Chapter 20
Layla
“Girls, I’d like you to meet Cora,” I announce, grabbing Cora’s hand while we dance off to the side and find an empty table large enough for the six of us, flagging down a waitress with long hair dyed a deep magenta and whose name tag reads MCKINLEY. “As my honorary sister, I put it to a vote that she becomes an honorary Granny’s Girl as well. All in favor, say—”
“Aye,” the girls yell above the music, some raising their hands in the air and dancing in their seats. It’s been a while since we’ve all been able to let loose together at Goldie and Davis’s wedding, and their good mood is infectious.
With wide eyes and a blush creeping up her cheeks, Cora leans in to be heard. “Are y’all in some kind of club or something?”
Faye nods. “We’ve all worked at Granny’s diner with Layla, except for Goldie,” she says, tipping her head at our first honorary member, who waves.
“And all our men have worked at BT except Faye’s,” Dolly adds while Violet orders a round of drinks for the table. “Your husband works at BT, too, right?”
Cora’s nose wrinkles. “Boyfriend, and yes.”
“I know you’re new in town, so just to let you know, if you’re looking for work,” Faye says, “we’re always hiring.”
“Just don’t accidentally accuse the boss of being a pervert if you catch him getting handsy in his office with his favorite employee, and you’ll get the job.” Goldie pushes her long golden-red hair back behind her shoulder, laughing when Faye’s face turns scarlet red.
Mckinley lowers her large service tray when she returns to our table and passes our frozen margaritas around, three of which are non-alcoholic, given Violet and Goldie’s pregnancies and Cora’s age. “You’re looking for a job? We’re so understaffed, the boss will pay you double whatever you’d make at the diner.” Maybe an inch or two shy of six feet tall and with curves for days that are highlighted by her waitressing uniform of tiny black jean shorts, knee-high black cowboy boots, and a skin-tight, cropped T-shirt, Mckinley looks Cora up and down appreciatively. “You’ve certainly got the goods and could make a good living here.”
Cora perks up. “Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. Here.” Mckinley pulls one of the bar’s business cards from a pouch clipped to the belt loop on her flared hip and passes it to Cora, who clutches it to her chest like a life preserver. “Apply online, and put my name in the referral box.”
Cora squeals when Mckinley leaves. “This is gonna be such a huge weight off of Max’s shoulders.”
Sniffing her margarita to make sure it’s one of the non-alcoholic drinks before taking a sip, Goldie asks, “How so?”
“The financial burden of taking care of us,” Cora replies, sliding the business card in her back pocket. “I’ll finally be able to pull my weight.”
My best friend in the whole wide world, the one who has listened steadily to every rant I’ve ever had about my family, snorts, rubbing her large baby bump. Violet says with rising resentment on Cora’s behalf, “Y’all have virtually no bills living at Layla’s, and from what I hear, he’s the one not pulling his weight. Hardly lifts a finger when it comes to taking care of Gauge, let alone you, and he’s not even the one recovering from giving birth. There’s no excuse.”
Cora’s mouth drops open briefly, and she cuts her eyes to me. “You told her that?”
Though I should apologize, I shrug, rubbing my temples at the intense brain freeze after drinking half my margarita in one long swallow. “It’s the truth.” One she needs to open her eyes to like mine were.
Cora slumps instead of defending Max or reading me the riot act for sharing her business. “Yeah, it is.”
“How old is your baby?” Goldie asks. “Maybe we can set up some play dates. I could show you around town if you want to get out of the house, or we can hang out at one of our houses. Dolly, too, when she’s not in class. Have coffee while the babies nap.” Goldie chuckles. “Or we can take turns watching the babies so we can have our own naps. Lord knows we need them.”
“Yeah, that would be great.” Cora and Goldie exchange phone numbers, and then Cora pulls up her calendar app.
Doing the same, Goldie says, “I’m pretty much free any time before five, so whatever works best for you works for me.”
“Oh, do you work nights?”
Goldie shakes her head, tapping her free hand on the table to the beat of the music. “Nights are my time with Davis after he gets off work.”
“So you…work from home or something?”
Goldie smiles. “My home is my work.”
Finishing the rest of my drink that’s already gone to my head, I joke, “That and Davis.”
