Write Your Own Song

Chapter 31

The cab honked again, saving Bobby from having to argue that treating Jack like shit toughened him up. He could never understand why chicks didn't get that. It's like they think everyone needs to be coddled and protected. That didn't get you shit in the real world; all that got you was dead.

Remy gave him an awkward kiss on the cheek. "Stay safe," she whispered.

He blinked, not sure how to react to this Remy. He was used to the one who taunted him from behind the bar, the one who had fallen into his bed a few times to relieve the pent up tension that came from working in a strip club, the one who kicked him in the balls less than twenty-four hours ago because he'd jokingly asked for a kiss. He didn't know what the hell to do with the one who kissed him on the cheek and was worried for him. He'd obviously skipped a chapter when writing that book on finesse.

"I will," she said.

"What?"

"I will." She rolled her eyes. "That's what you say back, 'Thanks, Remy, I will.'"

"I will?"

She shook her head. "No you won't."

Bobby's head spun like he was back in high school algebra, one week before giving up and dropping out. "Jesus Christ, woman, make up your fucking mind."

A small smile played on her lips; she took his hand in hers. "You won't stay safe because you have no fucking clue how to do that. Promise you'll at least make sure there aren't too many pieces to put back together this time."

Bobby clenched his hand around hers. "There won't be enough of Sweet left for them ID."

"I don't give a shit about Sweet. I'm talking about you and your stupid brothers." Remy shrugged her bag over her shoulder. "Revenge is going to eat you alive."

"Sweet brought the revenge to my door this time – I didn't go looking for it," he argued to her retreating back as she headed for the door.

She stopped and spun around. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Just what am I supposed to fucking get?"

She looked at the ceiling, like she was looking for divine guidance. "I know you're going to get Sweet. I get that. Whatever the cost, you're going to get him." She tilted her head, a look of disappointment worrying her brow and hardening her mouth. "But that won't be enough for you, Bobby."

"It will be plenty. It will be over."

"For now. But how long will that last?"

"Why do you care? You're talking like …" Shit, he thought. He knew exactly what she was talking like. Like she was more than a quick fuck. Like he meant something to her. Like there could be something more between them. "No," he said outloud, interrupting his thoughts. "Last night wasn't more than some fun. This isn't some fucking romance novel where we go run off together into the sunset. That ain't you and that sure as hell ain't me."

Remy suddenly kissed him, stopping him in mid-rant. He kissed back, practically attacking her mouth. His hands fisted in her t-shirt, the urge to pull it over her head and tumble with her onto the bed so strong that he almost forgot about the cab waiting in the parking lot outside the room.

She pulled back, pushing him away from her as she brought her hand to her swollen lips. She gave him a strange look – part longing, part hurt, part pissed off - and then stormed to the door. She threw it open and looked back at him over her shoulder as she left. "You're a coward, Bobby Mercer."

XxXxXxXxXx

It was hard to pace on crutches, but Jack was getting really good at it.

He was on the sidewalk, across the street from where all hell had broken loose the day before, clomping back and forth with his head down, nervous as hell.