Still Standing

by Kristen Ashley

  She also called to report whether she’d heard, or hadn’t, from Tia.

  And she hadn’t heard.

  Dang.

  “How’s the packing going?” I asked.

  “Now I know why I haven’t moved. I got a lot of stuff, Clarita.”

  I smiled at the phone, knowing she was right. She had enough stuff packed into her little apartment to fill three.

  I pulled out the file I needed, shifting back to the desk.

  “Are we still on for tomorrow night?” I asked.

  She was coming up to Buck’s for enchiladas and to meet Gear and Tatiana, who acted like she’d rather have open heart surgery without anesthetic than meet Mrs. Jimenez, which I hoped wouldn’t make dinner interesting.

  In other words, torture for Mrs. Jimenez and for me.

  “Sí, I can’t wait to meet tu novio. A man who cooks…aiy. Looking forward to that, querida.”

  I sat down at the desk.

  “He doesn’t cook, Mrs. Jimenez, he cooks. He makes hamburgers taste gourmet. Not kidding. When I first bit into his burger, my toes curled, and I almost passed out with delight. He’s so good, he could open a restaurant.”

  I was telling her this as the door opened, and my head came up to smile at whoever walked in, Aces member, delivery man or employee.

  But the second my eyes hit the tall, suited man walking through the door, the smile on my face froze as did the rest of my body.

  Except my heart.

  As with every time I saw that man, my heart squeezed, and it did this painfully.

  I stayed frozen until I heard Mrs. Jimenez call, “Clarita? Are you there?”

  “I…” I swallowed and closed my eyes tight.

  I opened them, and unfortunately, the fevered wish I sent to the universe when I closed my eyes went unanswered.

  He was still there.

  What now, and maybe more importantly, why me?

  “I have to go, Mrs. Jimenez, someone just walked into the office. I need to deal with it.”

  “Por supuesto,” Mrs. Jimenez replied, sounding happy, and she sounded happy because she was happy for me.

  She worried about Tia.

  But me with Buck, Buck’s home and the job Buck gave me, she no longer had to worry about me.

  And this made her happy.

  So my Mexican American Grandma.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she finished.

  “Thanks, yes, tomorrow. Take care, honey.”

  “Hasta mañana, cariña.”

  I put the phone in the receiver.

  “How did you find me?” I asked Nolan Armitage, Rogan’s slimy, arrogant attorney.

  Rogan’s slimy, arrogant attorney who tried to block my divorce because, firstly, he asserted it would hurt Rogan’s defense, me defecting, and secondly, if I was legally untied from Rogan, Nolan couldn’t come after me to pay Rogan’s bills when Rogan ran out of money.

  Therefore, he made the process of the divorce longer, more painful and a lot more expensive, shoving me deeper in a hole which was already pretty darned deep.

  “You opened a cell phone account using West Hardy’s address then you were reported as being employed with Ace in the Hole, Limited,” he answered, looking around, his upper lip curled with disdain then his eyes came back to me. “I see you landed on your feet.”

  I wished I could be surprised he was acting like a cretin.

  But considering he’d never acted anything else, I was not surprised.

  “Are you here to discuss work you’d like done on your house? Because if you are, I need to tell you our clientele is exclusive, and our waiting list is long. It could be years and it’s highly likely you’ll need to accumulate extensive billable hours defending criminal creeps in order to afford it.”

  The lip curl didn’t go away when he stated, “I’m here to talk to you.”

  I stood and turned to face him. “There’s absolutely nothing I want to hear you say.”

  “Actually, I think you’re wrong.”

  “No, I know I’m right.”

  He leaned in.

  “No, Clara, you’re wrong,” he said quietly.

  I shook my head. “Please leave, and unless you wish to talk to one of the boys about a home improvement job, don’t come back.”

  “Rogan’s got cancer.”

  My hand flew out and my fingertips pressed into the desk as my body rocked with this news.

  “I knew you’d want to hear that.” He was still speaking quietly.

  “Cancer?” I whispered.

