Eden shook her head, refusing the bill that Jenn had pulled from the pocket of her jeans. “I’m not missing any money.”
“Twenty bucks?” Izzy asked. “Whoa, that’s great. That’s actually mine. Wow, yeah. It clears up a … big mystery.”
Eden looked at him. “What big mystery?”
“Um,” Izzy said. “Well, I was missing some money and … Now I know what happened to it.” He smiled brightly. “Mystery solved. Yay?”
Eden didn’t smile back at him. “You were missing some money,” she repeated.
And Danny knew exactly where this was going, and it wasn’t going to be pretty. He beat a retreat, pulling Jenn with him toward the living room. She didn’t resist—in fact, she hurried him along, and even stopped Ben and pulled him with them, too.
“Show me how that works,” Jenni told Ben, pointing to his blood glucose meter.
It was a valiant attempt at giving his sister and Zanella privacy, but it was completely in vain. This apartment was so small, there was no way someone in the living room could help but overhear a conversation going down in the kitchen.
“First you have to wash your hands,” Ben told Jenn. “And then you take one of these test strips and put it right here …”
“Great,” Dan heard Eden say to Izzy. “My brother only thought I was a prostitute. But you? You thought I was a thief. Thanks so much.”
“Then you prick your finger on the side, because it hurts less,” Ben said. “At least that’s what they say. It’s all pretty much the same.”
“Sweetheart …”
“Don’t touch me,” Eden said sharply, and Ben looked up, looked at Dan, clearly ready to go to their sister’s assistance if he needed to.
“It’s okay,” Jenn murmured to Ben, even as she met Dan’s eyes. “He would never hurt her.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Eden asked from the kitchen. “Hey, Eden, I’m missing some money. Have you seen it?”
“Because it wasn’t that important?” Izzy said, phrasing it as a question, as if hoping it was the right answer.
“Because you thought I stole it,” she countered.
“Can we talk about this later?” Izzy asked, a tad desperately. “We’re both really tired and—”
“Neesha didn’t take it last night,” Eden said. “It had to be, what? The night before? Which means that all this time, you’ve been willingly—eagerly—sleeping with someone you think would steal money from you.”
“It’s not that simple,” Izzy told her.
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “Because from my end? It’s extremely simple. In fact, I can simplify it down to three little words: go to hell.”
And with that, she marched out of the kitchen, grabbed her handbag, and left the apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.
Zanella, meanwhile, was silent.
They were also silent there in the living room. Ben looked from Dan to Jenni, as if hoping either of them would do something. When they didn’t—Izzy and Eden weren’t the only ones who were exhausted—Ben stood up.
Jenn tried to stop him. “Honey, we should probably just—”
He shook her off, heading for the kitchen as he asked Izzy, “Aren’t you gonna go after her?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Izzy said quietly. “Because … she’s right.”
“Well, I’m sorry might be a good way to start,” Ben pointed out. “Are you sorry?”
“More than you can imagine,” Izzy admitted.
“Then tell her that,” Ben said.
There was silence, then somewhere—from the kitchen?—a cell phone began to blast, its ring tone one of the songs from the South Park movie.
“Shit!” Izzy swore.
Ben gave voice to the obvious. “She left her phone home.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Izzy said as he clomped his way out of the kitchen and over to the door. “Someone call me if she comes back, all right?”
“We will,” Ben promised as Izzy left, closing the door far more gently than Eden had.
It was obvious the kid was worried, and Dan tried to smile at him reassuringly. “You know, even if things don’t work out between Izzy and Eden,” he told his brother, “we’re still going to be okay. We’ll win custody anyway. We’re going to do whatever it takes.” He looked at Jenni for support, but she was looking at him slightly quizzically—in fact, her expression was a gentler variation of Ben’s what the hell are you talking about?
“This isn’t about me,” Ben told Dan indignantly. “Not at all. This is about Eden and Izzy. She loves him. She always has—and he thought she stole from him. That’s gotta hurt.”
“Well, yeah,” Dan said. “That’s … Yeah. I mean, I’m sure she, you know, loves him in her own way.”
“What other way is there?” Ben asked. He wasn’t being a smart-ass. He was seriously asking.
“Um,” Danny said, and when he glanced at Jenn for help, she was wearing her yeah, you can be an idiot, but I love you anyway face. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know Eden very well, either,” his little brother told him, but it wasn’t with judgment, it was matter-of-fact, as he came back to sit next to Jenni, who was still holding his meter. He pointed to the display. “This number tells me how I’m doing—if my blood sugar’s too high or too low. Either is bad. It’s got to be right in the middle.”
“And what does this particular number mean?” Jenn asked.
“It means I’m doing great, which also means it’s okay if I have some carbs, like pizza for an afternoon snack. Hint, hint.”
As Jenn laughed, Dan left them there, talking about Ben’s diabetes, knowing that he’d need to take a crash refresher course himself, but far too tired to do it now. Of course, knowing Jenni, she’d be an expert in a matter of hours, and would be able to teach Dan everything he needed to know.
