Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Journey
Pulling into the parking lot of Pretty Kitties, the strip club we own, I cut the engine and stare ahead at the neon sign flickering the word GIRLS overhead.
This place used to be my go-to for a good time. Now, it’s the only place open this late where I can get a drink and hopefully not have to answer twenty questions about where June is.
Heaving a sigh, I climb off my bike and head inside.
Bash glances up when the door opens, and his brows pull together. “What are you doing here?”
“No questions.”
He eyes me for a second, then nods as he pulls down a bottle of Maker’s Mark and fills two glasses.
I drop onto the barstool across from him. “Leave the bottle.”
“That bad?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
“You have no fucking clue, dude.” He fires off a text, and in no time, the door swings open again and in strolls Bane and Gator.
We migrate to a booth in the corner, none of us saying a word until Gator finally breaks the silence. “This about your girl?”
“She’s not my girl anymore,” I mutter. Fuck. Why does saying the words out loud feel like swallowing broken glass?
“Bullshit,” Bane says flatly, pouring himself a generous shot from the bottle Bash brought over. “What happened?”
I take a breath and run through the condensed version.
Coming out of church to find June gone. Riding to her apartment.
Walking in on Amy holding a gun to the woman I love.
That bitch pulling the trigger and almost snuffing out June’s life.
Then, the aftermath of June sitting in the back of an ambulance, her blue eyes scared and sad as she told me she couldn’t do this anymore.
“I told her June didn’t mean anything to me,” I say, my voice flat as I stare into my glass.
“What?” I glance up at Gator’s confused tone.
“Amy. I told her that June was nobody. Right in front of June’s face, just trying to get the gun away from Amy.”
Bane’s brow furrows. “And June heard that.”
“She was standing five feet away.”
“Fuck,” Gator breathes.
“She knows you were just talking Amy down, right?” Bash asks.
I drag both hands down my face. “I don’t know what she knows. She’d barely look at me after Amy pulled the trigger.” I drop my hands and stare at the amber liquid in my glass. “Then she got in Brooklyn’s car and left.”
The table is quiet for a beat.
“You said that to keep her alive,” Bash says carefully. “Any woman with half a brain knows that.”
“June’s got more than half a brain,” I fire back, fury rising in my chest. “But she’s also got a deadbeat dad who walked out on her when she was a kid, and a mother who talks mad shit to her at every turn.
” I swallow hard, the realization crystallizing as I say it out loud.
“So when the man who’s barely got a foot in the door with her says some bullshit, it’s gonna hit differently. ”
The stone in my gut grows heavier. I didn’t just say the wrong thing—I said the exact thing that would confirm every fear June has ever had. That men leave. That she’s not enough. Fuck.
“Shit,” Gator sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.
Bane leans back, arms crossed, studying me. “Oh boo-fucking-hoo.”
My brows hit my hairline. “The fuck?”
“You heard me, pussy. Quit your crying and go get her. Throw her over your shoulder if you have to. Bring her ass home, and tie her up until she understands.”
Bash slowly turns his head, giving Bane a wide-eyed stare. “Normal people don’t kidnap women, bro.”
Bane shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Worked for me.”
I can’t help but snort into my drink. “Frankie swung a crowbar at you.”
“Louisville Slugger,” Bane corrects, like that makes a lick of a difference. “And she apologized. Eventually.”
“After she rang your bell,” Bash adds dryly.
“Love is complicated.” Bane grins before taking a sip of his whiskey.
I would laugh if I didn’t feel like my chest was going to cave in. “I’m not kidnapping her.”
“Then what’s the plan?” Bane asks slowly, like I’m an idiot for not going with his plan.
“I don’t have a fucking plan.” I throw back my shot and pour another. “I don’t know how to plan—” I wave my hand vaguely. “—feelings and relationship shit.”
“Clearly,” Bash mutters under his breath.
I shoot him a look. “You’re one to talk. Why haven’t you gone to Nashville to bring Hattie Lynn home?”
Bash’s jaw ticks, and the temperature at the table drops about ten degrees. “She’s getting married,” he growls.
“Touch-y,” Gator sing-songs.
“I will end you,” Bash rumbles, shooting daggers at him.
Hattie Lynn is a hot button topic for him.
They were a thing all through middle school and high school.
They were labeled Odin’s Most Likely to marry, have a litter of babies, and live happily ever after.
Clearly things changed, seeing as she’s now a country music superstar in Nashville, and is engaged to an NFL quarterback.
“Look, brother.” Bane pours another round for everyone.
“You’ve got two options. One, you give her the space she’s asking for, and hope like fucking hell she comes back.
Two, you go over there, get on your fucking knees, and tell her you’re a dumb fuck and you messed up.
Three, throw her over your shoulder and lock her ass up until she sees reason. And four—”
“That’s more than two options,” Gator says, looking confused.
Bane waves him off, then turns to me. “You love her?”
“Yeah, bro. I do.”
Bane points a finger at me. “There ya’ go!”
Bash’s lips curl up as he shakes his head. “There he goes, what? He still doesn’t know what to do.”
I don’t. But I’ll figure it out. I have to.
