Chapter 12
RUBY
Promise is on my living room floor with makeup scattered across the coffee table, elbows braced on her knees, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she holds a hand mirror up to her face.
London sits cross-legged on my couch in a tight dark purple dress that hugs every one of her curves while she scrolls through her phone and hums under her breath.
Sadie is in the hallway leaning close to the mirror as she applies her lipstick.
“Promise, are you going to be done sometime this century?” London sighs, not taking her eyes off her phone.
Promise side-eyes London. “Not everyone can slap on a dress and some lip gloss and look utterly perfect without even trying.”
London looks up from her phone with an arched brow. “Bitch, what are you yapping about over there? You’re gorgeous, and you know it. You don’t need all that crap on your face.”
“I’m just saying.” Promise tosses London an exasperated look before she goes back to blending as if her life depends on it. “Between work and chasing after a toddler twenty-four hours a day, I never have the chance to get dolled up anymore. I’m going all out tonight.
“Your makeup is perfect,” London counters, flicking her gaze up from her phone again, long enough to take Promise in, shakes her head, then goes right back to scrolling.
Sadie snorts but otherwise stays silent.
She and I both know not to get in the middle of the banter.
Besides, it’s always entertaining. And even though my friends had to force me into agreeing to this little outing, I’m glad I gave in.
It turns out, the distraction from the dumpster fire that is currently my life is much needed.
I should feel annoyed. Instead, a tightness eases in my chest, just a fraction, because this is what they do—fill the room with enough noise that the darker thoughts can’t get comfortable. For a second, I forget the way my week has been sitting on my shoulders, weighing me down.
All three of them look as though they have energy to burn.
Me? I’m drained. Morning sickness has hit me like a sledgehammer.
Then there is work, and not to mention, I can’t help but worry about my brother.
The week clings to me—emails, charts, end-of-year faculty meetings that could have been a simple email, and the steady grind of pretending I’m fine when my brain won’t stop replaying all the moments I wish I could erase.
Robby’s face flashes behind my eyes when I blink. The way his jaw tightened. The way he kept looking over my shoulder expecting someone to step out of the shadows. The words he said—half warning, half plea—still crawl under my skin when the house gets quiet.
I haven’t told my parents. Haven’t told the girls, either, even though they’ve been my safe place these past few weeks.
Every time I open my mouth to spill it, something clamps down on my throat.
If I tell them, it becomes real in a way I can’t control.
I also have to admit that my brother is tangled up in something I don’t understand, bad, and probably dangerous, then they would insist on getting the Kings involved, and that’s something else I can’t handle right now.
Tonight, all I want is to put on pajamas, lock the door, and let the world spin without me for a few hours.
But Promise texted a hundred exclamation points, London promised dancing would help get my mind off a certain someone, and Sadie showed up with a garment bag as if we’re going to a nightclub instead of a biker bar.
“I swear, Ruby, if you try to wear those grandma socks with boots again, I’m calling the fashion police,” Sadie tosses out, peering at me over her shoulder. “You look like a kindergarten teacher.”
I throw my arms up. “I am a kindergarten teacher.”
Sadie giggles. She knows I’d rather be in sweats and T-shirts. I roll my eyes, but my fingers still curl defensively around the socks.
“They’re not grandma socks,” I protest, holding up a pair of thick knit socks as evidence. “They’re warm.” Another pregnancy symptom I’ve been experiencing is that I’m always cold. It’s ninety degrees outside, yet I’m freezing.
“I’m cold,” I shot back. “And, I’m tired. Like tired, tired.”
London finally locks her phone and fixes me with a stare. “Ruby, if you cancel, you’re going to sit in this house and spiral. I can’t let you do that. I didn’t put on this dress for you to spiral.”
Promise nods as if this is a courtroom, and London just made a compelling argument. “Also, Nova is working the bar tonight. Which means every skank in the place will think he’s fair game. It’s been a while since I laid claim to my man.”
“Do people still say skank?” London smirks just before Promise picks up a tube of mascara and launches it at London.
Nova is Promise’s husband. The man is covered in tattoos and permanently smirking, as if he knows a secret.
