Missed Sunrise (Stapled Magnolias #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

EIGHT MONTHS BEFORE THE MAIN EVENTS OF LADY LUCK

Cody

There was nothing I wanted to do more in this moment than set my trash can on fire.

I’d imagined it more than once over the past four hours as the black mesh receptacle slowly filled to overflowing with my botched renditions of the Mona Lisa, the latest and—so far—most embarrassing assignment this online art class had thrust upon my nonworking hours.

But Bree, my best friend, would never forgive me if I was arrested for arson, which was already in her top five fears regarding my future.

Then again…

A minor fire could be just the thing to snap her out of whatever-the-hell funk she’d been in since Christmas.

I flicked my charcoal pencil over my latest attempt and gave Mona a cheeky little wink before bundling her up in my fist and throwing her on top of her fallen comrades. Collapsing back on my bed like a starfish, I lay there for a few moments before I turned over and rooted underneath my pillow to grab my old Dell laptop.

I desperately needed something to make me feel good, so I pulled up Sabrina the Teenage Witch and picked up where I’d last left off.

Where Bree and I had left off more than two weeks ago.

Shit.

I rubbed at my aching chest. Something really was off with her. We’d never gone more than a few days without watching one of our shows together, and I’d been deluding myself that it was just the usual postholiday blues.

She’d been fine on my birthday two days before Christmas. We’d finished up work pretty late—her appearing as Fortuna Casino & Resort’s primary entertainer, delighting crowds with her Lady Luck persona by throwing roulette balls blindfolded, and me taking a shift at the valet booth—before spending a couple hours at the Fortuna’s arcade, goofing off like only a pair of people in their very early twenties with minimal family or responsibilities could.

Canned laughter drew me back to the show, and I let myself fall into it until a new episode started that centered around pancakes, causing my stomach to rumble in warning and then wail a few minutes later after I’d ignored it.

It must’ve been longer than I’d realized since I crammed that patty melt into my face during my twenty-minute break while working yet another shift valeting.

I shut my laptop and shuttled it under my pillow, nice and cozy, grazing a hair elastic on the way. I hooked it with my finger during my retreat, then threw my hair back into a rough knot. It was finally long enough to pull back and not poke me in the eyes every time I moved, which was often—I was a fidgety motherfucker and always had been—and even though I was glad to try something new, that middle phase of growing out my hair had been annoying.

Most things were annoying.

I scooted to the edge of my bed and swung my legs off, then used my foot to probe under it for my slides. Shoes were also annoying, but I wouldn’t be allowed inside most establishments without them, so I contorted my body and was rewarded when my foot finally grazed them. With my hands braced behind me and my left hip thrust into the air, I probably looked like I was involved in a high-stakes game of Twister.

Or I would, if anyone were here to see it.

I toe-grappled the ratty slides from under my bed, then jammed my feet into them, sighing in relief when my back muscles relaxed.

When I stepped onto the landing outside of my converted apartment, I froze at the top of the stairs, two things occurring to me simultaneously.

It was dark.

I was cold.

Unsure which to investigate first, I tipped my chin up to the darkened sky and sent a probing line of pats down my body, stopping when I felt silk.

Welp.

I squinted at the full moon in its full glory and then at everything it illuminated below. The multitude of modest older houses built in too-close proximity, the narrow highway, and the steep metal steps down to the yard. This neighborhood was just far enough away from the Gulf Coast that the air had only a touch of its signature salt-and-fish smell but was close enough to the Coast’s row of casinos to make the commute bearable.

It wasn’t a terribly safe area, which was why I’d denied Bree’s request to become roomies even though I desperately wanted that. But I couldn’t be with her at all hours, and she worked a lot of late nights and early mornings at the casino. I wasn’t worried for myself, as I’d taken a scorched-earth approach after I moved here by death glaring at everyone I came across within a half-mile radius.

For months.

This sketchy rental was the only place I could afford with my own money, but my method had worked. I’d never had any issues.

But I also never stopped glaring, so there was that.

No, Bree was much safer at her grandmother’s home that was a short public transport ride or a brisk walk to the casino.

The night wind changed directions, and I shivered as the late-January breeze sent my silk boxers fluttering, bringing me back to my most immediate problem other than the later hour.

My lack of socially acceptable bottoms.

I crossed back into my apartment and promptly knocked over the trash can, triggering an avalanche of Mona Lisa grimaces as they spilled across the floor.