It’s like a record scratch, the way the women go silent, except for Goldie. “What does that mean?”
Holding my empty glass up in the air to grab Mckinley’s attention so I can order a second, I tell Goldie, “Just that…you know…”
“No. I don’t.”
My cheeks flame despite the cooling temps of Goldie’s gray eyes. “Sex.”
“What does sex have to do with anything?” Goldie asks.
Cora is just as interested in the answer as Goldie while Dolly shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“Davis. He’s kinda like your job since you don’t work outside the home or…” I trail off, looking around the table at the various frowns. Violet squeezes my hand under the table. When no one speaks, I put my foot further in my mouth when I say, “He pays all the bills, and you keep him… happy . Like Wyatt and Dolly.”
“Oh, Layla, no,” Dolly says quietly.
Goldie pinches her lips tight before saying, “Is that what you really think of me? Of Davis? That I have sex with him so I don’t have to go out and earn a paycheck to keep a roof over my head?”
Fluttery panic tightens my chest at the mix of anger and hurt in her voice. “Please, no, I know you love him and that you don’t have to ,” I stress. “You’re taking this all wrong. ”
Cora’s head follows the invisible volley back and forth between us.
Goldie leans closer with her elbows on the table. “I think you’re the one who’s got it wrong. I have sex with the love of my life because I want to. Even if I never had sex with him again—which I would hate as much as he would—it wouldn’t change our dynamic because my staying home is what we both want for our family, and that’s it. My husband is not my boss or my job—he’s my partner.”
With my stomach aching as if the air has been punched out of me, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Goldie says softly, sighing and reaching across the table to rub my arm. “And I know it’s not your fault you have some stinkin’ thinkin’ and trauma you still need to work through—we all do—and that you didn’t mean any harm. But maybe we can keep this conversation between us girls, ok? Davis would be upset if he knew you thought…well.” She clears her throat and pulls away when Mckinley arrives with my second drink.
“Wyatt, too,” Dolly adds quietly.
I nod, filling my lungs with a deep inhale now that I know they won’t hold my stinkin’ thinkin’ against me, though I’m not so sure I’ll so easily forgive myself.
“I think I have to break up with Max,” Cora announces, her smile starting off wobbly when we make eye contact, then growing larger, same as mine. “Tomorrow, though, since tonight is about you and Russell.”
Violet raises her glass in the air. “I’ll cheers to that!”
* * *
Russell
At my height and the men’s, it’s not hard to find Wyatt and Davis over the crowd at the bar counter that spans the length of the left wall. I push my way through the throng, finding Harold, Jared, and Paul standing with them. Wyatt hands me a beer after two metal buckets of bottles on ice are served up. We move as a group out to the concrete patio on the right side of the building. Within view of the girls, we pick a picnic table beneath the crisscrossing strings of bulb lights that create a makeshift ceiling.
“So, what’s the plan?” Wyatt asks after we cheers , clinking our bottles, and the conversation meanders away from the superficial catch-up.
Davis clarifies, “About your soon-to-be-brother-in-law?” He takes his baseball cap off and slaps it against his thigh with agitation. “Can’t say I liked what I saw in there.”
“Say the word. I’ve got plenty of property to bury a body,” Elliott says, materializing out of the dark and sliding onto the bench on my side of the table. He waves a hand, refusing the beer Jared offers him.
“Fucking hell, Uncle Elliott. Just about scared the piss out of me,” Paul says, slapping a hand to his chest.
I grunt. “We’re not murdering Max just because he’s a butthole.”
Wyatt’s laugh is booming loud. “‘Butthole.’ You sound like William.”
Max steps onto the patio through the garage-style doors of the building that are rolled up to allow free movement inside and out. “Who’s a butthole?” he asks with a curl to his upper lip, lifting one side of his mustache .
Paul opens his mouth, ready to make some smartass comment, when I give him a small shake of my head. I’m working hard not to let anything ruin Layla’s good time by getting into a tussle with Max.
“There they are!” The girls shimmy out, each of them holding a giant margarita glass.
Layla throws an arm around me from behind, leaning against my back, almost dumping her drink on me with her unsteady grip. “You’re a good man, Russell. Love you so much. So, so, so much.” She gives me a loud, wet kiss on my cheek.
