A/N: Mom, this one's for you. I promise to keep writing.
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"When would the cycle end?" I asked myself. Joe and I are stuck in an endless loop of dating, fighting, breaking up, making up, and repeating. The repetitiveness of our on-again and off-again relationship was enough to drive anyone insane. I knew what I needed to do. It was doing it that was the hardest decision.
Things aren't much better with Ranger. Granted, I let the man kiss me despite my relationship status with Morelli. I supposed someone could classify it as cheating, but I don't have sex with Ranger while sleeping with Morelli. Yes, I understand the hypocrisy of kissing one man while involved with another, and I would be furious if I caught Joe kissing Terry Gilman while he and I were dating.
Unfortunately, people talk. Specifically, the women in the Burg spread gossip and half-truths as though they were gospel spoken during Sunday mass. I leaned back in my car and stared out the window from the corner of Hamilton and Roosevelt. My parents' house was up the block on the right side of Roosevelt, and I felt the urge to visit for dinner. Before I could change my mind, my stomach grumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since telling Joe I didn't want to get back together. Nothing changed between us. I wasn't that desperate to give him another chance.
The call of home compelled me to drive to my parents' house. It was five minutes to six, so there wasn't the threat that my arrival would somehow dry out the roast. I wondered if Dad would offer advice when I asked.
As I drove the remaining block and parked my latest piece of shit car on the street, I thought about what I wanted out of life. One name popped into my mind. Ranger. I wanted to spend my life with Ricardo Carlos Manoso. However, Batman wasn't the marrying kind. He enjoyed his freedom. Was that what I wanted deep down? Actually, yes, it was. Freedom meant not answering to anyone else. It was how Ranger lived his life. He never said he wanted his freedom, but who was I to keep him down?
I had a magical night with Ranger, one we often repeated whenever Joe and I broke up. Thinking about what I had with him, then lost when I returned to Joe, had me wanting to cry. I needed some comfort food. Sure, it would come with a side of "why me" and "why can't you be more like Valerie and settle down?" But I would gladly take that abuse if it meant filling my stomach tonight. My stomach rumbled its demand for nourishment. With the decision made, I parked on the street and exited the car.
Grandma Mazur opened the door, and I immediately smiled. Her shirt was low cut, and she had a push-up bra, which made her cleavage resemble the swollen nipples of a nursing dog. It was less than flattering. "I think your bra is too small," I whispered.
"Nonsense. Sissy Cramp said the best bust-enhancing brassieres were a cup size too small. I wanted more lift, so I went with two cups smaller. What do you think?" Grandma asked, wigging her breasts. I prayed her breasts wouldn't suddenly pop out of her bra during dinner.
It temporarily distracted me from hiding the pain of loneliness I felt without dating Joe and missing Ranger while he was out of town. The last time I saw Ranger was a few minutes after I told Joe where to shove the meatball sub he brought to my apartment in exchange for gorilla sex. Those were Joe's words, not mine.
Exactly two minutes after Joe's car peeled from the driveway, kicking up loose debris, Ranger parked in the spot beside the door. He spared a glance at my bedroom window, where I watched his lip curl into an almost smile. When Ranger got to my apartment, he kissed me passionately enough to weaken my knees. Ranger brushed the loose curl, tucking it behind my ear, then said he had to visit Miami for a few weeks. Something about visiting the branch for the annual reviews: he promised to see me in a month.
Maybe, just maybe, it would give me the time I needed to heal and move on. I wanted to leave Trenton for a month. It was a shame Ranger didn't take me with him. Where would I go? Do I have enough money to travel? What should I do? Should I ask Vinnie for a high-bonded skip for extra cash?
"Baby granddaughter, are you okay?" Grandma Mazur asked, breaking me from my thoughts of earning cash to escape the city.
"I'm fine, Grandma. I was thinking about taking a vacation," I replied honestly.
