter.

Slater waited on the sidewalk and then followed her up to her apartment.

Rocki opened the door, and when he stepped in behind her, he was greeted by a wall of shoes—the entryway had nothing but shelving from floor to ceiling. The floor space in front looked like a Payless after a blowout sale. Shoes were scattered hither and yon. There were so many bright colors it made his head hurt.

He couldn’t imagine what one person did with that many shoes. He had his running shoes, his biker boots, and a pair of hiking boots. That was all he needed.

Rocki pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “Bathroom’s through there if you need it.”

The hallway opened into a large room containing a baby grand piano, a twin-sized daybed with rumpled sheets, a dresser, and a small bistro table and two chairs. Clothes littered just about everything. There were two laundry baskets beside the bed, one full of clothes in a heap, and the other containing neatly folded clothes.

“Do you want a water?” She pointed to a kitchenette so small it looked as if there was just enough room between the oven and the refrigerator to open the oven door—maybe. “I don’t have much else. There might be a yogurt or something in the fridge, but do yourself a favor, check the expiration date before you dig in. The last thing I need is a chauffeur with food poisoning.”

So he was a chauffeur, huh? He gave her a look that said
no-fuckin’-way
, but didn’t voice his opinion. He didn’t need to.

Her return volley was an expression that told him in no uncertain terms, he could think anything he wanted. In her mind, he was nothing more than a glorified cabbie. Great. “No, thanks. I’m good.” And he was, when it came to just about everything, including sex—he was good for way more than a ride.

She cleared the clothes off one of the bistro chairs and tossed them on the bed. “I’m just going to pack a few things.”

He slid his laptop out of the messenger bag he was never without and sat down at the bistro table. “Do you have Wi-Fi?”

“No. I use the restaurant’s. The password is
chopsticks
.”

“Original.”

She shrugged and raided her dresser, pulling out all the small silky things he’d spent the last week imagining. She had all the colors of the rainbow in her lingerie drawer. She definitely wasn’t the white-cotton-panty type—not that there wasn’t something to be said for little white cotton panties. Or none at all. He shifted in his seat; the last thing she needed was a freakin’ chauffeur with a raging hard-on. Not now at least.

Rocki got on her hands and knees to search beneath her bed, her black leggings hugging and accentuating her long legs and heart-shaped ass. The oversized T-shirt or dress she wore—he wasn’t sure which—slipped over her hips and showed off the dimples on her lower back and enough pale, smooth skin to make his mouth water and his jeans tight. Shit.

She rose, pulled a bag out from under her bed, and dusted it off. The woman would never be confused with Martha Stewart. Rocki tossed the selection of undergarments into her weekender along with a few pairs of jeans—something he’d never seen her wear—sweaters, and, to his surprise, a white cotton granny nightgown.

She didn’t strike him as the kind of girl who wore granny nightgowns to bed. No, he’d pegged her for something sheer and silky, or nothing at all. He wasn’t sure which he preferred, but damn, anything was better than the Grandma Moses thing she held.

Slater kept his eyes trained on his screen and thanked God his peripheral vision was exceptional. She moved around the place with a nervous energy that made him wonder if it was more the rule than the exception. “What’s the number for the restaurant downstairs? I’ll call in an order—it should be ready by the time you’re done packing.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat anyway.”

“Fine.” Rocki grabbed her phone. “I have it on speed dial—I’ll order. What would you like?”

“Just order me whatever you’re having, I’m not picky—just make sure they give me a fork. I can’t drive and eat with chopsticks.”

“I hope you don’t mind it spicy.”

Spicy worked for him. “I can take anything you can dish up.”

“I guess we’ll see.” She dialed the phone, shoved clothes under her arm, and headed to the bathroom speaking Chinese.

Well, shit. This woman was just full of surprises.

“It’ll be ready in five minutes.”

He heard the bathroom door close and stopped pretending to be riveted to his computer and stood. He had five minutes, so he took the time to study the studio apartment, looking for anything that would tell him who Rocki O’Sullivan was—other than a bit of a slob.

Sheet music littered the piano. He paged through it and realized it was all original work. Serious work. Amazing. The woman not only played classical music, but she also wrote it.

One piece rested on the music rack and looked as if it was a work in progress. She’d titled it “Him.” Him who? The paper had been erased more times than a grade school chalkboard and showed some serious wear. Entire bars had been scratched out and rewritten. Notations in the margins pointed out which parts needed more work. He scanned the room looking for any evidence of a man in her life—after all, she’d written the piece for someone.

Slater sat at the piano more confused than ever, took a deep breath, and let his eyes wander. Rocki must have spent a lot of her time sitting right here, considering the amount of music she’d written. His eyes landed on a photograph—the only one in the apartment.

He slid off the bench, skirted the piano, and picked up the four-by-six shot of Rocki on top of a ski slope with a blond-haired man. They had their arms around each other, as if they’d stopped midrun for a kiss and a cuddle.

Rocki looked happy—too damn happy in Slater’s opinion. Shit. He put the picture back where he’d found it. The sight of Rocki touching another man—any man that wasn’t him—did funny things to his insides. Things he wasn’t used to feeling. Feelings so foreign to him, he wasn’t sure he even recognized them. All he knew was that he didn’t like whatever the hell it was. If Slater had been standing next to them, he’d have put his fist through the guy’s face and ripped Rocki right out of his arms. That knowledge alone was enough to make Slater want to get as far away from Rocki as humanly possible. Unfortunately, he couldn’t leave. He would be stuck like Velcro to the woman for the next day or two at the very least. “Fuck.”

“Problem?”

Slater turned so fast he almost tripped over his size-thirteen feet. “No.” Other than he’d just freaked himself out. “I didn’t hear you.” When he got his balance—both physical and, he hoped, mental, he wondered how much of his klutziness she’d seen. He pulled himself together, took a good look at her, and almost fell over again. She must have washed her face because she wore no makeup. Not even a hint, much less the outlandish, yet weirdly attractive color choices he’d seen her sporting over the last week.

Rocki had changed into jeans. Another first and they weren’t even skinny jeans. They were a little baggy and looked as if they were a good size too large for her. She’d paired them with a big, shapeless sweater, and stood before him looking like a teenager.

“How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-five. Why?”

“You look like you should be singing in a high school chorus not a bar.”

Rocki tugged on a pair of rag-wool socks and reached to the top of her shoe wall to pull a pair of flat boots down. She blew the dust off them and sneezed.

“God bless you.”

“Thanks.” She stuffed her feet into the boots, tossed a ditty bag into the suitcase, and zipped it up. “I’m ready when you are.”

He blinked and did his best to hide his shock while he tried to make some sense of this new side of Rocki O’Sullivan. She didn’t bother to mention her sudden style change. In his limited experience there was never a good time to ask a woman about her fashion choices—especially during times of stress like this, so Slater did what every smart man would in this situation—he kept his mouth shut. Still, his silence did nothing to keep him from wondering if the woman would ever stop surprising him. He packed up his computer, tossed the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, and gave her a nod. “I’m ready, Rocki. Let’s go.”