by Karen Cimms
He escorted her back to the waiting room. “Good luck. I hope it won’t be much longer.”
The room had cleared somewhat since she’d first entered, and there was a seat available in the far corner. Shaking with exhaustion, Kate tucked her clutch up under her arm and pulled the jacket tightly around her. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes. By the time she felt someone tapping her shoulder, she’d lost all track of time.
“Hey,” Tom slipped into the chair beside her. “How’re you doing?”
She squinted against the harsh fluorescent light. “I’ve been better. What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Almost three.”
“Oh, Tommy. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about. He’ll be released soon. They’re processing him now.” His lips formed a thin, straight line. “Listen, Kate . . .”
Judging by the look on his face and the way he was holding back, things were far worse than what she’d been told. “Just tell me. At least no one died, right?”
“Well, no.” Deep lines creased his forehead. “He’s still in surgery.”
Oh, shit. She hadn’t been serious.
“It’s just that when they towed Billy’s friend’s vehicle to the impound lot, an inspection was done of their belongings. Billy had cocaine, marijuana, and a wooden pipe stashed in his guitar case.”
She clenched her fist so tightly her nails bit into her palm. So much for promising he’d stop using hard drugs. Of course, he probably didn’t consider cocaine a hard drug—not compared to, say, heroin. C’mon, Kate. Perspective.
“In addition to the initial charges, he’s also facing possession and possession of drug paraphernalia. Because of his prior arrest record—and I don’t think his attitude in there helped, either—the magistrate originally set bail at a hundred thousand dollars.”
She could feel herself deflate.
Tom reached out as if to pat her knee but blanched at the bare leg below his hand. With no safe surface, he drew his hand closed and pulled back. “Just so you know, I had to drop a couple of names in there. The magistrate lowered bail to fifty grand, and he’s allowing you to post ten percent.”
“You didn’t!” That was the last thing she wanted.
“The quicker we get him out of here, the better. There’ll likely be a court reporter stopping by to check on the overnight arrests soon, and once they learn he’s here, it’ll just be a matter of time before it’s in the news anyway. It’s not going to be a secret, Kate. Might as well use Doug’s connections to get him out of here without photos.”
Doug, her son-in-law. Although Rhiannon was far too young to marry, despite being older than Kate was when she married Billy, her daughter had married into a well-connected, moneyed family. Her husband was an attorney. His father, Douglas Sr., was a county judge with political ambitions. Kate couldn’t help but wonder how the conversation unfolded on the ninth hole when it came to his honor’s questionable in-laws.
“I’ve yet to sort it all out,” Tom said, “but you may want to hire Doug’s firm for this anyway. If Billy’s convicted, there’s a chance he could see jail time, not to mention fines of at least fifty thousand dollars or more. Don’t panic yet, but let’s not rule that out, okay?”
“Too late. I started panicking when I got the phone call, and I moved right into apoplexy when you said ‘possession.’” She shook her head as if that could make it go away. Maybe she was still asleep. Maybe Tom wasn’t even here yet. Maybe, please God, she was still at home, asleep on the couch, and Billy had missed his plane and lost his cell phone—
“You okay?”
No. Definitely not okay.
She gave him a tremulous smile. “Maybe he should stay behind bars. It might be safer, given the way I’m feeling about now.”
Tom looked uncomfortable, but got down to business and explained what the charges were. Although it sounded grim, the man Billy assaulted most likely didn’t have any life-threatening injuries. That was the most serious charge. If they could prove Billy was defending himself or his friend, it might help.
“We’ll do whatever we can to limit the damage, but keep an open mind about Doug’s firm.”
Kate let out a long, deep breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and leaned back. When she shivered, Tommy slipped an arm around her.
They hadn’t known each other well growing up; Tommy had been a few years ahead of her in school and more Joey’s friend. Once he’d joined his father’s practice, he became their attorney, which included dealing with Billy’s previous arrests for possession and DWI.
Tommy was so solid, so sensible. Probably a good husband, too—responsible and trustworthy, a man who came to the rescue, not someone who needed rescuing. He made a good living, had a beautiful home. Would she have been happy with someone so sweet and safe? With her thumb, she spun her engagement ring around her finger.
If she were a betting person, she’d wager that Tommy and Stephanie had sex every Saturday night from eleven to eleven fifteen. Then it was church the next morning, brunch at the club, and dinner with his parents Sunday evening. The thought of Tommy taking Stephanie up against the wall in the shower didn’t quite ring true.
Safe. Secure. Boring.
Was there something wrong with her that she’d choose hot, steamy shower sex over a husband who was home every night and hadn’t once lost his license? She sighed, loudly.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she lied.
A door clanged open. Tom stood and walked toward the hallway, then nodded in her direction. She tucked her clutch under her arm and followed.
Billy’s back was to her as she came around the corner. Snug black jeans hugged his long legs. A long-sleeved black shirt with the tails out and the cuffs turned up showed off the tattoos covering his forearms. His hair was messy and loose, hanging well past his shoulders. He and Tommy were speaking, and when Tommy glanced in her direction, Billy turned slowly, then snapped back to Tommy when he realized who was standing behind him.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he practically growled. “I didn’t tell you to call her.”
