Chapter 10
Jo-Leigh
The second the door slams, it feels like all the air gets sucked out of the room.
I try to hold it together. I really do. But the moment I hear his truck roar to life outside, something inside me cracks.
I sink to the floor, pressing my back to the door like that might somehow hold me together.
My hands shake, and before I can stop them, the tears come. Hot and fast and ugly.
I cover my mouth to muffle the sob, like someone might hear me and care.
He was never going to stay. Not really. I knew that.
I just didn’t expect it to hurt this bad when he left again.
When he looked at me like I was some reckless kid who needed saving.
Like I wasn’t allowed to be angry that he was the one who ruined everything and now he wants to act like I disappointed him?
Screw that.
I cry until my chest aches and my head throbs worse than it did this morning.
Then I do the only thing I can. I get up and wash my face in the tiny bathroom sink.
It’s cracked along the edge and the light flickers, but it’s mine.
I breathe through the wave of nausea and splash cold water on my cheeks again.
I look at my reflection. Eyes red, lips swollen. But I’m still standing.
And that has to mean something.
I walk back into the kitchen and dig out the crumpled notepad I bought from the corner store. The one where I scribbled out goals for myself when I first got here. Things I promised I’d try.
I smooth it out and read the list:
Get job
Start new life
Find Swag
I snort through my tears and grab a pen. I scribble out that last one entirely. Then I add something new.
Remember why I came here in the first place.
Because it wasn’t just about Swag. It was about me. About proving I could be more than what people thought I was. More than some girl with a past and no one to believe in her.
If he doesn’t want to be part of this new version of me, fine. But I’m still becoming her.
The weekend passes slowly.
I keep to myself, alternating between binge-watching old sitcoms and reorganizing my tiny apartment.
I don’t check my phone, not that I expect a call or text from him.
Instead, I do laundry. I make a grocery list I don’t need.
I stare out the window and let the hum of the box fan lull me into some semblance of calm. It’s quiet. It’s lonely. But I’m here.
Monday morning comes too early, but I’m thankful for something to do.
I twist my hair into a neat ponytail, smoothing the stray wisps at my temple before slipping into a pair of black slacks, sensible flats, and a floral blouse with soft pink and cream blooms that I hoped might make me feel more put together than I actually am.
The social services office is small—three desks, a rattling AC unit in the back wall—but it’s clean and smells faintly of lemon disinfectant.
Outside, a pawn shop looms on one side, a payday loan office on the other, both reminders of just how close to the edge some people are when they walk through our door.
By mid-morning, I’m at my desk, bent over a stack of intake forms, my pen scribbling through the familiar questions when the front door chimes.
“Jo-Leigh?”
I straighten and turn, heart skipping in my chest. Standing in the doorway is Ricky freaking Langston—the same guy who used to strut down the high school halls with his football jersey like it was a crown and that cocky grin that always found me.
The same guy who cornered me at a bonfire once, drunk on beer and ego, and didn’t seem to care that I said no.
Only now he’s a man. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a deep tan and short-cropped dark blond hair under a Baton Rouge PD hat. His uniform looks like it was tailored for intimidation. And it works.
My stomach dips, instinct churning under the surface.
“Oh, hey, Ricky!” I say, too bright.
His grin widens. “It’s Officer Langston now.”
He steps fully into the office, the door swinging shut behind him with a faint thud. It sounds final somehow.
“I thought you were long gone,” he says. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter. Even though my palms suddenly feel clammy.
“Long story.”
He tips his head, studying me with that same bold gaze from high school, like I’m still seventeen and easy to read. “One that ends in Baton Rouge? Must’ve been a hell of a ride.”
I don’t have a response to that, so I stay quiet. Maybe he’ll get the hint. He doesn’t. Instead, his gaze drags down and then back up again, slow and assessing. Something about the way he looks at me makes my skin crawl, but I don’t flinch.
“You look good, Jo-Leigh,” he says, voice smooth and dangerous.
“Thanks.”
Ricky steps a little closer to my desk, too close for comfort in the small office space.
“Well, maybe we could catch up sometime. I’d like to hear your story.” He fishes a small card from his pocket and slides it toward me. “That’s my work cell. Shoot me a text if you ever want coffee. Or lunch. Or, hell, even just someone to talk to.”
I keep the smile pasted on my face. “Thanks, Ricky. I might do that.”
I won’t.
But he’s not done. He snaps his fingers like he just cracked the code.