"Do you have money for doing that?" Grandma asked with her eyes squinted. I know she wanted to see if I had money secretly stashed somewhere. Instead of vocalizing my response, I shook my head. "Don't worry about it, dear. Things always have a way of working out."
"Sure," I shrugged. I followed Grandma into the dining room. Sitting at the table was none other than Joseph fucking Morelli. I never saw his car parked on the street. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.
"Your mother invited me for dinner," Joe said.
Through gritted teeth, I hissed, "I didn't see your car out front, and I didn't know I was coming for dinner until I stopped at the corner."
Shrugging, Joe explained, "I decided to walk Bob. He's tied to the tree out back."
Mom interjected, "I left a message on your machine. I'm so glad you could make it."
"I never got the message, or I wouldn't be here. Where's Dad?" I asked, looking toward the living room at his empty chair.
The toilet flushed. Dad was in the washroom. He came downstairs as I sat at the table beside Grandma Mazur. I refused to sit beside Joe. Grandma leaned over the table, displaying her cleavage for Joe to see. His eyes widened when Grandma's breasts threatened to break free from the tiny bra containing them. I smirked and looked at Dad when he approached. Grandma sat back, releasing Joe from his trance.
In a rare display of affection, Dad squeezed my shoulder and kissed my head. I smiled as Joe stared at our exchange. "Hi, Daddy," I whispered.
"Are you good?" he asked, glaring at Joe with a pointed look.
"I'll be fine, Dad," I replied despite feeling anything but fine. Dad sat in his chair at the head of the table. I glared at Mom, hoping she would explain why she invited Joe and me for dinner.
My stomach chose that moment to grumble. It was so loud the silverware on the table rattled. I hung my head in embarrassment. "Pumpkin?" Dad asked.
I raised my head high enough to see him through my lashes as I rubbed my stomach. His piercing glare read my thoughts displayed on my face. "Stephanie, pass Joseph the potatoes," Mom demanded.
Shaking off the embarrassment caused by my rumbling stomach, I did as asked. Joe filled half his plate with the potatoes. He sneered when I passed him the string beans with bacon. However, he took a scoop, managing to grab most of the bacon.
Most of the food was gone when Grandma passed me the serving bowls and platter. I barely had enough to fill my plate. On the other hand, Joe's plate was so full that the food dripped onto the tablecloth. I understood the concept of serving the guest first, but did our guest have to be so rude and take almost half of the food?
Mumbling under his breath in Italian, Dad said, "Greedy swine."
I understood him for a change. Taking Italian and Spanish during my spare time helped in many ways. Hector and Ram were great teachers. The ex-gang Merry Man, Hector, decided it was time for me to understand the words Ranger spoke to me in Spanish. I never had the opportunity to translate. Ram, the resident marksman of Rangeman, was half-Italian and spoke Italian fluently. He happened to accompany me for dinner when Mom brought up the topic of Joseph Morelli. Dad referred to Joe as a greedy swine. Ram chuckled and promised to share the meaning on the way home.
"He's the embodiment of the seven deadly sins," I replied in Italian.
Dad chuckled. He set his fork on his plate to free his hand to raise his beer. "When did you start speaking again?" Dad asked.
"English, Frank!" Mom admonished.
Dad brushed her off and awaited my response. Continuing our conversation in Italian, I replied, "Ram and I only converse in Italian. It didn't take long for everything you taught me to return."
I nodded when Dad asked, "Is Ram Italian?"
Quickly, I amended, "Half. His mother is Italian, and his father is Scottish." Dad spared a glance at me before returning to his food. Dad's lip curled into an almost grin. It reminded me of Ranger whenever I amused him.
Dad surprised me when he said, "I like him better than this abuser."
"Ram and I are friends," I insisted. Dad looked into my eyes for several minutes before returning to his pot roast. I stabbed Joe's hand when he tried to steal a piece of beef from my plate. Doesn't he have enough food? Joe rubbed his hand and smiled sheepishly. I wasn't letting him steal my food when he had twice as much to eat.