I turn and snatch Layla’s waist, scooting back on the bench to make room for her on my lap, which isn’t easy at my size. “Two drinks in and you’re already tipsy?”
She giggles. “Shouldn’t have let me out of your sight, Daddy. This is my third. We’re celebratin’,” she says with a drawl, her tongue loose from the alcohol. She takes another sip, then licks her bottom lip and hums.
“Daddy?” The corners of Max’s lips turn down, his beer freezing halfway toward his mouth.
Ignoring him and the answering looks of amusement on Wyatt and Davis’s faces, I tell Layla, “Didn’t take my eyes off you for a second.”
Cora hops up to take a seat on the edge of the table with one leg crossed over the other. She sets her drink beside her and leans on a hip to pull the bar’s business card from her back pocket. With plenty of sass in her voice, she passes the card to Max and says, “You won’t have to worry about me being a burden much longer. They’re hiring, and I’m a shoo-in.”
Max crumples the card in a ball and throws it to the side. “You are not working at a bar wearing that around a bunch of men,” he says, pointing to a waitress carrying a tray of shots to another table.
Cora smirks. “Oh, yes, I am. I’ll take care of Gauge during the day, then you can pick him up for overnights so we won’t have to pay for childcare. It would be perfect.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Picking him up? How much have you had to drink?” He waves to her margarita.
“Zero,” she says, straightening her spine and crossing her arms. “It’s non-alcoholic.”
Before Max can say anything, his face darkening, several lifted trucks—the kind you’d need a ladder to reach the doors—pull into the lot, blaring some new type of country music that sure doesn’t sound like the kind I grew up with, competing with the band playing inside. Forgetting the tension building or perhaps trying to distract us from it, Faye and Violet start bumping hips as they dance, dragging Dolly into their circle. Layla wiggles in time with the music, and my dick spits precum in my boxer briefs when I slide her up my lap.
“I’m gonna cum in my jeans if you keep wiggling like that,” I say hoarsely in her ear, yanking her hips back and forth to encourage her to do it again, then sliding a hand up her thigh beneath her dress, losing myself completely in the moment as if we’re the only two people at this bar. “And we both know that’s not where it belongs.”
Layla whimpers, dropping her head back.
Paul makes a fake retching sound. “The music isn’t that loud, Dad.”
I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut briefly after removing my roving hand, mumbling an apology to a few guffaws.
Max’s face relaxes when the trucks cut their engines, and thus the music, the girls laughing as they fan their faces in the heat and humidity. Trace and his buddies who work at BT do a running jump over the low wooden fence separating the patio from the parking lot.
Two light-haired girls who had been riding with one of the boys, wearing matching denim skirts too short to jump over the fence without flashing everyone, huff and walk around to use the gate. They’re closer to Dolly and Goldie’s age, one of which looks like she could be Trace’s little sister. There’s something about the other that strikes me as familiar, though I can’t place her. Both turn their noses up and walk away when Layla kindly but loudly tries to invite them over.
Max claps hands and slaps backs with the boys as if they hadn’t seen each other the day before, certainly more friendly with them than he is with his own girlfriend.
“Hey, boss.” Trace tips his bucket hat at me, but then something captures his attention, his amber-brown eyes widening. He clutches his chest over his heart and staggers forward on his boots, crashing to his knees. “Good golly, Miss Molly, who are you, princess?” We’d be able to hear a pin drop if the band were to stop playing when Trace walks forward on his knees, stopping before Cora, her mouth dropped open with shock.
If I squint real hard, I can see what has Trace all tied up in knots. Cora is a sweetheart with a face to match, big hair with short pieces framing her face like Layla’s, and curves to complement Trace’s skinny frame.
Testing my resolve to wait until tomorrow to kick Max’s butt to kingdom come, Max thumps his hand on Cora’s shoulder hard enough to make her flinch. Through pinched lips, he says, “This is—”
“Hey!” Dolly and Wyatt snap at the same time, waving at Max’s hand. “Don’t do that to her again,” Dolly demands.
Cora gives a sharp shake of her head when Elliott rises from his seat, and he reluctantly only drops back down when Max removes his hand after a beat.
Max finishes as if he wasn’t interrupted. “She’s my woman and Gauge’s mom.”
