25. Environmental Support
TWENTY-FIVE
ENVIRONMENTAL SUPPORT
Trish
Jail cells are cold.
Rubbing my hands up and down my arms doesn’t diminish the goosebumps spread across my body.
The open-toed platform shoes don’t help.
Out of my sight, something heavy clanks against metal, and more goosebumps pop up. Maybe it isn’t the cold making me cold. I shiver. Maybe it’s fear.
Despite being a wanted felon, I never so much as got a parking ticket. Jail was always something I was running from, but I never let my mind wander to actually being in it.
It’s scary. And I’m smart enough to know that this is just a holding cell in League City’s police department. Felons don’t stay here for long.
The beep and trill of a police officer’s walkie-talkie echo down the hall.
Giving up on getting warm, I lean back, the rough cinder block wall tugging at my wild hair. Doing a running leap off a stripper stage to perform a swing mount on an inebriated, violent man does wonders for creating a volumized hairstyle.
That’s just one of the many things I did wrong tonight. Well, not protecting my friends from being backhanded by a Neanderthal, sure, but even suggesting we go to Heartbreakers to begin with.
I shouldn’t have let loose. I should’ve given Rose my shots like I always do. I should’ve stayed out of the limelight.
I lean forward, elbows on my thighs, head in hands, wincing as some of my hair stays attached to the cement wall, and sigh. My life is just one big ball of should’ves.
Soon everyone will know about the warrant, the ring, my past. I’m sure they’ll be thinking they dodged a bullet not being caught up in my drama.
My only comfort is that I don’t have to see their disappointment. That I’m alone in this small, cold cell.
“Where’s T.D.?”
I whip my head up at the familiar, sassy voice. It can’t be.
I stand, leaning against the bars so I can see down the hall. My mouth drops open.
A police officer is walking Rose down the hallway.
“Rose?”
Rose looks up, smiling. “What’s shaking, girl?” She raises both hands and waves. The metal of her handcuffs jingles.
“What…” My voice breaks off, my mind simply not understanding what I’m seeing.
The police officer, a woman, looking as annoyed as I am cold, reaches my cell with Rose in hand. “You have interesting friends.”
All I can do is stand there, wondering if jail hallucinations are a thing.
Rose nudges the police officer with her shoulder. “Ah, come on Lydia, you know I made your night.”
Lydia’s lips twitch on one side, but she kills the expression with an even heavier frown while she unlocks the cell door. She looks at me. “Stand back.”
I do.
The metal bars slide open just wide enough for Rose to step through before slamming shut again.
“Hands.”
Rose dutifully turns and sticks her hands through the bars so that Lydia can remove her cuffs.
Drawing her now free hands back, Rose rubs her wrists with a grin. “Thanks, girl.”
Lydia shakes her head and turns to leave, but not before I see a small, fleeting smile.
“What did you do?” I ask Rose, but it’s the police officer who answers.
“Public indecency,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away. “She’s a pain in the butt, that friend of yours.”
Humming, Rose skips over to the cell bench, her boots lightly scuffing the floor. “I’m beginning to think that no one appreciates me.”
The door down the hallway slams shut, making me jump.
“I once heard that a good friend is always ready with bail money.” Rose leans back against the cement block wall, hands behind her head. “But a great friend will be sitting in the cell with you.” She lowers one hand to pat the empty spot next to her. “Might’ve been a Hallmark card.”
Wordlessly, I sit down next to her.
“Either way, that greeting card platitude is a damn sight more informative than that lame-ass letter you wrote.” She arches one blond brow in my direction, making me cringe.
“I see.” I stare at my shoes. “You found those, huh?”
Rose puts her hands behind her head again, looking up at the watermarked ceiling. “It’s not like we didn’t already know you were hiding something.”
“Well, the romance writing thing.”
She scoffs. “You love romance. You defend the genre all the time. You weren’t worried about us finding that out; you were worried we’d discover your alias. Your shameful past.” The sarcasm she lays on the last sentences is heavier than the cell door bars.
She’s right about me not wanting anyone to know. For a variety of reasons. Now that they know, I’m feeling a multitude of emotions. Though looking at my friend relaxing back in a jail cell like she’s on a picnic, the main thing I’m feeling is confused.
I look down at my hands, folded properly in my lap. “Aren’t you… aren’t you mad?”
“Of course I’m mad. I can’t believe those assholes at Heartbreakers got off with just being banned and a warning. If it wasn’t for your stripper ninja skills, one of us would have a black eye for Jackie’s wedding.”
“It was just a spinning mount,” I mumble.
“What it was was awesome.” She laughs, eyes still on the ceiling. “I asked Angela for a copy of the security tape. I want to see it in slow-mo.”
My confusion doesn’t fade. “I meant, aren’t you angry at me ?” I place a hand on my chest. “For not telling you I’m a wanted felon?”
Rose turns her head to me. “I’m mad at myself for not figuring it out.” She rolls her eyes. “’Cause now that I know, I mean”—she snorts—“it’s so obvious.”
“It is?”
She nods, then drops her hands to sit up, wincing when the wall pulls at her hair. “Also, save the drama for your books. You aren’t a felon . According to your letter you were unjustly accused, right?”
“Well, yes, but legally I’m?—”
She waves her hand, cutting me off. “Legally schmeagally. You’re innocent, and we’ll prove it.” She shrugs. “And if not, I have the best lawyers money can buy. We’ll figure something out.” She taps her chin, giving me side-eye. “But just in case, how do you feel about conjugal visits?”