“So you can eat pizza?” he heard her ask his brother as Danny went into the bedroom and lowered himself carefully onto the bed.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling as they talked about carbs and insulin adjustments and their favorite pizza toppings, as Jenni made Ben laugh, as they called for a pizza to be delivered, as they went back into the kitchen because Ben wanted to check something on Facebook, on Jenn’s computer, and she was happy to help him.
This was what having a family was supposed to sound like—it was what he’d always imagined it would sound like. And Dan closed his eyes and let their words and laughter wash over him as he relaxed enough to fall fast asleep.
After taking a too-long hike through the mall where he and Eden had been fired upon last night and coming up cold, Izzy finally went downtown. He more than half expected to find Eden at D’Amato’s working one of the poles.
It was where he would have gone—if he were her, and he wanted to give himself the biggest fuck you he could possibly deliver.
Or maybe it wouldn’t be a fuck you.
She thought her stripping didn’t bother him. Because he’d told her as much. Except, at the time that he’d said it? He’d pretty much meant it.
Damn, maybe her truthiness-in-the-heat-of-the-moment-itis was contagious, because this was totally her MO. Say something and mean it at the time, but then feel something completely different when a new day dawned and a new situation arose.
A situation such as Izzy’s walking into this place and fearing that he was going to see her up on that stage with a crowd of drooling men around her—all those eyes on her, all those reaching, grasping fingers …
As Izzy went into the club, he stopped just inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the cool darkness. He looked down at the stage through his eyelashes, as if he were watching a particularly gruesome horror movie, but he didn’t see Eden and he didn’t see her, and nope, she definitely wasn’t there.
Which didn’t mean she wasn’t in the dressing room, taking a break.
In theory, he wanted to be in agreement that Eden had the prerogative to do what she wanted, to make her
own choices, to live her life the way she deemed best. In theory, he could understand the whole seemingly neo-feminist viewpoint that a body was a body, and if people wanted to pay outrageous sums to see her unclad, so be it, and more power to her.
But in practice?
It was a totally different animal.
Either that, or something had changed between today and the night they’d discussed Eden’s career as an exotic dancer. Something was different. Some switch had been flipped in Izzy’s brain that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the mere thought of Eden smiling into other men’s eyes, and letting them touch her—just enough to slip their money into her panties, but touch her just the same.
That bill roll she’d showed him only seemed impressive as long as he didn’t think about what it meant. Each of those bills came from a hand, which was attached to a man, who’d probably gotten at least a little hard from watching Eden dance.
And no, Izzy didn’t like that. At all.
But he hadn’t communicated that fact to Eden, so if she had come to work, maybe it was just her way of being practical and efficient and earning the most money that she possibly could, while she still could.
Maybe she was going to take his advice so that she wouldn’t have to lie to the social worker about where she worked, at tomorrow’s meeting. Maybe she’d come here so she could quit—right after she left the stage tonight.
The bouncer with the Marine tattoo was back by the bar, and Izzy nodded to him as he ordered a coffee from the bartender.
“We’re out,” the man told him, without an apology.
“Seriously?” Izzy asked, because damn, he was tired. A beer was out of the question, and the burst of energy he’d get from a cola would rapidly decay into a sugar crash, leaving him even more fatigued. And to him, diet soda tasted like tea made from metal shards.
“Kitchen’s closed tonight.”
“Last time I checked,” Izzy pointed out, “coffee wasn’t food.”
“There’s a Starbucks three blocks down, across from the McDonald’s—for when you’re heading home.”
That was a solution? “But I want coffee now,” Izzy argued, even though he knew it wasn’t going to make a cup magically appear.
What did magically appear was the bouncer, who shifted closer.
“All right, how about an iced tea, no sugar, heavy on the lemon,” Izzy said wearily, then looked at the bouncer. “Name’s Zanella, I’m with SEAL Team Sixteen. I’m going on forty-eight hours without significant sleep. My wife’s kid brother was in the hospital and … Long story. Bottom line, he’s fine, but I’m freaking tired. Anyway, she works here—Jenny—do you know her? Is she on today?”
The big man definitely knew her, and the look he gave Izzy was filled with disbelief. Like, You really expect me to believe she’s married to a dirtbag like you? “I’d have to check,” he said. “But I’m not sure why she didn’t just tell you. You know. Her schedule?”
“It’s been a crazy coupla days,” Izzy said.
He nodded. “Navy SEAL, huh?” He gestured to Izzy’s hand with his many chins. “Where’s your wedding ring?”
“Back in San Diego,” Izzy said. “I came here via Germany.”
Any American—forget former military—who gave half of a shit about the servicemen and -women who were fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq knew that Germany was one of the places you went when you were wounded.
The bouncer took that in and nodded, but then said, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“I’m not looking for trouble,” Izzy said. “I’m looking for my wife. If you see her before I do, please tell her I’m here. I’ll be sitting down in front.”
And with that, he took his plastic cup of mostly ice and a little tea and went down the aisle to one of the few empty tables that was directly in front of the stage. It wasn’t as close as he would’ve liked, but it was close enough for her to see him, should she appear.
