Chapter 20
MUG SHOTS AND SPICY MARGS
JOSEPHINE
My feet ache, and my back twinges with every move. It’s like I’ve taken up gymnastics in my sleep. Muscles I didn’t know existed, pull and protest with every little shift.
The faint chemical scent of hair dye and shampoo filters through the air, mixing with the lingering warmth of blow-dryers running nonstop.
My last client of the day heads for the front door, the bell above it jingling softly as it shuts behind her.
I slump in my chair, spinning lazily toward Charlie, who’s sweeping up the cut she’d done earlier.
“How is it possible to be this tired and sore when I’ve been doing this for years. You’d think my body would be used to it.”
“Are we talking about your sex life with that mountain of a man you call a husband or your career?” Charlie quips, dumping her mess into the trash next to her station with a loud thump of the broom against the bin to get rid of the stuck strands.
I let out a very unladylike snort at her assumption, my head tipping back against the warm leather of my chair.
“Oh, boy. What’s that sound for? Trouble in paradise?”
Harlow and Lexi are still the only two that I’ve told about Trenton.
But the situation isn’t going away. Sooner or later, Charlie will know.
Shit, the whole town will know. We’ll end up the source of gossip for all the old biddies.
Whispered over lukewarm coffee and pie after church service.
Our lives picked apart for their entertainment.
I draw in a deep breath, readying my lungs for the long-winded story when my phone blares to life, vibrating on my table, nearly knocking into my iced coffee. The cup rattles against the wood, condensation slipping down the plastic.
“Give me a sec.” I hold up my finger, and she disappears into the back room.
“Hey, Lo. What’s up?”
“Where are you?” she asks, a tone of worry bleeding through her direct question.
“Uhm, I’m at work. Why? What’s going on?”
“I’m guessing Vik’s still in the dog house?” She sighs.
“Can you just tell me what’s happening? There’s no need to rehash my marriage troubles.”
“The guys got picked up last night. I’m assuming you missed your husband not coming home because you’re still squeezing into bed with Haley?”
“What!?” I squeal, shooting up from my relaxed spot on my chair, and it swivels out of my way.
“Si, Vik, and Chopper. They were hauled in after a raid on the warehouse last night.”
“Oh my god!”
“Ghost is working on it. Vik used his phone call to get in touch with him, but asked Si to pass along the message. They didn’t find anything, babe.
It was after Covington left, so the space was cleared out.
But you know this Sheriff, he’s been gunning for anything to take our guys down.
Ghost is going over the bullshit charges and is confident he’ll have them out by tomorrow at the latest.”
“Okay.” It’s all my brain can settle on at the moment. The word feels small compared to the unexpected worry brewing inside my chest. With everything going on between us, my cold shoulder, and new sleeping arrangement, I didn’t know the handover was happening.
My chest tightens. The hurt I’ve been so consumed by over the last couple of weeks suddenly melts away with the concern rising for my husband.
Of course, he didn’t call me. I wouldn’t expect him to, but he still made sure to get word to me, even though we’re not exactly on speaking terms at the moment.
Maybe I’ve taken this further than it needed to be. When I think about it hard enough, I’m not even mad about the situation. Trenton is a great kid. Haley’s already attached like a barnacle, glued to his side with that bright, trusting smile of hers.
I can see the yearning in his eyes for a steady home every time we kick back and relax in the evenings, the way he lingers in the doorway like he’s waiting for permission to belong. He’s desperate for a safe space and parents to look out for him and love him.
God, he reminds me so much of myself, and that’s the real problem. It’s not that Trenton came out of left field, or that Vik never told me something he never really knew. It’s…
“Josie, you there, babe?”
Harlow breaks me from my internal spiral. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. So, Ghost is on it. Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good.”
“Mhmm,” Harlow drawls. “You sure you’re okay?”
“It’s been a few fucking weeks, Lo.” I let a defeated laugh slip past my defenses, my free hand pressing into my temple, where an ache is starting to pulse.
“You know what I think you need?”
“Honestly, I’m terrified for whatever is about to come out of your mouth.”
“Pft, I’m not that bad.”
There’s a long pause, then both of us break the silence with gut-deep laughter that fills the quiet salon.
Man, I needed that.
“Anywayssss, we need a girls’ night.”
“A girls’ night out?”
“Yes, please! Take me with you.” Charlie pipes up, obviously eavesdropping.
She walks around the half wall, drying her hands on a towel tucked into her apron and giving me an innocent smile that fools absolutely no one.
“See, two against one. Since there’s no way we’ll get a waddling Lexi out of the house with Pierce’s neurotic ass breathing down her neck.”