“Hey, I have an idea. Let’s grab a bite to eat. You’re hungry now, aren’t you?”
“Well, no,” I say, laughing lightly. “And it’s my first day. I?—”
Before I can finish the excuse, he’s already walking to the door and calling for my boss like he owns the place. I sit up straighter, heat prickling at my neck. She appears from the back, clipboard in hand, but her expression lights up when she sees him.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite officer. What are you doing over on this side of town, Ricky?”
“Trying to convince my old friend here to grab a bite,” he says with that same easy charm. Then, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel personal, he adds, “I think she might remember what a jerk I was in high school.”
I laugh softly but something about his tone makes my stomach knot.
My boss chuckles. “Jo-Leigh, if you want to go, you’re welcome to take an early lunch. Just clock back in after, okay?”
I hesitate. Ricky gives me a look that says he’s not backing down.
Then my boss says, “Oh, heck. Honey, the man clearly has heart in his eyes for you. You should go.”
Before I can say no, Ricky’s already smirking, confident in the way men get when they’ve already decided for you. “Come on, Jo-Leigh. What’s the worst that could happen? I don’t bite—unless you ask real nice.”
My boss laughs like he just said the funniest thing she’s ever heard, but all it does is ick me out.
I force a smile. “Okay. Just for a little bit.”
He opens the door with a theatrical flourish like he’s just won a prize, and I follow him out into the sticky Louisiana heat, already regretting my decision.
We end up at a greasy little diner down the street.
The place smells like fried onions and over brewed coffee.
Ricky slides into a booth like he owns it.
I sit across from him, fidgeting with a sugar packet.
“You’ve changed,” he says, eyeing me with an intensity that makes my stomach knot. “But in a good way.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, picking up a menu even though I have no intention of ordering anything more than a sweet tea.
He doesn’t need a menu. Of course not. He orders a burger and fries, then tells the waitress to bring me a salad. The audacity of it kills me.
When she leaves, his smile lingers too long.
“So,” he says, leaning forward. “Tell me about what happened after you left town.”
I shift in my seat. “Not much to tell.”
He tilts his head like he doesn’t believe me. “You always were mysterious. I like that about you.”
I swallow. The way he’s watching me makes my skin crawl.
“You know,” he adds, voice low, “I always wondered what would’ve happened if we’d gone all the way that night at the bonfire.”
The air leaves my lungs. The sugar packet crumples in my fist. I glance around the diner. No one’s listening. The waitress is busy refilling coffee for an old couple in the corner. I stare out the window, trying to ground myself, to remember that I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not powerless.
“That’s funny. I always wondered how long you laid on the beach before you came to.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes.
“About that. Who was the coward who attacked me?”
I shrug. “I didn’t get a good look at his face.”
Ricky hums under his breath. “You know, that’s why I became a cop. So I could find the thugs out there and bring them down.” He pauses. “I heard a funny rumor after that night.”
“Oh?”
He waits a beat. “Yeah. Someone said they saw the President of the Devil’s Regents MC out at the lake.”
I still, trying not to give anything away.
But Ricky laughs. “Guess it doesn’t matter. I’m here now and so are you.”
When the food comes, I push it around my plate, barely tasting anything. Ricky keeps talking about the job, the force, and how he’s got ambitions for detective. He name-drops some of the guys from high school like I should care. Like we’re old friends instead of what we really are.
When he finally leans back and says, “We should do this again,” I force another smile, pay for my own sweet tea, and lie through my teeth.
“Sure. Maybe.”
As I walk back toward the office, I toss Ricky’s card in the first trash can I see. The paper flutters down like a leaf, crumpled and useless. I don’t care if he sees. I hope he does.
That’s when I notice a motorcycle parked across the street, dark and matte black, gleaming faintly in the Louisiana heat. My heart skips. For a second, I think it’s Swag. I freeze, pulse climbing into my throat.
But it’s not him.
The man straddling the bike isn’t bulky like Swag. He’s thinner, wirier. But the second our eyes meet, he tenses like I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t and in the next breath, he revs the engine and takes off, tires screeching against the pavement.
I spin around, but no one else on the street seems to have noticed.
My skin prickles.
Was he watching me?
I stand there for another moment, heart still thumping, then make myself go inside. The fluorescent lights of the office feel too bright, too artificial. I sit at my desk, suddenly cold despite the summer heat still clinging to my clothes.
Who the hell was that?
And did Swag send him?