"Then what's going on between you and Ram?" Dad asked, still speaking to me in Italian.
"He taught me to be comfortable carrying my gun," I replied. Dad leaned to look at my side. He smiled when he noticed the butt of my Glock hanging from the holster attached to my pant loops. Ram discovered my Smith & Wesson was too large for my hands. He made me try several models until I confirmed the Glock was easier to handle. "I can shoot the shit out of those paper targets. Ram taught me where to aim so I don't kill anyone."
"And the other?" Dad asked. I knew he meant Ranger.
"Friends," I replied.
"With benefits," Dad growled, shaking his head. Dad liked Ranger but didn't like him using me for sex. I never complained because Ranger-induced orgasms were out worldly. Ranger always took care of my sexual needs before chasing his release. Joe? He only cared about getting himself off. I turned my head so Joe and Mom couldn't read my thoughts on my face.
Joe and Mom stared, wondering what Dad and I were discussing. Grandma had an idea but wisely remained silent during our conversation. "It seems to be more at times. I'm afraid I lost him," I sighed.
"Can't lose what you never had. You need to get away from here," Dad said, surprising me. I opened my mouth to disagree. Dad's stern glare kept my mouth closed.
"I need a vacation," I mumbled in English.
"Quit your job and marry me," Joe said in response to my mumbled confession. "Then you won't feel the urge to go on vacation. Every day will feel like one."
"I said vacation, not permanent indenture," I snapped, highly annoyed by Joe's marriage suggestion. I know Joe loved me, but he admitted it wasn't enough to marry me. Nothing changed between us. He was still incredibly jealous of Ranger. Perhaps he knew Ranger left town and figured he could marry me before his return. Nope. Not today. Not ever, asshole. Mumbling, I added, "I'd rather be dead."
"Hot diggity. You can't tie my granddaughter to the house," Grandma cackled, slapping her thigh in amusement. She knows how I feel about being a homemaker and raising children. Neither were part of my dreams or the visions I clearly saw and kept to myself. I refused to share who I see in my visions.
"Grandma," I whined.
"Stephanie, help me with dessert," Mom sweetly asked. I didn't want to go. When I glanced at Dad, he encouraged me to go by gesturing with his knife.
I entered the kitchen and reached into the cabinet for the dessert dishes. Mom stood with her back leaning against the counter, her lips pinched together, and her arms folded across her chest. "Did I do something wrong?" I asked, wondering why Mom looked ready to kill me with the kitchen knife.
"Is that what you honestly think about homemakers?" she asked, surprising me.
"Think what?"
"That housewives are slaves within the home because we cook and clean for our families?" Mom clarified.
"I believe it's a choice, and forcing someone to quit their job to stay at home is tantamount to unending servitude. I'm not the stay-at-home type, Mom. I learned that during my short marriage to Dickie. Since he didn't want children immediately, I was allowed to work. However, I never thought going to work was synonymous with permission to sleep with other women," I explained.
"No, that's not right," Mom argued. "You left Dickie because of a misunderstanding."
"Oh? Is that what his mother is calling it? Mom, after our very public divorce, I learned Dickie cheated on me all along. I assumed, incorrectly, mind you, that his out-of-town trips for the law firm were legitimate. After combing through the credit card statements, I learned he was meeting other women at the Hotel off Route 1. Would you classify that as a misunderstanding?" I demanded, my voice getting louder as I gave Mom more information about my horrible marriage to Dickie.
"Are you sure?" Mom asked with her eyes narrowed.
"Yes, Mother, I'm one hundred percent sure. Dickie had a specific room he requested every time," I replied. "Do you think it was my fault for his extramarital affairs?"
"Well, if you had done anything he wanted in the bedroom, he wouldn't have stepped out on you," Mom said defensively.
"Hmm. Let me think," I said. I had to calm my inner rhino. "Do you think Valerie messed up when Steve cheated on her with the babysitter?"