  “He’s been moved to a prison hospital. It’s not looking good. They’re giving him months, at most.”

  Oh my God.

  I closed my eyes and dropped my head.

  “You’re his life insurance beneficiary,” Nolan went on.

  I opened my eyes and lifted my head.

  “What?” I breathed.

  “Upon his death, you’ll receive five million dollars.”

  I took a step back.

  Then I shouted, “What?”

  “I told you, he told you, both of us told you time and again while you pushed that divorce that he was going to take care of you. You wouldn’t listen. He didn’t listen to me and kept you as beneficiary. Now, as soon as he wastes away, you’re going to be rich.”

  “How could he…how could he…?” I took in a breath, leaned forward and screamed, “How could he have a life insurance policy?”

  “Clara—”

  I threw up my hands.

  “That’s insane!” I yelled.

  “Clara, listen to me,” Nolan demanded, walking to me.

  But I retreated until I hit the file cabinets and had to stop. Though he kept at me until he was less than a foot away.

  I tipped my head back to look at him and shouted, “You have to pay on life insurance policies! How does he have money to pay on a life insurance policy?”

  The side door to the garage opened and Raul, one of our electricians, and one of the biggest fans of my baked goods, was there.

  It was breaktime and he’d come all the way from a job to have his cupcake.

  Totally one of the biggest fans.

  “Is everything okay?” Raul asked, seeing me pressed to the file cabinets and Nolan close to me.

  “No!” I shouted. “No! Everything is not okay!” I looked up at Nolan. “Tell me,” I demanded, “exactly how he could pay on a life insurance policy when he has no money?”

  Nolan was looking at Raul. “We need to talk alone.”

  “We’re not going to talk alone,” I shot back and looked at Raul. “Please, Raul, don’t leave.” Raul nodded, his eyes alert, and I turned back to Nolan. “Now, answer me.”

  Nolan’s attention returned to me. “Clara, you need to ask him to go away.”

  “No!” I screeched. “Answer me! What’s going on?”

  I heard Raul say, “Find Buck,” but I kept my eyes on Nolan.

  Nolan spoke to me.

  “He knew about the cancer before the trial started. Before he even got arrested.” He paused, a significant pause I didn’t entirely understand because my mind was reeling, before he finished, “From the very beginning.”

  I closed my eyes and looked to the side.

  “Oh God,” I whispered. “I can’t believe this.”

  “He was worried things were getting…” I opened my eyes and looked at him, “hot, so he contacted me and made arrangements. We…” he looked at Raul who hadn’t moved, then back at me, “made arrangements with some of the money. Put it in a place they couldn’t find it and they couldn’t claim it. When Rogan dies, you’ll get that money too.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe this.”

  “It’s true, Clara. I told you to stick by him, and I told him, when you didn’t, to scrape you off, but he flatly refused. Now he’s dying, and it’s all coming to you. The five million insurance and a million and a half that’s sitting in an account in what I will share only is an undisclosed location.”


  Six and a half million dollars.

  Six and a half million dollars!

  Six and a half million dollars, and a month ago I was in ecstasy just to eat a Pop-Tart.

  I kept shaking my head, whispering, “Why didn’t you mention any of this during the trial?”

  “Because he told me not to.”

  Why would he do that?

  Why?

  I had no idea if it would help, to reduce his sentence at least.

  But even if it wouldn’t, he should have tried.

  “All that money is free and clear,” Nolan told me. “The cops can’t touch it. The Feds can’t touch it. It’s yours. At least the divorce made that part easier.”

  I stopped shaking my head and glared at him, feeling more bodies entering the room and ignoring them.

  “First, that money is not his. It is not mine. It belongs to hundreds of people who are scrambling to make up their pensions before they retire. Second, did you, or Rogan, ever once think of letting me in on the knowledge there were funds available before my life unraveled because Rogan is a toad and a criminal and a cheat? And before I found myself in a place where I could have died because I was desperate? I mean, my car got repoed, and I got beat up by a sociopath!”

  I ended my diatribe shouting.

