Page 45 of His Virgin Vessel

Chapter Seventeen

Corinne

I don't like the term 'emotional rollercoaster.’ I think it gets over-used and so loses any meaning it might once have had. People have a bit of a bad day at work and, suddenly, it's an emotional rollercoaster; someone spills their coffee, but finds a penny while mopping it up, and it's an emotional rollercoaster. Give me a break. But I think when you've gone from being hunted by the Mafia, to hoping that you've found a way to be with the love of your life, to learning that that love may be on his way to prison, to that previous hope being rekindled, all within the space of a day, then I think it's fair to break out the phrase 'emotional rollercoaster.’ Certainly, by the end of it, I felt as if I'd been on some sort of nausea-inducing fairground ride, but at least it had all worked out.

Porter Crucero very kindly invited us to stay the night.

"I've got a spare room, and we can order in take-out."

Asa and I gratefully accepted. It was nice to be reminded that there were people who were on our side, and I actually took some comfort from the fact that he hadn't initially been on our side, until he learned how much we cared for each other. If that was enough to change Porter's mind, might it be enough to change my father's as well? The problem was that I had spent years giving my father a bad opinion of me, making him think that I hung around (and, in fact, screwed around) with bad guys, as a matter of course. So why would he now believe that Asa was any different? Of course, if I had just let him know the real me, then none of this would have been an issue. He probably would have respected my choice because he knew I was trustworthy and made good decisions. But there was no sense in wishing that things were different. I had to deal with the situation as it was and the mess that I had made of it.

"Have you called your dad?" Porter asked, as we ate our evening meal together.

"No," I admitted. "I wouldn't know what to tell him, and I don't want to get into an argument. I did text him to let him know I'm all right."

"But, of course, anyone could be sending a text from your phone," Porter said, a little cagily. He didn't want to get into an argument either, but my dad was his mentor.

"If I call, then he'll want to know where I am," I pointed out. "Do you want me to tell him?"

"I guess not," Porter sighed. He had agreed to help us, and I was sure he would stick to it, but he was still a little conflicted, feeling as if he was going behind the back of the man he looked up to so much. He knew that Dad would be out of his mind with worry about me, and it was, theoretically, in Porter's power to alleviate that concern. But to do so would be to betray Asa and me. It was a tough spot for him, and I didn't want to underestimate what Porter was doing for us.

"You could give him a quick call," suggested Asa, joining Team Dugas. "Just so he could hear your voice. Like Porter said, anyone could be sending a text. He probably thinks it's from me. It would set his mind at rest, and he might hate me slightly less. Not much, but slightly."

"How about everybody stops telling me how to deal with my own father?" I suggested in a pointed tone, and the two men got back to eating.

It wasn't that I didn't recognize the good sense in what they were saying, particularly Asa's point about making my dad feel slightly less burning hatred towards the man I hoped to spend the rest of my life with. But neither of them had had to grow up with Brian Dugas. Neither of them grew up with the judgment and constant disapproval. They didn't know what it was like to have been in the wrong every day of their adult life. Nothing I did ever pleased my dad, and there was nothing I could say in a short phone call that was going to please him now. I had run off with his arch nemesis. It was an ultimate betrayal. I didn't want to hear the disappointment and the hurt in his voice. Maybe I was being selfish, but it was my decision.

"We go to the station tomorrow morning," said Porter, changing the subject. "I don't see any other way forward. We need to get the proper paperwork done to ensure you have proper informant status, otherwise some people may still object. I don't think this is going to be an easy sell, so you need to think about what information you can give me. I need something that's going to nail these guys, with no way out. Anything less than that, and I'm going to struggle to get this done."

Asa nodded. He said nothing, and I didn't either, but we both knew that tomorrow could well be another rollercoaster of a day.

# # #

The spare room was up under the eaves of Porter Crucero's little house. It was not used often and had become a store room for stuff that was in the way elsewhere, the kind of stuff that everyone keeps from their childhood, but will probably never look at again. Still, I found myself rather happy there. It was nice to be in a proper room, rather than a motel. It felt homey. And, while I was trying to keep my eagerness for domestic bliss as subtle as possible around Asa, I couldn't help wondering what it might be like when, and if, Asa and I made a home of our own. And yet, it seemed Asa's own thoughts might not be a million miles away from mine.

"This is cozy," he mused, looking around. "I never really had a home you could call a home. When I was a kid, home was never a home. Then, in War Cry, we moved around so much that home was wherever you wound up, or wherever your friends were. Come to think of it, the longest I've spent consistently in one bed might be when I did six months in jail. I think that's the only time I've ever had a chance to personalize a place and make it mine."

I grinned. "I'm guessing there were vases of flowers and some lacey throw pillows?"

"Mostly it was girlie pictures on the walls and a shiv under my mattress, just in case, but still."

"It was your own."

"Exactly." He looked a little embarrassed. "It would be nice to do that properly. To own a space. Sorry."

I frowned. "What are you apologizing for?"

"It's hardly the bad boy that you signed up for, is it? Dreaming of interior design."

Suddenly, I felt a bit embarrassed myself. "I didn't go for you just because you were an outlaw biker."

"Yes, you did," Asa cut in. "That's what you want in your life. A little excitement, a thrill, or something forbidden."

I wanted to deny it, of course, but just hearing him say the word 'forbidden' made my knees weaken. He wasn't one hundred percent wrong. "It worked out though. No matter how it started—look what happened."

"Yeah, but for how long?" Asa stood, narrowly avoiding cracking his head on the low ceiling. "Let's say this all goes to plan."

"It will."

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