“He didn’t call me,” she answered, hurt as well as angry. “And is that all you have to say?”
The man standing before her was a far cry from the one she’d kissed goodbye over two months ago. His neatly trimmed goatee had grown out into a scraggly beard. He needed a shower badly, and although it was the middle of the night, he wore sunglasses. A long, thin cut above his eyebrow was held together with several Steri-Strips. Another near the bridge of his nose had begun to swell. An angry red mark blossomed on his cheek, and there were hints that his eye would soon be black and blue.
“If I wanted you here, I would’ve called you. You shouldn’t be here.” He scowled at Tommy as if he were the reason behind all of them being there.
Kate slipped off the sergeant’s jacket. “Neither should you.” She tapped on the thick glass to get the desk officer’s attention, then waited by the inner door until she came around to retrieve the jacket.
Billy watched as she walked back, his mouth curling into that trademark smile, the one that still caused her to melt like a teenager.
Not this time. This time, she was pissed.
“Well, I see you came dressed to impress.” His grin grew, and the cut on his bottom lip split open, blood welling in the spot. A memory flashed before her of a night long ago when she hadn’t been nearly as angry as she was now, yet she had punched him in the stomach. Tempting.
“Let’s go.” She started toward the exit.
Billy shoved his wallet, keys, and a handful of loose change and guitar picks into his pocket. He jammed his cell phone, which had a broken screen, into the other pocket.
“Where’s the rest of my stuff?” he demanded.
“Everything that was in the van has been secured,” Tommy explained. “You can wait until they bring it down, or you can come back and get it tomor
row.”
“Do you have any idea how much that Gibson is worth? Not to mention the stuff in my bag.”
The woman behind the glass eyed him warily.
“If something happens to any of it. If one fucking pick is missing—”
Tommy stepped close, the muscles in his jaw clenched. “I’m going to strongly suggest you not stand here and threaten the Andrewsville Police Department, especially within hearing range of witnesses and under surveillance of a closed-circuit television.”
Billy glanced up at the camera and flipped it off with both hands. “This sucks balls.” With one last glare at Tommy, he jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, ignoring both of them.
It was like she’d been dropped from the sky after being caught up in a tornado. After all these years, she thought she’d seen every possible side of her husband, but this was one Billy she hadn’t met before. Sure, he could be a bit of a jerk the first day or two coming off a long tour. She attributed that to the sharp dichotomy between life on the road and life as a husband and father. He kept the two separate, but there had to be some blurring of lines as he made the transition from the guy who had roadies do his dirty work while on tour to the guy who had to take out the trash and clean up after the dog at home.
And of course she’d seen him angry and nasty. His temper was legendary: Billy McDonald, bad boy of rock ’n’ roll. Personally, she thought much of it had been grossly exaggerated. At least she had thought so.
An officer appeared with Billy’s guitars and duffle bag. After signing off, Billy grabbed his things and headed for the exit without waiting for Kate, letting the door swing closed behind him. Part of her wanted to drop to the floor and remain there in protest. She was that tired and that angry. Besides, she had the keys. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Tommy asked.
“Honestly?” Her heels clicked across the tile floor. “I have no idea. I’ll get through tonight. No promises about tomorrow. You may have to bail me out of jail.”
“If you don’t want to drive back with him, I’ll take him.”
Throwing a frown in Tommy’s direction, she shook her head. “We’ll be fine. Go home. Tell Stephanie I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow so we can figure out where we go from here.”
Billy was waiting at the end of the sidewalk. She ignored him as she passed.
When they reached his car, Tommy leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“Hey!” Billy called from several yards away. “Go kiss your own wife!”
He’d been in jail for hours, yet the way he staggered, Kate couldn’t help wondering if he was still drunk or stoned. Or maybe he’d just been knocked senseless in the fight.
She looked up at Tommy. “There’ve been lots of women over the years who’ve wanted to take Billy McDonald home, but that’s my job. I’m the lucky one.”
Chapter Six
Billy lowered himself into the front of Kate’s Saab, then dropped the seat and closed his eyes. She slid in beside him and waited.
No explanations. No apology. No nothing.
Her anger building, she plugged in her iPhone, logged onto Pandora, and queued up a heavy metal station, hoping the loud, pounding music would add to the headache he was probably nursing. To be honest, what she really wanted to do was pound him with her fists. She’d never been this furious, and it was only the beginning.
Because of this boneheaded stunt, they could lose everything. He promised her he’d quit using hard drugs years ago, especially after she found out he’d been messing with heroin. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted him to take the gig with Stonestreet. Each time he had called, she could tell something wasn’t quite right. He’d denied anything was wrong, but she could feel the tension radiating off him even though they were hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles apart. He never said anything outright. Of course he didn’t want her to worry. He also didn’t want her to think she’d been right.
Unfortunately, being right gave her little satisfaction.
When the urge to throttle him had faded and she was calm enough to drive, she pulled out of the parking lot.
