Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (32 page)

“What
you
think is a matter of supreme indifference to me, dear. If you’re like the rest of his girls, you’ll be gone in an hour.” Judith eyed her with the venom of a cobra preparing to strike. “Quinn’s always had a weakness for a particular type of woman. Groupies, they’re called in your profession. Is that how you met him?”

“Jesus, Mom!” Quinn exclaimed. “This is too much even from you! Come on.” He grasped Shan’s elbow. “Neither one of us has to stand here and listen to this bullshit.”

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, dear,” Judith called after them. “I doubt I’ll be seeing you again.”

Quinn tried to pull Shan through the door, but she hung back. “Nice to meet you, too. Now I see why he’s so fucked up. How else could he be when he was raised by a ball-busting bitch?”

George winced and Judith’s mouth fell open. Even Quinn looked briefly startled, but quickly regained his composure. “And on that note,” he said smoothly, “I think we’ll be leaving.”

He hustled Shan down the hall, out the door, and shoved her onto the Harley. “That went well. Glad I let you talk me into it.” He switched on the ignition, roaring the engine over her reply.

“Quinn, wait!”

When Shan looked over, George was on the front steps. Quinn glared at him, helmet in hand.

“I want you to go home, calm down, and call me tomorrow,” George said, bellowing to be heard over the Harley. Shan reached forward and shut off the ignition, despite the withering look Quinn shot at her. “I’m sorry things didn’t go better tonight,” George continued, at a more reasonable volume.

“Whose fault is that, George?” Quinn donned his helmet.

“Actually, it’s
both
your faults. Yours and your mother’s,” George said, coming down the stairs, “and I, for one, am sick and tired of this foolishness. Call me tomorrow and we’ll talk. We’re going to straighten this mess out once and for all.”

Quinn sputtered and George cut him off. “Fine. Don’t call. Just come for Christmas dinner,” he said. “At our home, which is also
your
home. Your family’s home.”

“Last time I saw Mom, she told me to get out of that home and not to come back. I’m only respecting her goddamned request!”

“That was five years ago.” George shook his head. “Good lord, I’ve never seen anyone hold a grudge like you do. You’re so damned stubborn!”

“
I’m
stubborn? What about her? She’s still trying to run my life. And so are you, apparently.”

“I’m sorry about that, Quinn,” George said. “I didn’t enjoy invading your privacy, but your mother was frantic. We wouldn’t have to resort to such measures if you’d just talk to us. We all love you, you know. Especially your mother.” Quinn snorted and he sighed. “She misses you. She can’t say it, but she does. She cries sometimes,” he added gently. “She’s crying right now. I think she’s suffered enough.”

Quinn looked down at the ground, frowning.

George reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to come home, son. I know you’re still angry at her, but can’t you do it for me?”

Quinn slipped out from under George’s hand, mounted the bike, and fastened the straps on his helmet. The engine roared again.

“Christmas dinner,” George persisted, shouting again. “Four o’clock.”

When Quinn didn’t answer, Shan slipped her hand under his jacket and poked him, hard.

Quinn gunned the engine again, hesitated, and said, “I’ll think about it.” Then Shan had to grab for his waist as he peeled out, roaring up the driveway in a most satisfying manner.

The next morning, Shan was up bright and early. Christmas hadn’t involved any real celebration for her since before her mother died, so she was excited for this holiday that would involve some actual festivities. She had gifts for her roommates and Dave, as well as something extra special for Quinn: an African djembe drum that she’d seen him examine several times at the Guitar Center. It was a beautiful piece that cost almost three hundred dollars and she’d raided her guitar fund to pay for it.

She could hear that her roommates were up and about, so she went downstairs to the kitchen, where she found them preparing a pancake breakfast. Everyone was pitching in except for Quinn, who was nowhere in sight.

She knew he’d been upset last night. They’d gotten home around nine and he’d disappeared into his room almost immediately, not to be seen again for the rest of the evening. When she’d gone to bed, she could hear him in there, playing the Yamaha keyboard. She listened until the wee hours and she could still hear him playing when she finally fell asleep.

“Good morning,” Ty said cheerfully. He was half filling glasses with orange juice, topping each with a healthy dollop of champagne. “Ready for a little good cheer?”

