Jay Crownover - Rome

I was pulling the wood trim off one of the walls in the back. I was working on autopilot, my mind in a place so far away from this dank bar in Denver that I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing. I put my hand on the wall and it landed on a missed finishing nail that was sticking out. It jabbed into the flesh of my palm, which was startling and hurt, but in no way deserved the reaction it got. I swore and threw the hammer I was using across the room. Unfortunately my anger added force to it and my aim sucked, so it smacked into one of the neon beer signs that decorated the wall and shattered the thing into a million pieces. I swore again and let my head fall forward like I just couldn’t hold it up anymore.

When a weighty hand fell on my shoulder, I didn’t have to look up to know it was Brite.

“You need the day off, son.” It wasn’t a question.

“Fucked-up mission. Too many KIA in my old unit. They were just kids, Brite. I shoulda been there.”

He sighed and hauled me toward the bar.

“No, you shouldn’t have been. That was your life then. Had you been there, you very well might have been one of the casualties. Now sit here, get drunk and feel shitty for a minute, but shake it off and live in the now. You got someone I can call for a ride?”

I shook my head but didn’t push away the double vodka and soda he put in front of me.

“You said no drinking while I was here.” I was still reeling and trying to get it together.

“Grief is a hard mistress to have, Rome. She eventually wants all you have to give her. Take a breather someplace you know is safe. All of us have been in your shoes, kid. I just want to make sure you have someone to take care of you later.”

I stared at the drink and blinked stupidly. I shoved my cell phone in his direction. “My brother. Call him when it’s time to go, he might be pissed but he’ll come and get me.”

Brite nodded and put the phone on the bar rail. I rubbed my tired eyes and looked at him to see if he maybe had some of the answers I so desperately needed.

“Does it ever get easier?” Life and death, before and after, then and now, I was just having such a hard time finding my footing. I felt like I was going to fall off a ledge and there would be no going back and the inevitable landing would be the end of me.

He sighed and reached across the bar to clap me on the shoulder.

“No, son, it doesn’t. You just eventually learn how to process it so that it doesn’t end up killing you.”

Well, that sucked. The vodka was cold and oh so welcome going down.

Cora

I was cashing out the last client of the day and waving to Rowdy as he left when the shop phone rang. We always had late clients on Friday and Saturday night, so I wasn’t surprised by it, only I was alone in the shop because everyone else had taken off already. Nash swore up one side and down the other that Phil was actively avoiding him, so when his last client bailed on the appointment, he left early in order to ambush him at his house. Rule had jetted out early after getting a panicked call from Shaw. Something about the water heater leaking and the basement flooding. I never would have guessed Mr. Live By His Own Rules (pun intended) to be so concerned about home repair. Rowdy had stayed until his last client was done and all the other artists had left on time.

I didn’t recognize the number on the display, so I answered it a tad more professionally than I normally did.

“Thanks for calling the Marked, this is Cora. What can I do for you?”

A long pause followed and I heard noise and commotion in the background. I was going to say hello again and then hang up if there was no answer when a gruff voice came across the line.

“I’m looking for Rome Archer’s brother.”

A shiver of apprehension slid up my spine. “Why?”

Again I was met with silence that dragged on.

“Do I have the wrong number?” This guy sounded frustrated and like he meant business.

“Rule is Rome’s brother but he isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?”

There was a sigh. “I hate these new cell phones, I can’t ever figure out how they work. Is there another number where I can reach him?”

I wasn’t in the habit of handing the guys’ numbers out to anyone. If I did that I would have a line of desperate girls stretching from here to Coors Field.

“Can you tell me what it’s regarding? I’m friends with both of them.” It was stretching the truth a little but I didn’t feel too bad about it.

“The big guy is having a pretty bad day. He needs a ride home and I thought his brother would be the best candidate for that particular job today.”

I frowned and tapped my fingernails on the counter. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

The guy laughed. “Darlin’, I don’t think you can really understand just how bad a day it was. I can put him in a cab, but I can’t take him myself because it’s tournament night and the Bar is packed. But I need to see that he gets home safe and sound.”

I puffed out a breath that sent wispy strands of short hair floating over my forehead. Rule would go get him if I called him, so would Nash, but there was already enough tension between those guys that I figured I would just take care of it myself and save everyone a headache.

“I’ll come get him and see that he gets home in one piece.”

“Ahh … no offense, darlin’, but that is whole lot of unwieldy soldier in a piss-poor mood and three sheets to the wind. You might wanna let the brother handle this one.”

I wasn’t a girl who backed down from a challenge, and Rome Archer drunk and grumpy seemed to be his default anyway. I wasn’t scared of him. Plus it always galled me being told I couldn’t do something just because I was a girl.

“I have to do a bank drop and I’ll come get him. Where is he at?”

The gruff voice gave me directions to a bar located off the beaten path down on Broadway. He once again mentioned I might need physical help trying to maneuver all the intoxicated bulk that was Rome out of the bar. I shook my head in disgust and told him I was just going to have to figure out how to fit the giant into my Mini Cooper. The guy laughed so hard that I thought he was going to hurt himself. When he finally stopped he told me that he had long since hijacked Rome’s keys and he would just help me pour him into his own truck. After I got him home I could come back for the Cooper. It sounded like the best plan, even though I would have loved to have a picture of all that brawn crammed in my little car. It would have been hilarious.

In the time it took me to do the deposit for the shop, find the bar, find a place to park, and find the front door since there wasn’t any kind of sign, or door guy, or any indication of where I was going, Rome’s condition had apparently gone from bad to worse. He was actually slumped on the bar, his head hung low like his neck couldn’t hold it up anymore, and the dim light was casting dark shadows on his face. He looked terrible and tired, and most definitely wasted. His pretty eyes were open only half-mast, watery and bloodshot. His mouth was twisted in an ugly frown and even though the air-conditioning was on, I could see a thin film of sweat covering his skin. His big, battle-scarred hands were shaking where he was holding an empty tumbler between them, and it looked like he was having an argument with the huge bearded man behind the bar.

I carefully walked up behind him and caught the eye of the guy who looked like he had given birth to every Hells Angel ever to walk the earth.

“Hi, I’m Cora.”

The guy gave me a quick once-over and lifted an unruly eyebrow. “Tiny little thing, aren’t ya?”