Had to Be You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (24 page)

“Storm? Are you going to eat the rest of your steak?”

Storm didn’t answer him; he just pushed his plate farther away.

Slater stabbed the meat with his fork and brought it over to his own plate. No sense in wasting good food.

Logan leaned toward Storm, took a closer look at the file, swallowed hard, and pushed his plate away too.

Slater had eaten his fill and, after a quick look at his brothers, figured it would be safer to 86 the rest of the food before someone spewed. He put the dishes on the room service cart and rolled it out to the hall, wishing he could take off. When he went back in, Storm was looking even worse. “If you’re going to hurl, make sure you hit the can, man.”

Neither Storm nor Logan said anything. Yeah, that damn file left him speechless too. So maybe they wouldn’t do any talking after all. He wasn’t sure he could handle talking. Not now, not ever, not about this.

Storm took the picture of his momma out of the file and looked at it for a long time. He handed it to Logan and then put the file away.

Slater let out a breath.

Both Logan and Storm stared at the picture.

He felt weird about them looking at her like they were. “Her name was Rachel Slater-Shaw.”

Storm wiped his eyes, looked at her picture, and then back to Slater. “It’s really incredible. You look so much like her. You have her smile, her hair, and Nicki—” He shook his head. “Nicki has her eyes.”

“Yeah. I think that’s why every time she looked at me it made me feel as if someone was stepping on my grave.”

“Man, she could be a carbon copy of your mother—just with a darker complexion. You’re going to have your hands full in a few years.”

Slater had his hands full now. He took one look at that picture and any question of Nicki’s paternity was erased.

Storm handed Logan the note.

Slater bit back his anger. “Do you mind? I haven’t even read it yet.”

Logan didn’t bother looking at him. “How come?”

“Because he wrote a note. He planned it. It wasn’t like he just went off.” His voice got louder and his brothers watched him as if they were afraid he was going to go postal too. Hell, they should be afraid. The thought that he could scared him to death. He got a grip, crossing his arms to keep from falling apart or breaking something and lowered his voice. “The fucker planned it. He planned to murder Momma and me. I was going to read it . . . eventually. I guess. Then the two of you barged in.” God, he so didn’t want to do this.

Logan seemed to get a hold of himself. “Do you remember her?”

“Yeah, I feel as if someone just unlocked something in my head. I remember everything. She liked to sing. I can hear her voice and I even remember how she smelled—she smelled really good. She was fun—she made everything fun. She played with me, let me get as dirty as I wanted. She taught me to make pots out of the clay we fished out of a stream in the park we used to go to. She took me to church a lot. She was always praying—it never did any good. She always tried to protect me, but . . .” They knew what happened. He didn’t need to paint them a picture—they read all about it.

Logan looked back at the picture. “Your mom loved you.”

Storm shook his head. “Your mom died protecting you.”

“I know. I remember. I watched him throw her into a wall like a fuckin’ rag doll before he shot me. Then he shot her. She got herself killed protecting me.” Slater couldn’t sit there any longer. Storm and Logan were looking at him and he wondered if they saw more than just his mother in him. He had his father’s eyes. Those fucking crazy eyes. He picked up his empty glass and poured them all drinks. Storm and Logan looked like they needed a belt almost as bad as he did.

He put their drinks in front of them and paced. He needed to move.

Logan stood and watched him. “Why didn’t you come home when you left the hospital?” He looked hurt.

“Why the hell do you think? My father was a murderer, he was nuts—believe me. I saw him in action. The man was a monster.”

Storm stood and blocked his path. “Yeah, we get that, but we don’t get why you didn’t come home?”

Slater smashed his glass down on the dresser. “Are you both stupid?” God, the Hummer was parked on his chest again. “Do you really want me spending time with Nicki?” Just the thought that he could hurt her—he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to picture her face looking up at him. She was so damn small. She was so damn trusting. She was so damn special. God, he missed her.

He walked right up to Storm and got in his face. “Do you want me around your wife?” He gave him a shove and Storm shoved him back. “Think about it. Do you trust me around Bree?”

