Page 93 of A Little Broken

“I won’t screw up again,” I promise.

“Good.” Dodger takes in a deep breath and settles back in his chair. “So, she said she won’t come to the party, huh?”

I nod, grateful for the subject change.

“But you want her there?”

My head bobs again. “I like her, Dodge. Even when she drives me insane.”

Scrutinizing me over the rim of his drink, he asks, “You know if you hurt her, I’ll kill you, right?”

“I know.”

“Good.” He downs the rest of his drink, then sets the empty bottle on the counter. “You said she’s your maid?”

“Yeah?” I answer.

“And you use a maid service.”

I frown. “Yeah?”

“So, you don’t contact her directly when you need shit done, right?”

“No, I contact her boss,” I reply.

“Reach out to her boss and say you want to hire Tatum for the party. Make her boss put the pressure on Tatum directly. When she shows up, you give her the night off. It’s what I would do.”

It’s not a bad idea. If I can make the stakes high enough.

“Thanks, man. I’ll give it a try.”

“It’s the least I can do after all the shit we’re putting you through.”

“At least you own up to it,” I joke.

“I know. Let’s just say, Judge isn’t the most trusting guy you’ve ever met, and after everything that happened with Rudy…”

The dead guitarist’s name hangs in the air, another ghost who loves fucking with my life despite never meeting the guy.

Forcing a wry smile, I mutter, “Yeah, no shit.”

“I’m working on him, though,” Dodge promises. “I am.”

“I believe you.”

And for some reason I can’t explain, I really do. Dodger’s a good guy. A grumpy motherfucker, but a good one most days.

“And, uh, speaking of Judge.” I tug at the collar of my shirt, hoping his decent mood lasts long enough to fill him in on everything else that’s been happening, lately. “Roman asked me to do him a favor.”

Dodger’s eyes narrow. “What kind of favor?”

“They want me to participate in a fight night.”

Dodger’s head falls forward. “Tell me you said no.”

“Dodge—”

“Tell me”—he looks over at me—“you said no.”

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