Lately, there had been too many fucking receipts regarding my ineptitude to ignore.

Bree not confiding in me for the first time in our decade of codependence was the final stamp.

Couple that with our one and only other friend AJ’s sudden disappearance?

AJ—or Ace, as I’d called him for years—had been friends with Bree long before I’d come into the picture, and even though he was an asshole and much too concerned with his image and career, something that he never understood was beyond triggering for me, I never expected him to pull a disappearing act on us.

It was unforgivable.

It was also suspicious as fuck. All of it was.

Shivering from the cold shard of self-pity I’d let in, or maybe the door I’d left open, I pulled out my phone to distract myself before the spiral could go any further.

That path only led to madness. A state I may never return from.

I pulled up my last message thread with Bree and kicked the door shut as I scrolled up, frowning as I read through the blatant and not-so-blatant blow-offs she’d sent me recently.

Me

Wanna sneak into the pool after you’re done tonight? *pool emoji*

Bree

Maybe tomorrow. Gotta get up early to work at Cornucopia tomorrow. They had a few call-outs.

That one tracked. The girl had an issue with saying no to the managers at Fortuna and would cover shifts for anyone—and anywhere, including the casino’s sprawling buffet restaurant, Cornucopia.

I scrolled past a few memes and got to another one:

Me

Wanna go to Willows Friday?

Me

I heard a kid at FU say there was a new show at the motion theater. I think he said it was a skiing one *ski emoji*

I’d low-key volunteered at the casino daycare, Fortuna University—FU for short—for years. I’d been playing a round of retro Super Mario Bros with a pair of seven-year-olds when they mentioned going to Willows—the honky-tonk-themed casino—that happened to have the best arcade in Mississippi. I’d listened intently when they talked about the motion theater—a room very much like a regular movie theater, but instead of stationary seats, you sat in animatronic pods that coordinated with the short movie—having a new show.

It sounded fucking awesome, and as soon as I’d lost that game and let them shit talk me, I excused myself to text Bree about it.

Bree

Sounds fun, I’ll let you know.

That’d been her response more than a day later, and she had, in fact, not let me know.

My stomach screamed again, just like my instincts did, and as I could only solve one of these problems right now, I rummaged around my room until I found a pair of shorts and a hoodie.

Mona and her compatriots judged me from the floor as I walked past them, and I supposed they’d made their point, because I turned right back around and gathered my laptop and one of the befouled Mona Lisa s before leaving the apartment again. Once I made it to the patch of grass by the street where I kept my truck, I clambered inside, cringing at the sound of the door.

Ole girl needed some maintenance so badly.

I started her up and cranked the handle to roll my window down, thinking of calling Bree to see if she was awake. Maybe I could solve this now. I could always drive by her house and see if any lights were on, but I didn’t want to risk her grandmother calling the cops on me.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Instead, I put the heat on and stuck my left arm out the window, letting my hand twirl in the breeze as I enjoyed the thick coastal Mississippi air. Within moments, I was cruising past the glittering marquees and flashing neon of the long strip of casinos and then pulling into the one place where no one would judge me.

Waffle House.

I parked in the mostly vacant lot, my mission to scout Miss Barb’s house forgotten, and made a mental note to text Bree when I got inside. There was something about the fluorescent lights and smell of grease and wafts of vanilla waffle batter that put its patrons in a confessional mood, so maybe this would be the perfect time for us to talk out whatever was bothering her.

Unfortunately, my mental notes tended to be written with chalk on an uncovered sidewalk moments before a torrential downpour.

I slipped my phone into my hoodie pocket and pulled my hood over my head, tightened the strings down, and grabbed my stuff. Then I made my way inside, the buzzing and flickering of the streetlamp guiding the way.

I’d barely slid into the booth when a waitress appeared and wordlessly laid down a napkin and topped it with a fork, spoon, and knife.

I frowned at the utensils, wondering if I’d ever used a knife here.

“What’ll ya have?” she drawled, notepad in hand.

I smiled faintly at her before answering, “The All-Star, please, scattered, covered, and peppered. Eggs scrambled with cheese. And a coffee and a water.”

I didn’t come here nearly as much as Dawn’s—Fortuna Casino & Resort’s retro diner—but Waffle House was where Bree and I usually went when we needed a break from who we were at the casino—the kids who’d raised themselves in neon lights and then made the insane choice to work under them as adults.

My dad had worked at the casino for as long as I could remember, and Miss Barb, Bree’s grandmother, spent more time in front of a slot machine than anywhere else.