“I—” the words die on my lips as Brooklyn hurries past our table, clearly trying to slip by unnoticed.
“Brooklyn.”
She stiffens mid-step, then turns, her expression already shuttered. “Hey, guys,” she says cheerfully, forcing a smile.
“How is she?” I ask, hopeful for anything she’ll tell me.
Brooklyn darts her green eyes toward Gator before snapping her gaze back to me.
“You’re putting me in a tough position. June is one of my best friends. I can’t betray her trust.”
“No loyalty to the Kings who employ you?” Bash asks, eyes assessing.
Brooklyn plants her hands on her hips and lifts her chin in challenge. “That’s a low blow.”
Licking his lips, Gator leans forward on his elbows, his gaze dragging slowly over Brooklyn with unhurried appreciation. “Come on, menace. Throw my boy a bone here.”
Brooklyn holds Gator’s stare for a long beat before she exhales through her nose and turns back to me.
“She’s hurting and scared. You need to give her time.”
My hands tighten around my glass. “I almost lost her today, Brooklyn. Twice. I can’t just sit here and—”
“Then don’t sit here.” Brooklyn’s voice softens, just a fraction.
“But don’t show up at my door tonight either.
She cried herself to sleep an hour ago, and Maverick finally stopped asking why ‘Auntie June has boo-boos.’” She swallows, and for a moment, the tough-girl armor slips enough for me to see the worry underneath.
“She’s my girl, Journey. I’m going to protect her the same way you would, but you gotta let her come to you on this one. ”
With a squeeze to my shoulder, she turns and walks away, leaving me wondering how the hell I’m going to stay away.
“Go home, brother. Get some sleep. Things will look different in the morning,” Bane says before draining his drink and sliding out of the booth.
“Yeah.” I nod.
Gator and Bash head out next, leaving me alone at the table with an almost-empty bottle and the wreckage of my thoughts.
When I finally sober up and make it out to the parking lot, I’m the only one left at Kitties.
As I settle onto my bike, I pull out my phone and open the text thread with June.
I smile at the last message from her. She sent it before everything went to shit.
It’s a picture of her in my bathroom in one of my t-shirts.
She’s smiling big and bright, and the caption is a single pink heart emoji.
She’s beautiful. I should have told her that.
Shaking my head at how much of a fucking idiot I am, I start typing.
Me: I love you. I’m sorry. I’ll wait as long as you need, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re mine, June Calloway, and I’m yours. I’m not giving up on us.
My thumb hovers over the send button as I read it back.
Fuck.
Sighing heavily, I delete the whole thing.
Time. She said she needed time.
Pocketing my phone, I start my bike and ride home through the empty streets of Odin, alone.
I wake up to pounding on my door. Fuck. Rolling over, I squint at the alarm clock.
8:27
My head feels like a jackhammer is hammering away on my brain, and my mouth tastes like something crawled inside and died. “It’s too fucking early,” I croak.
“Go away,” I shout when the knocking gets louder.
“Journey! Open this fucking door before I kick it down!”
Stella. “Great.”
Dragging myself out of bed, I stumble to the door, wearing nothing but boxer briefs. When I yank it open, my little sister is standing there with fire in her eyes and two cups of coffee in her hands.
“You look like shit,” she announces, pushing past me.
“Good morning to you too squirt.”
She thrusts one of the coffee cups at me. “Drink this, ya big fat jerk.”
I take the cup gratefully and down half of it in one go, not caring that it burns going down. “Are you here to kick my ass?”
Stella plops down on the edge of my bed, her eyes laser focused. “No. I’m here to tell you to get your shit together and go fix things with June.”
“Sis—“
“I’m serious, Johnny. I spent half the night with June as she cried her eyes out.”
I sink down onto the chair in the corner. “Is she okay?”
“One of your whores shot at her. What do you think?”
“I didn’t—“ I drag a hand over my face. Not much I can say to that. Amy was one of the women I used to hook up with, and she did fire a shot at my girlfriend. “Fuck.”
“You’ve got the emotional intelligence of a doorknob.” She sighs, shaking her head. “But you love her, and she loves you, so you need to fix this.”
“I’m trying to give her space.”
“With anyone else, I’d say yes.”
I arch a brow. “Go on.”
“June has been let down by almost everyone in her life. She needs someone to show up and fight for her.”
I drain the rest of my coffee and set the cup on the dresser, processing my little sister’s advice.
Stella’s face softens. “Johnny, she’s scared. Everything that’s happened in the last few days—it’s a lot for anyone, but especially for someone who’s spent her whole life thinking she has to face everything alone.”
The weight of Stella’s words settles on my shoulders. “I fucked up.”
“Yeah. You did.” She stands and smoothes her hands down her jeans. “So unfuck it.”
“Is that your professional advice?”
A ghost of a smile flickers across her face. “It’s my sisterly advice. Take it or leave it.”
I get to my feet and pull her into a hug. “Love you, squirt.”
“Love you too, dumbass.” She hugs me back, then pushes away with an exaggerated grimace. “Now, please go take a shower. You smell like you fell into a bottle of whiskey.”