“Just a graze,” Jake says and stands up. He washes his hands and finds a cloth he dips in water. Offering me the damp towel, he asks, “Do you want to do the honors?”
“Just a graze?” I ask, dizzy with relief. I brace myself on the table so I don’t collapse.
“Just a graze?” Tiny asks, completely affronted. “I got shot, dude. She shot me. Or actually, I kind of shot myself. But still, it hurts like a motherfucker.”
“You shot yourself?” All three of us yell.
“I was struggling with Cecilia for the gun, and it went off, and it ricocheted off a bottle and hit me.”
“You lucky girl.” Jake begins to laugh. “I think you may have been grazed by a piece of glass from the bottle. I wondered why the cut was so jagged. Didn’t look like any bullet hole I’ve ever seen. Don’t wrestle any crazy women with guns in the future, and you’ll be fine.”
There’s a knock at the door, and Jake goes to see who it is.
“I got shot,” Tiny insists.
“Of course you did. It’s a grievous wound. I think we should take a picture of it and post it on Facebook.”
“Fuck you, Ian Kerr,” she says grumpily.
“You have already,” Steve mutters.
And with that, I can’t hold it in any longer. I start laughing and I don’t stop, not even when the paramedics show up or the cops, who take Cecilia away. I laugh because Tiny and I together are an undefeatable team. Strong enough to overcome hate, revenge, and loss.
We will take control of our lives together.
TWENTY-EIGHT
TINY ALLOWS THE PARAMEDICS TO load her in to the ambulance. There’s no danger, but her side needs to be sewn up. At the hospital, the police show up and take our statements.
The baby carriage was empty, as Tiny suspected.
The press will have a field day with this. Several people show up to check on Tiny’s status including her friend, Sarah, and Travis, the driver.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I say, handing him my card. “But I’m buying you a car. Pick out whatever one you want and call me. I’ll arrange to have it delivered.”
“Nah, man. It’s all good. I can’t take a car.”
“You have to accept,” Tiny pipes up from the bed. “Or he’ll keep coming after you. He’ll wear you down.” She waves her ring in the air. “I kept saying no and see where that has gotten me.”
“True story,” I say.
With a grin, Travis takes the card and nods his head in Tiny’s direction. “Seems to me that we’re both getting the better end of the deal.”
“Trust me, you’re not.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and walk him to the door.
“I should probably get going as well,” Sarah says. She leans over and gives Tiny a hug. “Call me for lunch later this week.” As she leaves, she pats me on the back. “Take good care of my girl.”
“I will.”
ONE NIGHT, A FEW WEEKS after she recovers, we arrive at Club O2, an oxygen bar that Kaga is interested in buying. As I hand my keys to the valet, Tiny tugs at my arm.
“Isn’t that Richard Howe?” she asks, pointing to the line of patrons waiting to be judged worthy of entering.
Toward the middle is a man wearing an ill-fitting suit, his hands in his pocket as he hunches his shoulders forward. It is Richard.
“Go inside,” I say. Tiny shoots me an uncertain look but does as I ask.
I step aside and walk a little ways beyond the bar so I can observe without being noticed. And then I wait.
Richard fidgets in the line but unlike the rest of the crowd, he doesn’t pull out a phone to text or read something to pass the time. It’s possible that he can’t afford a phone or doesn’t pass the credit check for a cell line.
When he arrives at the doorman, he says something like a plea. One hand is on his chest and the other is pointing inside the bar. I guess at what he might be saying. I’m meeting friends. They are already inside.
The doorman shakes his head and looks past Richard. He waves the next three people inside. Richard moves toward the entrance, but the bouncer pushes him aside as if he’s a pesky fly, still not looking at him. Richard starts to froth and rage. Both arms are in the air. Do you know who I am?
People behind him point their phones toward him and begin filming. Maybe it will be put online, or maybe no one will care about some drunken sot being kept out of O2.
Richard continues to shout and soon a NYC plains cloth policeman appears from the inside. I edge closer so I can hear.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the officer says to Richard.
“On whose orders?” he responds belligerently.
The office flashes a badge. “NYPD.”
I’ve seen enough. Tiny is waiting for me.
“Ian. Ian Kerr,” Richard calls out as I brush by the line, nodding my thanks to the doorman and bouncer.
“Do you know him?” the bouncer asks. I turn and look at Richard.
“Never seen him before in my life.” Pulling a bill out of my pocket, I had it to Richard. “Go and buy yourself a warm cup of soup tonight. Get off the street.”
His face turns red with humiliation at the insinuation that he’s a homeless person. The officer takes his arm and starts dragging him away.
Inside by the coat check are Tiny and Sarah.
“Everything okay?” Tiny asks.
“It’s perfect,” I answer. “Just perfect.”
Her face turns upward to receive a kiss, and I plant a leisurely one on her that is so thorough Sarah blushes.
WE MARRY AT THE FRICK garden in a civil ceremony. Tiny wears an Elie Saab haute couture gown made out of blush tulle with hand-sewn Swarovski crystals and organza flowers. She complained it weighed a ton. It has an empire waist because by the time things settle down enough for us to wed she has begun to show. She looks like a glittery Fae princess.
I send everyone down to the warehouse after our vows are said.
Drawing her into my arms, I whisper, “Can I take you here?”
“No, no you can’t,” she laughs.
“I want to come here in the future and know that I made love to you right at this spot where we promised to love each other until death parts us.”
“No.” She is adamant.
I gather the front of her skirt, crushing the delicate fabric in my hands as I raise it.
“Everyone can see,” she hisses batting at my hands.
“No one can see a thing.” I scoff. “There’s enough fabric here to hide a child.”