I leaned back against the hard booth seat and stuffed my hands in my hoodie pockets, one of them brushing against the crumpled paper inside. With a long-suffering groan, I took my hands right back out of my pockets—Mona in tow—and remembered the assignment. After I opened a wireless hot spot and signed into the class portal, I glanced at my setup and realized I hadn’t brought my charcoal pencil.

Or paper.

Jesusfuckingchrist . I was a couyon .

That’s exactly what my Memere, my French Cajun grandmother, God rest her soul, would’ve call me if she were here.

An idiot.

An idiot who was sitting alone in a Waffle House with an assignment due in…. I glanced out the foggy window, frowning when I realized I hadn’t even checked the time before. “Night” had seemed like enough information.

I tapped my phone to bring the screen to life.

4:17 a.m. No wonder the waitress hadn’t been chatty.

Some days I was really tired of being around myself.

Other days I wondered if there were a way to leave it all behind.

Those other days were becoming more frequent.

A steaming cup of coffee, a plastic cup of ice water, and a glass dispenser of syrup appeared in front of me, rerouting my pity party. I mumbled my thanks as I set to pouring a barrel’s worth of sugar into the mug followed by a whole-ass cow’s worth of cream. That should make it drinkable. I stirred the coffee until a light-brown vortex formed, letting myself zone and watch the spiral until it died out. Then I helped myself to several long sips, my aura instantly brightening.

A loud clank served as a prelude to a waft of heat, grease, and grilled jalape?os hitting me square in the face.

“Anything else?” the waitress asked, hovering over me.

I took another sip and eyed my food lovingly, then glanced up at her, surreptitiously squinting at her name tag en route. “Thank you, Stacy. This is just what this growing boy needs.” I gave her a broad smile and patted my stomach to make sure she knew I wasn’t being an asshole.

Food service was one of the many jobs I’d done at Fortuna over the years, and though I wasn’t above being an asshole to anyone who deserved it—even I wasn’t immune and earned my own wrath often—you’d never catch me being shitty to the person who brought me food.

Stacy let out a borderline-amused huff before asking again, with a little more pep, “Anything else I can get ya?”

I kept my smile in place but tinged it toward rueful. “Ahh, cher, this is perfect. But… I don’t suppose you have a paper or pencil I could borrow?”

Older ladies at the casino loved when I called them by that Cajun endearment, but I reserved the proper noun version of it for Bree, who would always be “Cher” to me, no matter what was happening.

My shoulders slumped, and I scrunched my toes inside my slides in agitation. I should tell her that.

“Honey, I don’t want your number.”

My smile slipped as I processed what Stacy had said. I glanced up at her and thumped my chest twice with two fingers. “You’ve taken this from me, Stacy. Do you think I can still eat hashbrowns without a heart?” I brought my mug of coffee to my mouth again and sipped slowly, maintaining eye contact with her as I swallowed.

“Oh, you are trouble,” she huffed. “And that might’ve worked twenty years ago, but I am too old to be…”

Her words trailed off as I licked a drop of liquid from my lips.

Her throat bobbed before she picked up the threat of her sentence. “… concerned with that mess.” She tapped her long, red-painted nails on the booth’s tabletop. “I’ll see what I can get ya.”

She disappeared behind the counter, and after I inhaled half of my double order of fried cheese-and-jalape?o hashbrown shreds—delicious both with and sans heart, I could report—I sat my fork down with a clatter before smoothing out my Mona Lisa on the table, wondering if there was a way to make this less of a disaster.

I clicked on the course syllabus page on the class portal, and by the time I added salt, pepper, and a rainfall of hot sauce to my two scrambled eggs, devoured them, and regretted the hot sauce level as I downed a glass of too-cold water, it loaded.

I flicked my tongue out like a lizard a few times to try to douse the flames left by the hot sauce as I scanned the screen for what I needed to know but kept getting distracted by a green light beckoning me from the bottom of the page.

This course, like many that were held entirely online, had a chat feature where the professor could assign and moderate discussion forums. Curious, I moved my cursor to the green light, hovering over the online classmate with the username “LL.”

Then I clicked.

One of my hands was busy making a sort of scoop with my triangle of wheat toast so I could transport the remaining hashbrowns from my plate to my face, so I typed out the message one-handed.

Dezi

wgy you yup

Hmm. Not my finest work. Oh well.

LL is typing…

I perked up, dropping the remaining crust onto the plate. Crust was the bane of my existence.