Despite the abrasive rhythm and screeching vocals of AC/DC and Metallica, bands he’d cut his teeth on, Billy was asleep before she’d gone more than a couple of blocks. James Hetfield screamed out the lyrics to “Battery”; Billy snored; and Kate’s head threatened to explode.
She pulled over and keyed in Justin Bieber. After an endless string of “baby, baby, baby,” Billy lifted his head and glared at her.
“What the fuck is this?” he grumbled.
She focused on the empty highway.
“Turn it off!” he bellowed. “Jesus Christ, Kate, it’s giving me a headache!” He unfastened his seatbelt and rolled toward the window.
She raised the volume. If she’d known the words, she would’ve sung along.
Billy jerked himself up and smacked the off button with his open palm. He pushed the seat back as far as it would go and lay back down.
She waited a minute, then turned it back on.
“Turn it off!”
When she did nothing, he reached over and slammed the dashboard, then grabbed her phone from the cup holder.
“Turn it on again and I’ll throw this out the fucking window! Jesus, Kate. Gimme a fucking break.”
He slept, and she seethed in silence the rest of the way home. The voices in her head imagined the fight they would have. Imagining it was usually as far as she got, though. Billy would misbehave, and after stewing for a few hours, she would hand him a Get Out of Jail Free card.
She cringed; that analogy hit a little too close to home this time.
It was after four by the time she nosed the Saab up the driveway. She reached over to wake Billy, who was snoring loudly, but stopped herself. He could sleep in the damn car for all she cared.
She got out and slammed the door. Hard.
She let Charlie out, put the plate and fork from her birthday dinner into the dishwasher, and grabbed the bottle of white zinfandel from the refrigerator. She filled her wine glass and was heading upstairs when Billy came crashing through the screen door. The strap from his duffle bag caught the handle, and he tugged so hard she thought he would tear it off.
“Were you gonna let me sleep in the car all night?”
She glared at him over the top of her glass.
“Whatever.” He shook his head dismissively, as if he were the one who deserved to be angry.
He emptied his pockets on the kitchen counter, slipped off his sunglasses, and tucked them into the neck of his shirt.
“I’m starving.” He yanked open the refrigerator and peered inside. “What’ve we got to eat?”
He helped himself to a bottle of Molson and turned expectantly toward her, curious as to what she was going to feed him. Kate’s blood pressure ticked up a few points. His eye was already turning black and blue. In addition to the cuts on his nose and forehead, there was a small cut above his cheekbone she hadn’t seen earlier, near a faded scar from a long-ago fight. Even so, he seemed more obnoxious than hurt.
Her fingers tightened on the bowl of her wine glass until she thought it might shatter. “Are you serious?”
“What? I haven’t eaten since . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his scraggly beard. “I don’t know. Maybe before the show or something. I’m hungry.” He poked around in the refrigerator and pulled out the quiche, made a face, and asked if there was something else.
“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered.
As she tried to move past him, Billy grabbed her wrist, and she recognized a different kind of hunger.
“I didn’t tell you how beautiful you look.” His finger traced the line of her jaw, a slow smile curled his lips.
She knew all too well that if she spoke, she would likely regret it. They needed to put a night between them and sort things out in the morning. Morning, hah! She glanced at the clock above the stove, still blinking from the st
orm. What was she thinking? He wouldn’t be functional until midafternoon at the earliest.
He dragged her toward him and buried his face in her neck. Ugh. Sweat and whiskey seeped through his pores.
“It’s been too long, Katie. I need you.” And just like that, he went from arrogant to contrite, maybe even pleading. “I get crazy when we’re apart.” His breath, warm in her ear, triggered the tiny hairs along her arm. “How ’bout we head upstairs? I need a shower first.” His teeth scraped the nape of her neck to just behind her ear. “Of course, you could join me.”
She pushed against his chest, but his hold tightened.
“Ouch.” The sweetness evaporated as quickly as it had come. “For such a hot-looking piece of ass, you’re pretty damn cold.”
That was it. “You’re a jerk.” She yanked her wrist from his grip, grabbed her wine glass, and stomped up the steps.
“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be mad.” His laughter following her until she slammed the bedroom door.
She struggled to remove the strappy sandals, then kicked them into the closet. She grabbed an old, comfortable nightgown, cursing the couple of hundred bucks she’d dropped at Victoria’s Secret to welcome Billy home, and then locked the bathroom door behind her.
Most of her makeup was now under her eyes, giving her the look of a tired Goth. Lovely. She grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed. After patting her face dry, she peeled off the leather dress and slipped into her nightgown. The habit of brushing her hair one hundred strokes each night before bed, something Joey had ingrained in her, was so strong she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep if she didn’t do it. The routine soothed her, and if ever she needed soothing, tonight was the night.
Perched on the edge of the tub, she dragged the brush through her hair and replayed the day in her head. What a birthday. A flower delivery that wasn’t for her. No phone call from either of her children.
And now?
She wouldn’t even acknowledge her birthday from now on. Totally not worth it.
She snapped off the light and came out to find Billy sprawled sideways across the handmade quilt, naked and snoring loudly. His clothes lay in a pile on the floor next to his duffle bag.