“Sure.” Shan swallowed her methadone, chased it with a glass of water, then accepted a drink. “Merry Christmas,” she said, taking a sip and nodding her approval.

“Methadone and mimosa,” Dan laughed. “Talk about a happy holiday!” He was smoking a joint as he poured batter into the skillet over which Denise was presiding.

“Did Q go out?” Shan asked, moving to the stove to take charge of the sausage.

“Yes, but he’ll be back anytime,” Denise said. “He went out early, to…”

The front screen door slammed and Quinn himself appeared. “Good morning,” he said, tossing the van keys to Dan.

“Mission accomplished?” Dan asked, catching them with a grin.

Quinn nodded. “What mission is that?” Shan asked.

Quinn didn’t reply. “What can I do?” he asked instead, and Denise handed him the spatula.

After breakfast, they gathered around their small Christmas tree, which was woefully underdecorated. Dan’s parents had contributed a box of green and red glass balls and Denise had a few ornaments, but nobody else owned any holiday decorations. Shan had fashioned some construction paper chains and she and Denise spent an afternoon stringing popcorn, so the tree was still pretty, in a Charlie Brown sort of way.

They all had modest gifts for one another. When Shan opened Quinn’s gift to her, she discovered a shoe box filled with wire and hardware doodads, and she shot him a quizzical look.

“Keep digging,” he directed. He didn’t smile, but he’d been fairly subdued all morning.

She pulled out a handset. “A telephone?”

“Yup,” he said. “I’ll install it for you, in your room. That way, when you tell Oda what a dickhead I am, I won’t have to listen. The closet door doesn’t block the sound, you know.”

Shan turned beet red, but the rest of them were laughing. Even Quinn’s face bore the ghost of a smile and, when he opened her gift to him, he was astonished. “What were you thinking?”

“I got a deal on it,” she said smugly, which wasn’t true.

“Bullshit. I know
exactly
how much this cost, because I’ve been coveting it for months. You’re supposed to be saving for a new electric, so you can get rid of that crappy Peavey.” But he was untying the bow, pulling the drum from the nest of paper she’d swathed it in, positioning it between his knees. He experimentally slapped it once, twice, then he was banging out a riotous 6/8 groove that made the champagne glasses vibrate.

When he stopped, they all applauded. “Incredibly rich timbre. Needs tuning, though,” he pronounced and beamed at Shan. “You had no business spending so much money, but I fucking love it. Thank you.”

Shan tittered, pleased, and began to collect the scraps of wrapping paper that littered the floor. After a moment, she noticed no one was helping and looked up.

Everyone was watching her, including Quinn. “I have another present for you,” he said.

A ripple seemed to go through the room as he put the drum aside. He settled her on the couch, instructing her to close her eyes. She obeyed, then heard him leave the room. “No peeking,” Denise ordered when she opened her eyes.

Shan quickly squeezed them shut again as she heard the bang of the screen door. There was a chorus of
oohs
and
aahs,
then something was placed in her lap.

“Okay,” Quinn said. “Open up.”

She did, and her brain didn’t immediately register what it was, besides a pile of warm black fuzz. When she touched it, a pink tongue emerged to lick her hand. “
A puppy!”

Quinn was smiling. “She’s a black Lab. Mostly, anyway.”

“Oh, Q! I couldn’t love anything more!”

“Haven’t you always said pets were a pointless drain of money?” Dan said.

“Yeah, unless they eventually end up on a plate with steak sauce?” Ty added.

Quinn ignored them. “I thought you’d be safer on your hikes if you had a dog with you.”

“I just
love
her!” Shan buried her nose in black fuzz. “She’s the best thing anyone’s ever given me. Well, one of the best,” she corrected herself, recalling the Angel. “You do good presents, Mr. Marshall. But is it okay with everyone else?”

“Oh yeah. He cleared it first,” Dan said. “We all voted in favor of a new family member.”

Quinn reached out to scratch the puppy behind her ears. “She needs a name,” he told Shan.

“I’m thinking Bertha,” Shan said.

“
Bertha?
” Denise wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. She should have a pretty name. Besides, I’d expect something more esoteric from you.”

“Do you think it’s yucky?” Shan asked Quinn.