LL

Good morning, Dezi. Are you quite all right?

Ohhh. Quite .

He must be older, talking like that, though I had no reason to assume that “LL” was a guy. I wrestled a fistful of napkins from the small dispenser that was always either overpacked or empty, and I furiously wiped the grease from my right hand. Then with both hands, I typed my response. This time in a manner that suggested that I was both all right and not drunk.

Dezi

My name is Cody. I just thought this would be a cool username.

There. Much more coherent, and mostly true. My last name was Desmond, but it seemed unwise to share such info online, especially right from the jump.

LL is typing…

I leaned forward, eager for his response.

LL

And you were right. It is.

I smiled.

LL

Cody is nice too.

My smile widened.

Dezi

Thanks

LL

Though you didn’t answer my question. Are you okay?

My cheeks warmed without warning. I didn’t expect him to ask again. I slid my hand into the back of my hoodie to rub my neck, and yeah. It was hot.

But that was probably from the hot sauce making its way to my stomach only to destroy me again later.

I pulled my hood tighter around my face, wondering how to respond in a way that didn’t sound pathetic and wasn’t an outright lie.

I was twenty-two, failing at an art class I didn’t even want to take, working a job that was slowly sucking the soul from my body, my friend left town without a word—but really, fuck you, Ace—and my best friend, my ride-or-die, was… I didn’t even know what.

Yep. I was killin’ it.

With my hands frozen over the keyboard, something in the general vicinity of shame gnawed at me as I flicked my gaze to my failed art, the grotesque lines of her face doing nothing to soothe me.

Dezi

Sure. But my Mona Lisa sucks. And if I think, type, or say “Mona Lisa” one more time today, I will walk into the Gulf and let nature take its course.

There. That was honesty. And dramatic as fuck.

His reply was instant.

LL

Oh, don’t do that.

LL

Tell me how I can help.

Stacy’s sudden reappearance about had me jumping out of my seat. She wordlessly cleared one of my two plates away, refilled my coffee—setting it back to square one for flavor—and slapped a purple pen on the table, the rise of her penciled-in eyebrow daring me to ask for more.

I picked up the pen and held it to my heart. “Thank you, cher.”

Once I doctored my coffee again and took a fortifying sip, I turned back to my computer and fell back into conversation with a stranger.

Dezi

Do you really think you can help me? It’s pretty damn bad

LL

I do, and I’m sure it isn’t.

Dezi

Do you want me to send you a picture of my failures?

LL

I want you to do what you think would help you best.

Dezi

That’s a loaded question. Almost as loaded as my hashbrowns were

LL

I love hashbrowns.

I laughed as I flicked the plastic container of fake butter off the top of my waffle. Ever since I’d moved to the Coast to live with my dad, I’d been thoroughly spoiled by the mini butter sculptures at Fortuna’s luxurious buffet, Cornucopia.

Dezi

Me too

Dezi

Why are you awake?

LL

Ah, we’ve come full circle. Is that what you were trying to ask earlier?

Well, that was somehow more embarrassing now.

Dezi

Yeah. I shouldn’t type with my mouth full

Dezi

Or talk. My best friend reminds me of that all the time

Dezi

Or she used to

Dezi

I dunno why I said that

Dezi

Or why I keep typing

Dezi

My other hand is holding ⒈／⒋ of a waffle

I forced my hand off the keyboard, wondering if it was possessed, and was as mortified by my rambling as I was impressed that I hadn’t made more typos.

I dispensed some syrup onto the vacancy created by the piece of waffle I’d taken from the plate and ran my lukewarm waffle through it.

LL is typing…

I leaned forward, chewing the waffle slowly, each movement of my jaw building the anticipation of his response. I apparently needed to get some things off my chest, and this guy was just the victim of my oversharing, but when I saw how short his response was, I briefly deflated.

Until I read it, and the message that followed.

LL

I wrote an entire novel for you, but I think I have a better idea.

Below that was a phone number.

I yanked the pen up, wrote it down on a napkin, and stuffed it into my pocket, along with a wad of napkins.

After dropping a twenty on the table—cash on hand from tips was a huge perk of working as a valet and barista—I hurried back to my truck with all of my things—and one thing that wasn’t. Then I drove as quickly as possible to the nearest pier, where I made my way to the end of the wooden boards. I kicked my shoes off first, then eased myself down and let my bare feet hang over the lapping water.

Then even as somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what the hell I was doing, I called the number.