  “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”

  I turned my head to see Buck had shoved his way to the front of the bunch of rough and tumble electricians, drywall guys and bikers who were filling the small room.

  “Guess what, honey. My ex is about to die and he’s going to leave me six and a half million dollars. Now we can buy that island we always wanted,” I stated with saccharine sweetness, and Buck’s eyes narrowed on me then they moved to Nolan.

  “You wanna tell me who you are?” Buck asked.

  “Not particularly,” Nolan, clearly not good at reading body language nor having a keen sense of self-preservation, answered.

  “All right, I’ll give you that,” Buck said in his quiet, venom voice. “Now I’ll ask you to get outta my old lady’s space, and you better have a different answer.”

  Nolan’s brows went up. “Old lady?”

  “Move the fuck away from Clara,” Buck growled.

  “Jesus,” Nolan muttered, taking a step away, his lip curled again.

  Buck crossed his arms on his chest and his eyes came to me.

  “Toots, talk,” he ordered.

  I threw an arm out to Nolan. “Buck, this is Nolan Armitage, Rogan’s slimeball attorney.” I threw an arm out to Buck. “Nolan, this is West Hardy, president of the Aces High Motorcycle Club and a decent human being. You don’t meet many of those, so before you go, you might want to take a picture.”

  Some of the men in the room chuckled.

  Buck and Nolan did not.

  Neither did I.

  My gaze went to Buck. “Rogan has cancer. Apparently, he’s had it awhile. Unbeknownst to me, he set things up to take care of me. He hid a bunch of money and has a huge life insurance policy. All of it comes to me on his death, which, Nolan reports, is imminent.”

  “Jesus,” Buck muttered.

  “That just about covers it,” I agreed.

  “He wants to see you,” Nolan put in, and both Buck and my eyes went to him.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “Rogan. He’s asked me to ask you to visit him.”

  I blinked.

  Then I said, “Let me get this straight. He steals from people, cheats on me, completely ruins my life, sets me up for public ridicule and brings me so low, homeless people have to do me favors, and now he wants me to visit him?”

  “I see you don’t get this,” Nolan replied. “I told you and Rogan told you…repeatedly…he has feelings for you, deep feelings. He loves you, Clara, always has. And now he’s dying, and he wants to see you before that happens.”

  “Yes, Nolan,” I spat, leaning into him. “You told me that and Rogan told me that, repeatedly. And sure, I can see that’s the kind of love I’d hold dear, the love of a man who promises me happiness while he fucks everything that moves. And at the same time, while he’s cheating on me, he’s cheating hundreds of people out of the option of having financially-stress-free golden years.” I put both hands over my heart. “I’m awash with happiness. Lead me to him straight away.”

  “Think it’s time for you to leave,” Buck rumbled.

  He’d come close and was situating himself between Nolan and me.

  Nolan didn’t take his eyes off me. “If you don’t go to see him, I’ll advise him to change his beneficiary and alter his will.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I invited, leaning around Buck. “And while you’re advising, do me the favor of sharing with Rogan that he can shove that six and a half million dollars straight up his ass.”

  There were some chuckles and some indrawn breaths.

  Buck made not a noise but shifted so he was almost dead in front of me.

  I shifted so I could see Nolan.

  “Same old Clara,” Nolan muttered, eyes squinty and angry on me. “Everything that man did, he did for you.”

  Now that, that took it too far.

  Without hesitation, I launched myself at him, and Buck turned swiftly and caught me around the waist, holding me back as I pressed toward Nolan.

  “Babe,” he said softly.

  “You have got to be joking!” I screamed at Nolan.

  “You came from nothing and Rogan wanted you to have everything,” Nolan retorted. “Throughout this, all he ever did, he did looking out for you. He gave you a beautiful life, a beautiful home, a beautiful car and put himself on the line to give it to you, and you never said thanks once. You just divorced him when he needed you the most. And after you turned your back on him, he still did everything he could to look out for you.”

