Irrevocably Mine (Imagine Ink Book 3) (9 page)

“What if he can’t handle all the shit I bring to the party? What if I can’t get over all the yesterdays?”

“Not that I think for one minute that this is the case, but if he can’t handle all of you, would you want him, anyway? It’s not about
getting over
the yesterdays, it’s about leaving them
there,
where they belong. As long as you are trying, that’s enough for Dax, I believe. He’s just not the type to sit back while you decide if you want to even put forth the effort. For you, this is new, but for Dax, he’s already been waiting for a year. Now that you’ve given him your body, he’ll settle for nothing less than the accessories that go with it. That’s why I say, you need to decide, and quickly, if you can just try. If you can, you have a real shot at happiness with him. If not, you both need to move on.”

Stacy put some real thought into what Gus had said, and not said. She was spot on. If she didn’t at least try, she was making a choice by elimination.
Not the one I want, either
. In that moment, she also realized how fucking lucky John was. Gus was everything he needed. “Thanks, for everything. From loving John to popping my girl-time cherry. I think with time, I could actually…” Stacy was cut off by an unexpected white fucking blur rolling in from out of nowhere. Screeching, it ran from the hall, through the kitchen, over their laps, around the table, and back down the hall. It happened so fast, Stacy wasn’t sure what the hell it even was.

“Ahhhh, what in the everlovingfuck was that?” Stacy’s head pinged back and forth as she jumped up from the couch and assumed a fighting position.

Gus just sat there laughing her ass off. She did that a lot. Stacy envied her just a little bit for her ability to be so emotionally free. “That was Rick,” she managed between belly laughs.

“And what the fuck is Rick, exactly? A Tasmanian devil?”

“No, silly, Rick’s just a cat. I rescued him last month.” Gus spoke casually as she returned the empty dessert plates to the kitchen.

Stacy grabbed the rest of the trash and followed Gus into the kitchen once she caught her breath. “Rick, that’s a weird name for a cat. I thought he would follow the theme you’ve established. Why Rick?” Gus was a little predictable, she tried to work music into every aspect of her life.

Gus turned her pixie features toward Stacy, her face swirling with barely-contained amusement masked as indignation. “You have to ask after what just happened? He does that all the time. Probably having a hard time adjusting. Really, nothing? He came in unexpectedly? Interrupted the flow of what was going on? Screeching over the serene tone of our voices?”

Stacy was still fucking lost. A shake of her head finally allowed Gus to deliver her punch line.

“Don’t you see? You just got Rick rolled.”

And then, Stacy did laugh her ass off.
Leave it to Guru Pixie Pants.

“
Y
ou calling it a day
?” Walker asked Dax after he finished with his last client. Dax nodded an affirmative. “You heading home or to Stacy’s place?”

Dax didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want Walker to know, but because he didn’t know himself. Dax was unsure whether stopping at Stacy’s unannounced would be well-received by the fiercely independent woman. However, his need to see her was clawing at his soul. Dax noticed Walker moving around the shop from the corner of his eye, but paid it no mind.

“I think I’ll stick around a few. Got some shit I’ve been meaning to do, might as well get on with it. You go on home to Erika and wee Willow, I’ll lock up tonight.”

Walker grabbed his gear and gave him a bear hug while slapping something into his chest. “Have it your way, but if you plan on seeing her tonight, I would give her these, while explaining why you have them, that you
didn’t
read them, and beg her forgiveness.”

Dax caught the item against his chest, as Walker released him and slid into his riding jacket. As he made his way to the door, he was donning his helmet. When it was just around his forehead, he stopped and turned to Dax with a shit-eating grin. “And if that don’t work, use your mouth for better things than explaining, and she’ll...come…around.” Walker pulled his Bilt the rest of the way on his head and left. The sound of the door ding alert snapped Dax out of his frozen state, and he looked down, finally noticing what was in his hand. The file Chuck compiled on Stacy.

Walker was correct; he needed to come clean, sooner rather than later. Stacy was going to go ape shit over this invasion, but maybe, just maybe, once he explained, she’d understand. Envelope in hand, he decided to save the busy work for later and head to her place. The longer he held this secret, the more betrayed she’d feel.

Dax locked up shop and threw his leg over the seat of his bike, ready to meet Stacy head on. He was tucking the folder in his saddlebag when “Fuck Off And Die” sounded from his pocket. He let it play for a moment or two because he loved that song and then realized he would need to change his ringtone soon if he didn’t want most of his calls to be diverted to voicemail while he nodded his head to Darkthrone. Snapping out of his head-banging, he saw who it was and his stomach sunk all the way to his pipes.