“Good morning, Dezi,” a sweet but decidedly masculine voice answered.

“LL?” I asked, my own deep voice a nice contrast to his.

He laughed, and that was even sweeter. “Yes. But you can call me Liem too. I like both.”

I took in a deep breath of Gulf air and leaned my head against the wooden beam beside me.

“Are you sure you have the time? I’ve messed up this assignment pretty badly, LL, and I’ve tried so many times already.”

He hummed. “I do, Dezi.”

I took another deep breath, and silence grew between us, but I got the feeling it was more of LL being in no particular hurry, especially after how easily he’d just assured me of that.

“Why the Mona Lisa ?”

The sudden question caught me off guard, and before I could think of some witty reply, the truth fell from me. "She reminds me of Bree."

"Ahh. Loved ones do that for us, don’t they? My brother once made me a pancake that looked just like my dad. I couldn’t even eat it.”

“That’s tragic.”

He laughed. “It could have been, but my brother just made waffles instead, and it somehow stuck. We’re a waffle family now.” There was a pause, and then he said, “I’ve quite got waffles on the mind now.”

Adorable.

It’d been a long time since I’d thought that about anything—or anyone.

“Do you have anything to draw with and on?”

“Umm.” My neck heated as I thought of the crumpled napkins I’d intended to use. “Yes.”

LL’s answering laugh was airy and so sweet, it could almost be called a giggle. “I’m sure whatever you have will work well for us.”

I huffed even as I fought a smile. “I did have paper before, but as it’s currently filling the trash can in my apartment, I figure I can’t do much worse.”

He hummed again. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that, but perhaps you’ll allow me to talk you through it regardless?”

And he did. He really did.

There’d been a weight inside me that I’d been holding for so long that I didn’t even remember when I first picked it up, but as I easily made conversation with LL and took direction from him, it somehow lightened.

But the problem was that I now knew it was there. By its lessening, I became keenly aware of the burden.

I fell into LL’s voice and easy instruction as if entranced, and every time one of those burdens pressed against me, he would say something so endearing or wildly off topic that I had to wonder if he knew what he was doing.

Or how he could, especially without knowing me or even seeing me.

Any negative feelings were kept at bay while we were connected, and by the time I’d almost finished a much better sketch of Mona—having only murdered three napkins with the purple pen before learning how hard to press with it—we both fell silent.

I didn’t mind it.

I couldn’t remember if I’d ever spoken to someone like this. He had no stake in my life, no preconceived notions or reason to be kind. Nothing to gain from any of it.

LL was just someone out in the world, living a life outside of the Fortuna ecosystem.

Something I’d hardly ever considered as a possibility.

“Dezi?” LL asked eventually.

The breeze picked up, blowing right in my direction, and I straightened my legs as if I could push it away. “Yeah?”

“I’m here. You can tell me whatever you need to.”

If angels existed, this was how they would sound. And this man would be one of them.

My legs bent again, falling back over the edge of the pier, and my heartbeats decreased in tempo as I decided to do something that went against all my natural and learned instincts.

I confided. Without thought, without preparation. To a stranger.

There was no finesse to my words as I started with Bree, who was at the forefront of my mind. Her withdrawal from everyone and everything and how, for the first time in our friendship… I was afraid.

Afraid to push.

Afraid that our chaotic lives had finally become too much for her.

That my support wouldn’t be enough. That the family we’d found in each other wasn’t enough for her anymore.

Which meant I could lose it.

My throat closed as I muddled through those dark thoughts, but I forced it open again and made myself continue.

I moved onto talking about Fortuna. I told him about growing up in Louisiana and moving to Mississippi a couple of years after meeting Bree as a preteen. The chaotic upbringing we’d both had.

And then I went even further back, my words halting as I tried to find a way to explain my parents and their different types of detachment.

I sat on that pier until the sun rose and spilled my guts to a guy whose face I wouldn’t see in person until many months later—when it was too late.

Too fucking late.

For so many things and for so many reasons.

I didn’t see the angel’s face until after I’d made the worst fucking decision by signing a six-month contract to work on a cruise ship with my new boyfriend, Austin. A guy who offered adventure and escape when I’d desperately needed it.

By the time I’d laid eyes on Liem Lott, heard his voice with my own ears, and felt my heart stop at his smile and my skin prickle at his scent, he was as lost to me as I was to myself.

I’d had no choice but to weather the storm of my own making, with little hope that things would be different when it passed.