  “Let me educate you, Nolan, and feel free to share this with Rogan,” I shot back, still straining against Buck, though mostly at that point, I was doing it so I could see around him and keep eye contact with Nolan. “The way Rogan could have looked out for me was to not commit multiple criminal acts. And I’ll throw in, he might have reconsidered before he paid for sex with multiple prostitutes!”

  “Gash,” Buck gritted. “Get that fuckin’ guy outta here before she explodes.”

  There was movement in the room, but I was still entirely focused on Nolan.

  “You need to arrange to see him,” Nolan persevered.

  “Dude, you need to let it go and move on,” Gash, who was now close to Nolan, advised.

  Nolan twisted his neck to scowl at Gash. “You touch me, you’ll buy yourself problems.”

  “Do I look like I care?” Gash returned.

  Nolan turned back to me.

  Buck glanced over his shoulder to Nolan but kept a handle on me. “You got three seconds to get the fuck outta here, and you gotta know, I count fast.”

  Nolan glared at Buck then he looked at me. “Call me when you’re ready to arrange the visit. I think you can find my number.”

  “Three,” Buck bit.

  Gash moved, and Nolan was shuffled right out the front door with Gash’s hands bunching his suit jacket.

  “Out,” Buck went on, and the bevy of bikers and employees sifted through the door.

  Raul was the last one out, and he closed the door behind him. The whole time he was doing this, his gaze was on me.

  “Babe,” Buck called, and I looked from the door to him, my eyes hitting his brown ones, my flesh feeling his strong fingers pressed into my waist, my nose smelling his scent, fresh-cut wood (he was on a job, working on cabinets in the warehouse), my senses feeling the power of him enveloping me.

  And I disintegrated.

  Buck pulled me with him as he swiveled the office chair around, sat in it, taking me down on his lap. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and shoved my wet face against his neck as the sobs wracked my body.

  He gave me a squeeze.

  “Darlin’, you need to go see him.”

  I froze. />
  Then my head listed up, and I stared at him through watery eyes.

  “Sorry?” I whispered.

  “This upsets you, baby. He fucked you over, but you’re fuckin’ undone. This means he still means somethin’ to you. You gotta go see him. You don’t, you’ll regret it.”

  “He doesn’t mean anything to me.” I was still whispering, and Buck gave me another squeeze while he leaned forward and kissed my nose.

  When he pulled back, he said gently, “Toots, I get you’re mine, so you don’t have to lie to me about this.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  He moved a hand to my jaw, his thumb sweeping through the wetness on my cheek. Then he slid that wetness across my lower lip.

  “Taste that, Toots. You know what that taste is. So do I. And, baby, you don’t need to lie to me. No matter what it is, you never need to lie to me.”

  “He babied me when I was sick,” I whispered, and Buck’s body got tight under mine. “Even if it was a sniffle, he acted like I was an invalid. Bought the whole drugstore, waited on me hand and foot.”

  “Toots—”

  “I used to collect spa products. Face masks. Shampoo. Conditioner. Pumice scrub. Exfoliant. I used to spend hours in the bathroom relaxing and primping. He told me I didn’t need that stuff. I didn’t need to spend that time, that nothing could make me more beautiful than I already was.”

  “Clara, I get it. I don’t wanna hear—”

  “We met young. He dazzled me. Then he wound me up. Wound me up in him. Except for Tia, he was my whole world.”

  “Baby,” Buck pressed his thumb to my mouth, “quiet.”

  I wasn’t quiet.

  I pulled away from his thumb and kept talking.

  “But the only thing he gave me, really, was an education on what love was not. To this day, I’m not certain what love is, but I know what it’s not. Rogan taught me that.” I wrapped my fingers around the side of his neck. “And Buck, after yearning all my life for someone to love me, just love me, that isn’t a fun lesson to learn.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, Toots,” he whispered.

  “I’m not crying because I have feelings for him. I’m crying because I’m so sick and so, so very tired of finding something good and feeling the world solid under my feet and having someone come in and rock it…again.” I dropped my head to his shoulder and muttered, “I’m just tired. Why can’t everyone just let me be?”