Trace reacts as if he’s been struck, and he starts, “Motherf—”
“Watch it,” I warn both Trace and Max.
Trace gains his feet, wiping the dirt off the stiff front creases of his jeans. With everyone’s eyes on him, he quickly regains composure, slipping on an easygoing smile. “I knew that. Just messing with you.” He chucks Max on his upper arm, but I’m not buying it.
Neither is Davis, who looks across the table, rubbing his chest. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
I nod. Another whirlwind, which means trouble .
“Where’s Freddy and Pete when you need ‘em?” Wyatt mumbles, a corner of his lips twitching up.
Trace’s friends sense the trouble brewing as well. Though technically they’re Max’s friends, too, it’s plain to see they’ve all sided with Trace, standing in formation behind him like soldiers, keeping a close watch.
We all breathe a sigh of relief when the boys head inside a minute later, returning with several more buckets of beer. The tension breaks when Trace hands a cold bottle to Max, and they cheers before chugging them, egged on by the other boys who follow suit, moving on to talking about an upcoming car and truck show.
Cora jumps into the conversation by pointing at Trace’s freshly rewrapped teal truck and asking, “Is that one yours? ”
Trace brightens. “Yup. That’s my baby.”
“It’s gorgeous. It got a name?” she asks, now swinging her feet.
Trace shyly scuffs his boot on the patio after hooking his thumbs behind his oversized silver belt buckle. “Little T.”
Max tenses and sets his beer down when Cora giggles and asks, “Does that mean you’re Big T?”
“Crap,” Goldie mutters off to the side.
“Here we go,” Layla says, slinging back the rest of her drink before I slide her off my lap toward Elliott.
Trace licks his bottom lip with a smirk and grips his crotch over his jeans. “Sure does, Little Mama.”
It happens in quick succession—Wyatt, Davis, Paul, and I heave our bulks off our seats, lunging for Max while Elliott, unsurprisingly, plucks Cora off the table and Layla from behind with his arms around their waists, setting them on their feet beside the rest of the girls. I try to grab Max’s arms to hold him back since I’m closest, but he’s a slippery fool, already launching himself at Trace, giving Trace a punch to the gut followed by an uppercut that snaps Trace’s head back.
Trouble was an understatement. It’s absolute melee, drinks and fists and expletives flying as Trace’s buddies go for Max’s throat while we men try to separate the boys that only seem to multiply as the crowd loses their collective minds, like they were waiting for the excuse to take out some mindless aggression.
“Shit, sorry boss! Don’t fire me!” Trace squeals when he misses Max’s face and nails me in the jaw instead.
Two shots ring out, and the fight is over in a blink of an eye, Goldie having fired off several bullets toward the trees bordering the field, then swinging to aim the handgun she must have hidden somewhere on her person into the crowd, never even needing to say a word.
Davis flashes a guilty wince at his wife and lets go of Timothy, whom he had in a headlock, and forces a shake of their hands. “No hard feelings, bud.”
“None taken. See you Monday,” Timothy says with a grin.
The boys dust off their jeans and slap the grit off their hats while Max gasps for breath after taking more than a few punches to his stomach, two of which came from Paul. And instead of Cora going to her hopefully-now-ex-boyfriend, she stands before Trace, sliding her hand over his shaved-clean cheek to observe his rapidly swelling eyes. “Are you ok, Big T?”
Trace hooks an arm around her back, tipping his head into her palm. “Nothing but a scratch, Little Mama. I’ll be fine. You know,” he says slowly, sliding his hand up her back to play with the small hairs at the nape of her neck, “I’ve always wanted a princess in my passenger seat.”
“Really?” Cora arches into him with stars in her eyes, swept off her feet by the whirlwind, too.
“Got room in the back for at least three car seats,” he says in what I’m sure he thinks is a seductive tone. “I always wanted to be a young dad.”
I roll my eyes and swing my gaze around with sirens starting up in the far distance. “Where’s Layla?” My voice rises several octaves as I start shoving people aside, having broken my promise of not letting her out of my sight. “Where is Layla?”
Violet cups a hand around her mouth to shout, “Russell! There!”
I follow her pointed finger, my stomach bottoming out when a flash of skin winks out of the light into the dark woods, and then I’m running.