"That's different. Steve left her. It wasn't Valerie's fault," Mom reasoned.
I shook my head and grabbed the plates and forks. "Would it have been more acceptable if Dickie left me for the Barnhardt skank?"
"But that's not what happened," Mom gasped. Her eyes narrowed as she added, "Don't you dare compare your leaving Dickie to Steve leaving Valerie. It wasn't her fault."
"And there's the fucking double standard. Saint Valerie could do no wrong because she got married, had children and stayed home to have dinner served by six pm. I can't handle this insanity and your expectations. Whatever I do is never good enough for you," I said, feeling defeated.
I took the dessert dishes to the dining room and excused myself to use the washroom. When I thought nobody would pay attention, I climbed through the window and jumped off the garage roof. It wasn't until I sat in my car that I realized I left my purse behind.
"Shit!" I screamed and banged my head on the steering wheel. Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, I texted Grandma, telling her to hang onto my purse. I would pick it up in the morning when Mom left the house.
My car sputtered when I turned the ignition. "Come on, baby. Don't quit on me now," I begged. I tried again, and the car started. Relief flooded me, and all I had to do was go somewhere far away from Morelli.
Going home wouldn't keep Morelli from finding me. I drove to Rangeman and fobbed open the gate for the underground parking. Ram and Hal were on their way out for their surveillance shift. "Why are you here?" Ram asked.
I glanced at Hal, who blushed. My lip twitched in amusement. We've known each other for three years, yet his face flushed red whenever one of the other guys was with us. I wondered why he never blushed when we were alone. Now wasn't the time to analyze Hal's reactions. "I need a place to crash. My mom was being the typical judgmental bitch, and she had Joe over for dinner," I explained. Someone growled. I couldn't tell if it was Hal or Ram. Ranger wouldn't mind me sleeping in his apartment, but I don't want to go there tonight. I needed a change. Somewhere nobody, except the men monitoring the internal cameras, would know where to find me.
Ram removed a key from his pocket. "Use my place. I have a fob to get in but need it for the gates. You can hang onto this key," Ram explained.
"Thank you. I promise not to leave a mess," I said, waving as Ram reversed the car.
"There's food in the fridge. Help yourself," Ram shouted before disappearing through the gates.
I stared at the key in my hand. Ram added a WW keyring on the stretchable wristband. He cut a key for me. Once I shook the fog from my brain and tamped the emotions threatening to escape, I pressed the button for the elevator. "Steph, wait!" Lester yelled from the stairwell.
The elevator door opened, but I waited for Lester to arrive. "What?" I snapped. "I'm tired."
"Your dad got me to grab this for you," Lester replied. He passed me the messenger bag. "Bobby and I were in the neighbourhood, and your dad stopped us."
I interpreted it as Ranger ordered the men to follow me, and I probably had a fucking tracker on my car. Stomping furiously, I went to my car and checked every place I knew the men would hide them. I found one in the wheel well behind the rear tire. Another, I located beneath the spare tire in the trunk and a third in the glovebox. "Does my car have any more fucking trackers?" I demanded.
Lester hung his head and opened the hood to remove the one on the side of the washer fluid container. "Sorry," Lester mumbled when I opened my hand and waited for him to give me the tracker. I walked to the floor drain and let the trackers slip through my fingers. The sound of them hitting water satisfied me. I turned on my heel and entered the elevator, ignoring Lester even when he jumped in before the door closed. Lester stood to my left, farthest from the camera.
"Who's monitoring the internal cameras?" I asked. I pressed the number four. Lester's eyebrows rose to his hairline.
"Hector," Lester replied. I looked at the camera and winked. Hector would know what I wanted him to do.
Lester watched me exit and waited until I stopped outside Cal's apartment door before letting the doors close. I smirked and walked to Ram's apartment at the other end of the hallway. Lester would know whose apartment I entered if he checked the cameras. I prayed Hector would remove that view before he got there.