He spun around and shoved Logan too. “What about you? Do you trust me with Skye? And what about Rocki? Do you want to take the chance that Rocki could end up just like my mother? I sure as hell don’t. I left because I love them. I left because I want them to be safe. I left because they’ll never be safe with me.” His legs didn’t feel as if they’d hold him up much longer and he sat on the bed.

He hadn’t slept, he’d been afraid to close his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with the nightmares; his day terrors were bad enough. He rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his palms against his eyes. Shit, he was crying. Crying in front of his brothers was the last thing he wanted to do. He still hadn’t recovered from the humiliation of breaking down in front of Rocki.

The bed dipped. “Shit, that’s gotta suck.” Storm’s arm came around his shoulders.

Slater almost jumped out of his skin.

The bed dipped again and Logan threw his arm around him too. “What the hell ever gave you the idea you could hurt them?”

Blood pounded through Slater’s temple and his head felt like a pressure cooker. Any moment he was going to blow. The only release was the tears raining down his cheeks. He took several deep breaths but he couldn’t exhale enough and his lungs felt like overfilled balloons. “It was in the file. I almost killed one of my foster fathers. I wanted to. It took two men to pull me off him, and that’s when I was nine and skinny. I lost it. I was out of control. I was my father. It scared the shit out of me.”

“You were protecting your foster sister. Just like your mother protected you. Don’t you think your mother would have killed that bastard if she could have? She gave her life for you—she’d have taken his if she were able.”

Slater felt Logan’s hand grab the back of his neck and squeeze. “You’re nothing like him; you’re like your mother. You’re protective. I trust you with my life and the lives of everyone I love.”

Storm cleared his throat and moved, shaking the bed. “You need to pull yourself together. You need to look at this.”

Slater wiped his eyes on his sleeve. When he opened them, that damn note was in front of his face. He couldn’t see through the tears that just kept on coming.

“That asshole thought he owned you and your mother. You were nothing more than possessions to him. When he lost his company, he couldn’t live with the embarrassment, so he planned his suicide. He wanted to possess you and your mother—even in death.”

“So?”

“So, you’re willing to leave the two people you love most in the world just to protect them. You’re willing to give up everything. You’re willing to give up your family, all of us, and the only woman you ever loved. You’re willing to give up your own daughter just to ensure her happiness.”

“Of course I am.”

“You’re an idiot—you know that?” Storm got off the bed. “Logan, explain it to him. You might want to speak slowly.”

Logan gave Slater’s neck another squeeze. “Does this mean we don’t get to beat him?”

“What do you think?”

He stood and blew out a breath. “Okay, listen, and listen good because I’m only going to say this once.”

“Slater, look at me, bro.”

Shit. He wiped his face on his sweatshirt. “I’m looking.”

“You’re nothing like your father—but you’re exactly like your mother. Think about it. The only time you’ve ever beat on anyone was to protect someone else. I remember talking to you after you took out that asswipe who was trying to rape a girl outside some bar. You beat the piss out of him.”

“So, anyone would have done the same thing.”

“Anyone with a shred of conscience. Anyone who respected women, and was protective of them. That monster was possessive—if he couldn’t have you and your mom, no one could. If you were anything like him, you’d never be willing to give up Rocki or Nicki. So you have nothing to worry about. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“I spent six years of my life living with you. And the only time I saw you even come close to losing your temper was that time you took on three guys twice your size to save a dog they were abusing. They beat the snot out of us, but you were more concerned with the dog, remember? You’re your mother’s son, Slater. Your mother’s and Pop’s. He raised you. He’s your father, just like he’s mine and Storm’s.”

Storm kicked Slater’s boot. “And we’re your brothers. I trust both of you with my life, and the lives of everyone in the family. You’d sooner cut your own arm off than hurt any one of us. We love you, Slater.” Storm’s cheeks turned bright red. “In a totally brotherly kind a way.”

Logan cleared his throat and then punched Slater’s arm. Hard. He really did have a hell of a punch. “Yeah, what Storm said. Just don’t make Skye cry again or all bets are off.”

