Page 52 of Hell Bent

I said, “That doesn’t sound so different. My sister’s dying, is the deal. His mom. He didn’t want to leave her.”

“Rough,” Kristiansen said. I shrugged, because I didn’t know what to say or how to explain the complications of it, and he added, “I hate to say it, but I’m not sure I’m the one who helped Annabelle most. It was more Dyma. Brought herout of her shell, was a friend to her when she needed one, and there wasn’t family baggage there. Authority baggage, I guess you’d call it, though Annabelle doesn’t put a foot out of place much. More the opposite. Annabelle toes the line. Fortunately, Dyma doesn’t.”

“Fortunately?” I asked.

“Maybe not fortunate for Owen,” Kristiansen said, “but she gave Annabelle permission, I guess you’d say, to find her own way. Forge her path. Have some fun for once in her life, and stop making herself small. That’s a work in progress, but it seems to be happening.”

“How do you—” I began, then stopped.

“How do I what?” Kristiansen asked.

When I didn’t answer right away, Johnson said, “Go on and ask. Harlan’s screwed up enough times himself.”

“Hey,” Kristiansen said, and Owen said, “I could make a list, if you want.”

I said, “I don’t know anything about raising a teenager.”

“I’ve got news for you,” Owen said. “Nobody does. Far as I can see, you do your best, try not to make the same mistakes your folks did, and make different ones instead. Talk to them and get them talking, don’t be too worried about being the bad guy if they need limits, try to remember how you felt when you were that age, and maybe get them into sports. Or something else, I guess. Theater. Art. Uh …”

“Showing,” Kristiansen said, “that Owen and I don’t have much frame of reference beyond ‘sports.’ But, yeah, some interest. Some structure outside school.”

Which was all great, but what if the kid wasn’t even going to be in school, let alone have any of those other “structures”?

The only thing I was sure of was the “mistakes” part. That was bound to happen.

As it turned out, it already had.

Another thingI wasn’t used to—going home to somebody, or even something. Lexi was a big change for me, but as I ran up the twelve flights to the condo, because I was too keyed up for the elevator, I wasn’t going home to be alone. I was going home to a dog and a kid, like some kind of suburban dad. And to a woman, because Alix was here. I knew, because she’d texted me.

At your place,the text had read.We went to the grocery store.Which told me Ben hadn’t run away from home yet, anyway. Nothing about the win, though, or about me.

What do you want, dude?I asked myself.A parade? Nobody’s standing around applauding when she finishes a shift, and I’ll bet she’s a whole lot more tired after that than you are right now.

I opened the door and called out, “Hey.” Unnecessarily, because Lexi was galloping up and shoving her head between my legs in her favorite hi-nice-to-see-you greeting. She enjoyed having her head wedged in there, for some reason, and she enjoyed it more if you leaned over and hugged her around the middle at the same time. I’d read some about dogs since she’d come into my life, and the experts told you not to grab a dog like that, because it could make it feel trapped and anxious. Lexi hadn’t got the memo. Born to snuggle.

I didn’t get the chance to do the whole hug thing, because Alix came around the corner into the entry hall and I got distracted.

“It’s not exactly red,” I said, forgetting all about Lexi, “but it’ll do. You look great.”

“Oh,” she said, seeming off-balance for once. “Thanks. My mother sent some clothes. This was the closest I—” She stopped, then, tried to laugh, ran her two hands through hair that was once again tumbling messily to her shoulders, andsaid, “I’m nervous. Stupid. It had better be you and not the NFL thing.”

“Mm.” I wasn’t listening, not exactly. Her sweater wasn’t red, no. It was a wine color, and it slouched off one shoulder. No part of it was tight, and there was no skin showing except that one shoulder, but there was that skin. Cream, or maybe ivory was the right word. Whatever it was, I wanted to touch it. She was wearing flared jeans and boots with some heel and some pointed toe, and she looked the way she had that first night. Tall. Strong. Curvy in an athletic way. Irresistible. I put out a hand and touched, not the bare shoulder, but the other one, she took a step forward, and I was kissing her. Lightly at first, but when her arms came around me …

Well, yeah. Somehow I had a hand on the bare shoulder now, and just that much contact with her skin had me losing control. I was into it good and hard, in fact, when I heard, “No way.” Alix was jumping back, then, and turning, but I kept my arm around her waist, said, “Hi,” to Ben, and grinned.

He said, “You don’t have to do that right in front of me.”

Alix said, “Sorry,” but she was laughing. “He’s appealing. Sorry about that.”

I said, “Hi, Ben. You did OK, then?”

A look between the two of them that I didn’t understand, and Ben was saying, “I thought we were going out to eat. Or you guys can go and I can get a pizza delivered.” Looking wide-eyed and innocent. Where was the attitude?

I was squinting at him, trying to figure it out, when Alix said, “What, you’re turning down great food that somebody else is paying for?”

“I am if you’re going to make out the whole time,” Ben said.

“We were saying hello,” Alix said. Ben shot her a disillusioned glance, and she laughed. “A tactile hello. So, hey, Sebastian. Indonesian or Thai? Not everything’s open onNew Year’s Eve, but those looked like some pretty good choices. I don’t even have to rush home right afterwards, because I have tomorrow off. Luxury.”