“A little, but I’m with you. It
is
esoteric,” he said to Denise.

“I don’t follow,” Denise said.

“From the Dead song,” Quinn translated, “written by Garcia and Hunter, Shan’s all-time favorite song-writing duo. I have to agree with Denise, though,” he added. “It isn’t very pretty.”

“Casey Jones, then,” Shan said.

Quinn grimaced. “Please don’t name her after a coke song.”

“How about Corrina?” Ty said.

“That’s pretty,” Dan said. “Cool tune, too.”

Shan shook her head. “Jerry didn’t write that one.”

The group pondered for a while. “How about Sugaree?” Quinn said finally. “He wrote that. And it was one of the first songs I ever heard you play.”

And Sugaree became the puppy’s name.

After the Christmas-morning carnage had been collected and disposed of, Shan fed the puppy her first breakfast in her new home, then took her outside to the creek bed. She sat down in the folding chair under the sycamore tree and watched Sugaree root among the stones. “Do your business,” she told her. The puppy stared at her blankly.

The back door opened and Quinn emerged. “Any luck?”

“Not yet, but I’m patient.”

“I’ll help you with it. I’m glad you like her,” he added, smiling.

“I
love
her. Thank you, Q. You’ve made this holiday really special for me. More special than it’s been in…well. A long time,” she said, thinking of her mother.

Her words seemed to hang in the air as Quinn sat down beside her, resting his hands on his knees. “I think I’m going to take George up on his invitation,” he said.

Shan’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Well, the ice is broken now. Smashed, I suppose.” He shrugged. “I don’t know that it could go much worse than it did last night, so why not? I think he might be right. It’s time.”

Shan nodded. “They love you very much, you know. Even your mother,” she added gently.

“Well, she has a hell of a way of showing it.” He stood up. “Do you want to come?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not this time. You need to get to know your family again and, if I came, it would just complicate things. Especially after last night.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” he said, then frowned. “I hate to leave you alone on Christmas, though.”

“I won’t be alone.” She looked at Sugaree, who was just concluding a pee.
“Good girl!”
She leapt up and scooped the puppy into her arms, covering her head with kisses.

Ty had no plans, either, so Shan spent the afternoon with him eating Chinese food, watching
It’s a Wonderful Life,
and attempting to housebreak Sugaree. Dave came by later with a bottle of wine and a quarter ounce of grass, and everyone had the munchies by the time Dan and Denise returned with Christmas cookies and leftover pie.

Quinn still wasn’t home when Shan retired to her bedroom with her puppy. He’d suggested that Sugaree sleep in the kitchen and the rest of her roommates had been fine with that, but Shan didn’t want to leave her alone. The little dog came from the animal shelter in Glendale, Quinn had told her, taken there by someone who found her abandoned in a box by the side of the road. The story broke Shan’s heart and she resolved that this puppy would never know another scared or lonely night.

She was playing her guitar and watching Sugaree chew on an old sock when Quinn knocked at her door. She called for him to come in. He was dressed for bed, in a ratty T-shirt and a pair of blue sweats with a
berklee
logo on the thigh, and carried a small paper bag. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied. “Can I come in and hang out, for a little bit?”

“Of course.” She moved over to make room. Quinn flopped down on the futon and stroked Sugaree, who was rolling between them.

“I should have gotten her some toys,” he said apologetically. “I’ll take you to pick some out tomorrow, if you want. I brought her this, though, straight from the holiday ham.” He pulled a bone out of the bag and offered it to the puppy, who fell upon it with gusto.

“How did it go?” Shan asked, over Sugaree’s crunching.

“Not bad,” he said. “Not great, either. It was a little intense. I’m still digesting it.” He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate further, so she turned the subject to less sensitive matters.

“I’m working on something. Just a fragment, really, but I think it could be the beginning of a song. Do you want to hear it?”

“Absolutely.”

She took up her guitar and played the riff, and Quinn was intrigued enough to fetch the Yamaha. A couple of hours later, they had the bones of a new melody.

Shan yawned as she put their instruments away while Quinn took Sugaree outside. When he brought her back upstairs, Shan settled her on the bed and Quinn looked dubious. “You realize, don’t you, that she’s not going to be housebroken after just one day?”