Slater looked up at his brothers and shook his head. They wore matching
you’re-such-a-dumb-ass
grins. He rolled it around in his mind. He tried to look at it logically; he tried to look at only the evidence. He sifted through his memories, trying to remember ever coming close to losing it, to remember if he ever had that out-of-control feeling any other time. No, he hadn’t. Just once on the phone with Storm—but it was then he’d remembered the monster’s face. He’d seen a flash of the night of the murder. Just thinking about it had all the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up and kicking his heartbeat to the danger zone. Damn. “You really think so?” He sounded like a freakin’ pussy.

Storm coughed. “Yeah. Logan, we might just have to beat the shit out of him.” He started rolling up his sleeves.

Slater stood. “No, I’m good. I just . . . need time to think about it.”

Logan shot Storm a
what-are-ya-gonna-do
look.

Storm shrugged. “You’re not gonna do anything stupid, are you?”

“No. I just need to digest this. It’s a lot to take in.”

They both picked up their bottles and left his. Logan grabbed his coat. “Okay. We’re right next door if you need to talk.”

“You got a room?”

Storm laughed. “Shit, yeah, we did. Do you think for even one minute that we’d leave you alone to deal with this emotional clusterfuck? Besides, it’s purely selfish. We need to keep you around. It’s been hell having to deal with Pop all on our own. We’re just trying to spread around the love. Thirty-three percent of Pop
’s attention is a hell of a lot better than fifty.”

Logan grunted. “Damn straight.”

They each hugged him and did their best to break a rib while slapping his back. God, they were such asses. He loved them, but shit. He’d be lucky if he didn’t end up bruised.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks, guys.”

Slater put the note back in the file where he didn’t have to look at it again. He’d seen enough of that to last him a lifetime. He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the bed, holding the bottle in one hand and his mother’s picture in the other. Nicki really did look a hell of a lot like her grandmother. He wished his momma could see her.

•   •   •

Rocki stepped into Logan and Skye’s apartment across the hall from Pete’s without so much as a knock. She was expected, and yes, the gang was all there—Patrice, Skye, and Bree. “Where are the guys? Downstairs?” She plopped down on the couch, kicked off her heels, and tucked her feet under her.

Bree shoved a wineglass at her. “You look as if you could use this—unless you want something stronger.”

“No, but thanks. I’ve been off my feed since yesterday—wine is about as strong as I can take on an empty stomach.”

Bree joined her on the couch. “The guys are MIA, except for Francis—he’s got rug rat duty. Where’s Slater?”

Rocki took a long drink of cold, crisp white wine—their wine selection had certainly improved since Logan had shown up. Where was Slater? She wished she knew. It was as if he disappeared into thin air. “I don’t have a clue. Pete said he’s okay, but wouldn’t tell me any more than that.”

Skye shook her head. “Logan took off out of here like he had fire ants in his pants and was running for the water.”

Patrice did her hair-over-the-shoulder toss and wrinkled her nose. “When I asked Francis to watch the girls, he didn’t say boo. He must have known the guys wouldn’t be here. They’re up to something. Not that Francis would give me a hard time, Lord knows. I’m on momma duty full-time when he’s on his shifts, but there wasn’t even a groan; it was as if he knew I had to be here.”

Bree laughed. “Either that or he was afraid of sleeping on the couch again.”

Patrice sniffed as if she smelled something vile. “You’re just jealous you don’t have your man as well trained, but don’t worry. It takes time and constant conditioning.”

“Oh God, here we go again.” Skye picked up her soda and took a drink as if she needed help getting through Patrice’s lecture.

Rocki tuned out Patrice—she’d heard it all before—and watched Skye. She hadn’t seen much of Skye since she and Logan came back from California—the girl was positively glowing. She was as sparkly as that diamond she wore.

Skye took another sip of soda. She probably hadn’t had alcohol since Rocki and Patrice’s unfortunate fact-finding mission. Get the girl drunk one time and she turns into a teetotaler. They’d certainly got the goods—interesting X-rated goods—and left Logan to deal with the cleanup. Logan, however, had yet to forgive them. The man could certainly hold a grudge. So they didn’t take Skye’s petite size into consideration when plying her with Logan’s champagne. It wasn’t as if they’d done it on purpose . . . well, not totally on purpose.

Patrice snapped her fingers in front of Rocki’s face and made her jump.