And if she did appear? Whether her being there was a fuck you message or a whatever, there was one thing he knew.
He didn’t have the right to tell her what to do.
So he’d sit and watch while his stomach churned, and he’d make sure she wasn’t harmed or disrespected—at least not more than she already was, simply by climbing onto that stage—and then he’d see her safely home.
“Guy who says he’s your husband’s out front.”
Eden looked up at Big John in surprise, and then turned to peek out from behind the curtains that let Alan, the manager, keep an eye on the floor even while he was up here in his office.
“Center,” John told her. “About halfway back.”
And sure enough. There was Izzy, dwarfing the little round table he was sitting behind.
He looked exhausted.
And sad.
Far more like the man Eden had first encountered here at D’Amato’s just a few short days ago than the troublemaker who’d tried to talk her into having a quickie in the bathroom while they waited for Ben at the hospital.
Izzy had been kidding about the going-into-the-bathroom thing—but his kidding was definitely on the square. Which meant if she’d called his bluff, he would have done it. Without hesitation.
Despite the fact that there wasn’t a lock on the bathroom door.
And even though he’d thought, at the time, that she’d stolen money from him.
“I didn’t know you were married,” John said in his deep-woods Arkansas drawl.
“He’s been … out of the country.”
“He was in here a few days ago.” John was definitely suspicious, and determined to protect her—even from herself.
“Yeah,” she said. “We were separated and I thought we were breaking up, but then we weren’t, and … I think we probably are again. Doomed, you know?”
“You need to slip out the back?” John asked. “I could give you a ride home.”
“No,” Eden said. “That’s all right. I’ll just get him and … He’s a good guy, John. Really. He’s just … not the right guy.” She corrected herself. “Well, right guy, wrong time. You know what I mean?”
John nodded seriously. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. You can tell him that. Navy SEAL or not.”
Eden forced a smile, even though she felt more like crying. “Give Ricki a hug for me, and tell her I say hey.”
“I will,” John said.
“Thank you,” Eden said, “for everything.” And she headed out of the office and down the stairs. The dancers weren’t supposed to use the door that led directly out onto the club’s floor, but she opened it anyway and slipped through.
Izzy didn’t see her. Not at first.
But then, even though his back was to her, he somehow sensed that she was there, because he turned. He did a double take—probably because he hadn’t expected to see her here while wearing all of her clothes. Or maybe it was because she was coming toward him, not running away.
“I hate you,” she said as she sat down next to him. “You suck.”
He was definitely tired because he didn’t try to hide the emotions that crossed his face. More of that surprise was mixed with a flash of very real gratitude—no doubt because he wasn’t going to have to chase her back across Las Vegas.
“I know,” he said. “Eden, look, I’m really sorry—”
“The money went missing from … where?” she asked, cutting off his apology, as she looked up to watch Darlene dance. She was new, and even though she was delicately pretty, she wasn’t very good. She definitely needed a how-to session with Nicola, of the basketball boobs. “From out of your wallet?”
“Yeah,” Izzy said. “It went missing from, um … Yeah.”
“Nice,” she said. She didn’t want him to see the hurt in her eyes, but she turned to look at him because she needed to ask, “Why would I take your money?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly, gazing back at her steadily. “That’s why it was a mystery. I couldn’t figure it out.”
“And
it didn’t occur to you to ask?”
He looked away from her then, and she knew—exactly—why he hadn’t asked. He didn’t think she’d tell him the truth.
“Great,” she said, unable to look at him as she fought the rush of tears to her eyes. “You didn’t ask because you wouldn’t’ve believed me. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I mean, why should you be different than anyone else? You think I’m a liar. And a thief. Big fricking deal. I wouldn’t believe me, either, if push came to shove. It just …”
He reached for her hand. “Eden—”
“It gets old after a while.” She jerked her hand out of his grasp, aware that Big John was hovering not too far away, as she caught her breath and steeled herself, forcing herself not to cry.
Which gave Izzy the opportunity to say, “I really am sorry.”
“Sorry for thinking I’m a thief and a liar, or sorry that I am one?”
He didn’t answer right away, which was telling. “Sorry for everything,” he finally said. “Starting back the night we met.”
“Wow,” Eden said. “That’s … an awful lot to be sorry about.”
Izzy nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
“So … What? You’d rather just have never met me?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “No.” He started to reach for her again, but this time stopped before he connected. “I just would’ve done everything really differently.”
“Like what?”
“Like, I wouldn’t have slept with you,” he told her. “Not that night, and not the night we got married, either.”
Eden looked at him. “Even though that’s the one indisputable fact that we both agree on—that we have the world’s greatest sex?”
“Is it really?” he asked quietly, his dark eyes so somber. “If I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me …?”
“So … you think our not having sex—ever—would have made us trust each other?” she asked, struggling to comprehend.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s anything I could’ve done to make you trust me,” Izzy told her.
Eden nodded, feeling sick. “So what do we do now?” she asked. If he left, they’d be at a disadvantage at tomorrow’s meeting. If he left, they might not get custody of Ben. If he left …
Breaking the Rules Page 34
