Page 63 of Not Your Romeo
Neither was crying, and their tones seemed to be upbeat, so I left them to it and went back to bed. I’d woken up to a knock on the door a few times in my life, but it had been a long damn time. The proximity left me sucking in a wild breath, even if it wasn’t all that aggressive of a knock.
“What is it?” I barked.
“Uh–” Rumi timidly stammered.
“Shit.” I groaned; having forgotten she was even there in my dazed state.
“Open it up, Rumi, it’s okay,”Ro murmured, as she shifted to her elbow and sat up slowly.
“My dad said to bring you the phone right away, I’m sorry,” Rumi chirped, holding the phone out and looking away, despite the fact that I was buried beneath a mound of covers and Ro was wearing shorts and shirt.
“It’s okay, Rumi.” I tried to sound gentle, but the sleepiness left me rumbling and her scurrying.
I shrugged at Ro as she hurried after her and put the phone to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“You need to get your phone and answer Cane. He’s got a situation with your son.” Henny seemed to be talking fast. “Light changed, gotta go.”
I heard him accelerate before the line went dead.
I sent the covers flying and tossed Rumi’s phone onto the bedside table before doing a mad scramble to locate my own.
“Ro– Ro, where is my phone?” I barked as I danced around the room in a pair of long sleeping pants. I threw an undershirt on and surveyed the dresser to no avail.
Fuck, I inwardly cursed over and over. I sprinted toward the bedroom door and threw it open just as Ro reached for it on the other side.
“Who the hell is 357?” Ro asked, holding my phone out.
I snatched it from her hand and glanced at the long list of messages. It was like I’d ghosted a prom date.
“Oh, this is bad.” I thought out loud, before my delayed answer came, “Cane.”
“That one of your guys?” she asked.
I ignored her while trying to make sense of the texts that had been shot machine-gun-style, judging from the time stamps.
“Yuh. The one Candy was lap dancing–”
“Right.” She sniffed, before looking over my arm to read them with me.
Zig, I need you to answer.
Zig, pick up, please.
Jesus Christ, Zig, Sauce played me. Wake the fuck up.
“What does he mean ‘played him’?” Ro quietly asked, when I paused on that one and tried to imagine what he meant myself.
I shrugged and kept scrolling.
Zig, he tricked me.
Your son laced a joint after insisting we smoke it to seal a damn deal toward his future sobriety with the harder shit.
“Oh my God.” Ro laughed. “Sauce may be my favorite stepchild. It’s too early to say, I haven’t met any of the others, but he definitely just earned points.”
“You laugh now. Wait. Just wait ‘til our two are up to shenanigans and you’re pullin’ your hair out. It’s in the genes, babe.” I kissed her and pressed dial, ignoring the other twelve messages.