It’s also the kind of smirk that makes panties drop, too, so it’s no secret he has a way with the ladies.
Although Promise knows she has nothing to worry about because Nova only has eyes for her.
He could be standing in a room full of naked women, and still, Promise would be the only woman he notices.
London narrows her eyes at me. “Warm is what you wear when you’re going to Target. We’re going to Twisted Throttle. There will be leather. There will be loud music. There will be dancing.”
I laugh. It comes out tired and small, but it’s something.
I settle for black ankle socks that barely show and tug on my boots anyway.
My jeans are my favorite pair—the ones that make me feel like I have my life together even when I don’t, and I paired them with a simple black top that I can pretend is ‘effortless’ instead of ‘I don’t have the emotional capacity for anything fancy. ’ I’m just thankful my jeans still fit.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I need noise and people to drown out my thoughts long enough that I can’t line them up into worst-case scenarios. Maybe one night of forgetting won’t fix anything, but it might keep me from cracking in half.
“You’ve been quiet all week,” Sadie says, softer now. She turns from the mirror, concern smoothing out her usual sass. “Work still eating you alive?”
My stomach knots at how easily they see me. I tuck my hair behind my ear and aim for casual. “Yeah. Just normal end-of-year stuff. And my parents have been on my case about coming over for dinner. I’ve canceled the past couple of weekends.”
It’s not even a full lie, which is how I justify it. Work has been brutal. My parents have been on my case. It’s just that neither of those things is what’s making my hands shake when I’m alone.
London’s concern lasts exactly two seconds before her eyes light up, and she changes the subject, and I love her for it. “Let’s go, girls. I need to get drunk so I can go home, pick a fight with Kallum, and have hot, drunken, angry sex.”
Kallum, aka Everest, is London’s man. Those two had been dancing around each other for a few years before they finally got their crap together. I’ve never seen London so happy, and I’m honestly over the moon for her.
“Cain said there’s live music tonight,” Promise tells us as she slips on her heels. “Some local talent and, of course, Fender will play.”
Sadie gives me a look conveying she knows what I’m thinking.
If Nova, Everest, and Fender are there, then there’s a good chance Catcher will be there.
My stomach drops at the thought of being in the same room as Catcher, but staying home hasn’t helped.
I can’t avoid the man forever. I also can’t avoid the fact that I eventually have to tell him I’m having his baby, but tonight is not the night.
“Fine,” I say, forcing more enthusiasm into the word than I feel. “One night. We go, we have fun, and then tomorrow I can go back to being an exhausted adult.”
The next ten minutes are a blur of last-minute hair touches before we all pile into London’s car.
New Orleans comes alive at night with music on every corner, street performers, the smell of delicious food, streetlights illuminating the passersby, and laughter drifting down the sidewalks.
I watch it through the window and try to let the city’s pulse sync with mine as I let my mind drift away from reality.
Twisted Throttle announces itself when we pull up.
The neon sign glows like a warning, and an invitation, the kind of light that makes your skin look warmer, and your choices look riskier.
Motorcycles line the curb, chrome catching the streetlamps.
The line at the door is long, and the rumble of voices hits us before we even step onto the sidewalk.
A couple of the guys lean against their bikes.
As we approach, Riggs and Wick catch sight of us.
Standing next to Wick is Tequila, and Riggs has his arm slung around Luna’s shoulder in a protective stance.
A woman in ripped jeans and a leather vest lights a cigarette and walks by us to slip inside the bar.
Bass from inside makes the windows vibrate.
Even before we step in, I can feel the place in my soul.
“Ladies.” Riggs jerks his chin, but his eyes are laser-focused on me.
Riggs is the most perceptive man I know, and he has a way of making you feel like he knows all your secrets, not in a weird way, but in a big-brother type of way.
That’s probably one of the things that make him a great president.
Finally, his focus shifts when Luna steps away from him to join our group.
She offers a warm smile and a wave. She then turns back to Riggs and signs, “I’m heading in with the girls. ”
Riggs steps forward, kisses Luna, and signs back, “I’ll be there in a minute.”