“What’s up, Chuck?” No matter his mood, he couldn’t resist the lure of the elementary humor of such a greeting.

“Dax.” That one syllable response made things ten times worse. Chuck was a guy to laugh at himself, and Dax, too, as a rule. When Chuck was formal, or clipped, it meant only one thing. Information.
And judging by the tightness in his tone, I’m not gonna like it.
Dax braced his booted feet firmly on the concrete on either side of his Hog—knees locked, teeth grinding, and every muscle contracted.

“Whatcha got man?” Now that the question was out there, for the first time, he was unsure if he was ready for the answer. He wanted his daughter home where she belonged, but what if she hated him? What if Stacy didn’t want the package? He felt like he was being forced under violent waves, caught in an undertow, and his body was too frozen to fight his way to the top. It was as if he’d accepted drowning as his fate and looked up while sinking deeper as the light breaking through the surface faded with his descent.

“I hope you’re sitting down because…I found Sam. And she’ll be staying put for a while.”
Yep, drowning
. Each time he tried to draw breath it was like swallowing great gulps of salt water. Sam was within his reach and that meant…

“What about my Macy Bug? Is she with her? Wait, how can you be sure she’ll stay put? I gotta go before she bolts. Where is she?” Chuck’s unusual silence sent chills through Dax’s bloodstream, but also hope. Surely, Chuck would have shut him down before hope took root.

“Just breathe, man. Listen, I don’t have anything firm, but I have a possible lead to your daughter. As far as your wife goes, she voluntarily went into detox, but there is something compelling her to stay, and that’s where my lead to Macy comes in. I don’t want to say too much in case I’m wrong, but I think this is a solid lead. Give me a week to shore up some things and follow some bread crumbs, but I feel confident we can have your daughter home by next weekend, if we play our cards right.

An anguished, yet hopeful, cry broke the eerie silence of the near-empty parking lot. It took Chuck speaking, asking if he was okay, to realize the sound had come from him.

“I know you have a million questions and want to run off half-cocked, which is why I am not sharing specifics. But I need you to trust me in this. Let me be the one to connect the dots, and when I have a complete picture, I’ll share it with you. Deal? Stay strong man, we’re close this time.”

It took Dax a few breaths to realize the wisdom of what Chuck was saying. He did trust him, had so far, and look how close he finally was. Almost seven long years of searching and he’d never been this close before. Chuck was good people and a phenomenal investigator. As much as Dax wanted to ride hell-bent for leather to wherever Sam was detoxing and demand his daughter, he knew better. For one, he knew Sam. And two, he’d dealt with an addict for years, and learned a whole hell of a lot from that experience. His mom would bolt when the truth got uncomfortable and she wasn’t ready to face it. Once his mom made it over that hump of addiction, when she was in her right mind, that is, she could be reasoned with. He would cling to that hope with Sam and pray she would not deny him one of the only two things in his life that meant the world to him.

“You’re right, man. I want to thank you for everything, not just giving me hope about finding my kid, but for keeping me in check. Whatever Andy pays you, it’s not nearly enough. Can you tell me how long she’s been detoxing and from what? And do you know how long she’s struggled?” Dax worried about what her drug of choice was and how it affected his little sunshine monkey butt. He knew from personal experience there wasn’t too much that parents did that didn’t impact a kid, but he also knew it could be overcome.

“From what little I can glean for now, she hadn’t been spiraling for long before she ended up in rehab, drug of choice was alcohol. I didn’t find anything that led me to believe anything harder than pot and some prescriptions occasionally. Only been in treatment about three and a half weeks, some of that in a detox unit. From what I gather, she turned to alcohol rather than get addicted to pain pills. I am getting the feeling she is an addict with a physical reason, but don’t mark me on that. Like I said, I just got a few bits of info and called you right away. Just hang in there and as soon as I know more, so will you. Gotta go, man, be safe and I’ll be in touch.”

Dax didn’t bother saying bye, he sat there in stunned silence for a while, simply digesting everything. If he thought coming clean with Stacy about his prying into her life was a priority before, it was even more so now. Plus, he needed to share all this with her, too. If she weren’t ready for a whole boatload of his baggage now, then he would have to let her go. As much as he wanted to ease her into things, that was no longer an option. When he brought his daughter home, he would give her stability, with or without the woman he loved.