“Harlow, our husbands were just arrested, and you want to go out drinking?”
“I’m not sure what one has to do with the other here, babes. They’re locked up, but not for long. Why should we do the same at home? You need this. Let’s go out.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Yes!” She cheers. “I’ll pick you up tonight at eight, we’re going to Duke’s.”
I groan, shaking my head even though she can’t see. “Duke’s? Really, Harlow?”
“Well, going to the clubhouse will only suffocate our night. We need a new venue. So, Duke’s it is.”
“Fine. I’ll see you at eight. Love ya.”
“Right back attcha, babe.”
My denim skirt rides up as I slide into Harlow’s car, the leather seat warm from the lingering Texas heat even as the sun dips lower in the sky.
The air smells faintly of coconut and motor oil, as though she’d been working on her bike before she got ready for tonight.
She immediately reaches over to turn the radio down, looking me over before letting out a slow whistle.
“Damn, mama’s still got it.” She winks and hits the gas, speeding down the driveway, kicking up stones that rattle against the underside of her car.
I wasn’t planning on wearing more than a pair of jeans and my favorite boots. But after dropping the kids off at Lexi’s for the night, and the disappointed look she gave me, I started second-guessing myself.
I’m not looking for attention, but dressing up and throwing on a little makeup lifted my mood, exactly like Lexi said. The mascara, the gloss, the way my hair falls just right, it feels like putting a piece of myself back together.
“We need to pick up Charlie, too. She lives off Eldridge.”
“You got it.”
She cranks the music, bass thumping through the car as we speed down the darkening roads, until we pull up in front of Charlie’s small cottage, fifteen minutes later. The porch light flickers slightly, bugs swarming around it in a chaotic dance.
The lively redhead bounces down the walkway from her front door, rocking a pair of skin-tight leather leggings and a crop top that’s plastered to her chest.
The back door opens, and Charlie topples in, bringing with her a burst of energy. Harlow and I both swing around at the same time to stare her down.
“What? Is my makeup messed up?” She reaches for her small purse, pulling out a compact.
“You look amazing.”
“We’re going to be bothered all night.”
Harlow and I spit out at the same time.
Charlie shakes her wild curls, and they bounce freely, framing her beautiful face, catching the light from the streetlamp outside.
“Well, I’m not looking for attention from anyone tonight. So, they’re going to be disappointed. What I do need is a nice cold spicy margarita and some girl time!”
“Yes, ma’am. Let’s go!”
Duke’s is the only bar on this side of town, so even on a Thursday, it’s busy with the blue-collar type.
The neon signs buzz faintly against the dark wood-paneled walls, casting everything in a low, colorful glow.
The smell of liquor, fried bar food, and an obnoxious amount of cologne hangs thick in the air.
Boots scuff against worn floorboards, laughter and country music blending into a steady hum.
The barstools are taken by old men nursing beers, chatting up the young bartender, who looks unaffected by their advances. Their gravelly voices carry, competing with the crack of pool balls and the occasional cheer from the dartboard in the corner.
I spy a free table across the small dance floor.
Unfortunately, it’s next to the pool tables, where a group of guys who look like they just turned twenty-one claim the space.
Their voices are loud, and their movements exaggerated with that unwarranted confidence that comes from a lack of social experience.
Lovely. The moment another table opens, we’re moving.
“I’m going to go get us drinks.” Harlow breaks away before we cross the floor, already weaving through the crowd like she owns the place.
“Oh god, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Charlie whispers, like she didn’t anticipate me hearing her over the noise.
“Are you good? I know the other day at work you were about to tell me something?”
She lets out a long sigh, her shoulder slumping, before she shakes her flaming locks. “I was, but honestly, I never go out. I just want to forget about it and have a good night.”
“I’ll drink to that!”
Harlow returns with a tray, the pitcher of margaritas carefully balanced, surrounded by shots of golden liquid and a bowl of limes.
Eyes around the room skate across her body as she leans down and hands out the bad decisions waiting to happen in a drinkable form.
She might be the most casually dressed of us, but Harlow’s always had that air about her.
Her confidence oozes from her pores, attracting the notice of anyone she comes in contact with.
It’s hilarious when you know she can’t stand the general population of men out there and is always itching for a reason to stab them.
“To not letting men dictate our freedom.” Harlow raises one of her shot glasses.
We cheer, shooting the burning tequila back, with a whoop. A shiver racks through my body as the liquor’s sharp nails claw down my throat, warming my belly and loosening the strain of stress I’ve been harboring for weeks.
Let the night begin.