Pulling out of the parking lot, the roar of the pipes didn’t soothe him as they normally did, nor did the wind in his face give him that sense of freedom. The reality he might lose one thing by gaining another ate away at his gut. As terrifying as the possibility was, he had no choice but to go balls out and hope it paid off.

He’d always believed Stacy was an exceptional woman. He could be gaining all around, and wouldn’t that be great.

A
fter leaving Gus
’, Stacy pulled in her drive, and shut down the engine. She had started for Dax’s three different times, each time chiding herself for being too eager or too clingy or just too…
fuck it
, she didn’t know. This was uncharted territory. Even the one time she’d given into the relationship game, it had just kind of happened. There was no analyzing it or trying to decide to take the leap, it felt natural, organic. Of course, there was a reason why, it was staged that way, all part of the plan.

Gathering her stuff from the passenger’s seat, she made it through her door and tossed it all haphazardly on the table. She kicked off her shoes and shed her suit as she wandered down the hall. It was prudent to let Dax have a breather—time to decide if it was what he really wanted.
You know, pillow talk and all that
. Or rather her, if
she
was what he really wanted, or if it was just the idea of her.
That’s a good plan, chica,
one of her voices said as she got into her yoga gear. It was getting damned near impossible to tell them apart anymore. They were all working together, it seemed, toward a common goal.
Benedicts, all of them
.

“Give him time to see if the reality is what he wants, and if it is, then I will do my best to let him in. Starting with why I am the way I am about my hair and my tit.” Stacy nodded to herself in the mirror.
Yep, that’s a good plan. Give him an out in case I didn’t live up to his expectations.

Letting her gaze trace her reflection, she lingered on her chest. Since all the bullshit with Hank, this was one of the few times she removed her prosthesis—yoga. She missed being okay with her C and a smile. She mourned the time when it didn’t bother her that she only had one boob. Immediately after the mastectomy was a tough time. Looking back, she realized she thought she would never be happy with her appearance AC. But that changed with the help of support groups—
I know, right?
—and embracing her new appearance as a badge of honor, a testament to her being a fucking warrior. Stacy was a modern-day Wonder Woman, who’d kicked cancer’s ass like a boss.

When she decided to actually wear a prosthesis, it was for everyone else’s comfort, not hers. Stacy had been perfectly at ease with who she was and what she’d come through, but a one-boobed attorney was distracting in the courtroom. And she always gave her clients the best she could. Then, it got to where the fake tit was just a part of her everyday routine, a wardrobe choice. She didn’t even think about wearing it or pay attention to putting it on. She just slapped it in her bra and got dressed. Which is why… “No, Stacy, just no. Let it go and don’t rehash it. Tell it one more time, then
sayonara
. All that meme shit about exhaling the bullshit, that.” Her pep talk worked.
Yes, one more time, to Dax, then breathe all that bad shit into the ether.

Yoga wasn’t cutting it tonight. Stacy was wound up too tight.
Fuck it, one girl gab session, and I’ve been inducted into the damn club.
Hope wound around her vital organs…and she let it.
Fuck giving him an out. I need to know now. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.
If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be. Shit, she was starting to sound like Gus already.

Shrugging that thought off, she snatched her keys and nothing else and grabbed the doorknob. Stacy knew she had to make the move now, or she would chicken out. The need to get this over with was a compulsion. Over with was the wrong wording. Get on with it was better. Maybe there was a subconscious element to her initial word choice. She flung the door open while scolding herself. “No, damn it. Stop trying to sabotage yourself before you even tell him what you…umph.”

Who put a brick wall outside my front door?
Not brick, but definitely a wall—a hot, masculine wall, that wrapped his arms around her, kissed her on the top of the head, and spoke with a voice that weakened her knees. “Tell who what, sweetheart?”

Rather than speak, Stacy wrapped her legs around the wall of muscle and practically licked his tonsils. She knew if she stopped, she’d over-think it, then pull her lawyer mask on and potentially lose it all. Dax was a feeler, he didn’t overthink things, not in the moment, at least. Once he made a decision, he went for it. Stacy just took a page from his book. It wasn’t easy. Every inch of her analytical side was screaming for her to stop and think. She wasn’t listening to that right now, she was listening to
Puppies
and
Slutty
and well, herself, her true self for once in the last decade.