Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
AMELIA
“To girls’ night!”
Lexi holds up her glass of wine and Rory, Gracie, and I do the same, joining hers in a clink.
“To girls’ night!” we all echo.
Smoky Sips might be referred to as a Suds, but for the ladies. I certainly don’t see many men among the patrons here. They’re probably across the street, just like all of our men are, playing pool or darts and clinking glass bottles, while we’re over here enjoying a refined evening after the soft opening of downtown was a smashing success.
“To good dick!” Lexi cheers even louder than before.
Okay, maybe it’s not that refined.
Champagne walls (Weston and I painted them together), with mostly understated decor throughout the cozy space in cream and neutral tones, tied together with ornate crystal chandeliers all make this a decidedly more femme place than Duke could ever hope Suds would be.
Fuzzy pillows line the long bench that serves as seating on one side of the establishment, small circular tables stationed every few feet along the way. The girls and I, however, are stationed at the mirrored bar top in the center.
“What do you know about good dick?” Gracie asks her best friend as Rory and I watch Lexi closely.
Her eyes narrow, scowling playfully, but then Rory leans in. “No, seriously, Lex, when’s the last time you got some?”
Lexi’s mouth purses, jaw tight, before she comes up with a response. “It’s been…a while,” she says delicately, avoiding answering. “But you three are all getting it. I’m hoping this is osmosis and now I’m destined to get some, too, if you guys can rub off on me.”
“I think you’d prefer a good dick rubs off on you,” Rory cracks, and giggles break free from all of us.
“Speaking of,” Lexi turns, one arm on the bar so she faces me full on. “Spill. How’s it going with you two?”
Six eyes on me, Rory’s perfectly made up, Lexi’s sharp, and Gracie’s softly interested, I buckle under their complete attention.
“It’s really good,” I say, taking a sip of my sparkling white wine.
“Well, we know that,” Lexi says, rolling her eyes. “Can see your glow from two towns over. And like that wasn’t enough of a giveaway, your limp too. We want details, Amelia.”
“Not too many details,” Rory corrects. “That’s my brother-in-law.”
“Like you’re not curious.” Lexi waves her off, dismissing her.
“I’ve heard a lot about Wyatt’s dick. Well, seen it for myself, actually. I can only imagine Weston is blessed in the same way,” Gracie says, eyes wide and round.
“I haven’t told you anything about my husband’s package,” Rory says, mouth agape.
“Didn’t say I heard it from you,” she giggles.
Gracie and Rory’s husbands are best friends somehow. The guy seems as opposite from Wyatt as you can get, but maybe that’s why it works. Two Wyatts? I shudder. That’s too terrible to consider. This town only has room for one guy that grumpy. Unless you count Dallas, but he keeps to himself so much it doesn’t upset the balance. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him outside the bar he’s always behind.
“So?” Lexi presses me, nudging me with an elbow.
“By far the best I’ve ever had,” I tell them. “There’s just one thing…”
All three women lean in closer at once, hanging on my every word.
I lower my volume to a whisper. “It’s just, I wish I could blow him. Like, really blow him, not just the tip.”
Lexi’s jaw drops, Gracie’s eyes widen, and Rory just nods, knowingly.
“No. No way.” Lexi shakes her head.
“We can’t all be born with no gag reflex, Lex,” Gracie jokes.
“Sure can’t. You’re a lucky bitch, Alexis,” Rory mumbles under her breath.
“Have you ever seen that meme of the hamster and the banana?” I ask them.
Cackling laughter from all of them warms my heart, which is still learning to let others in, and when I can collect myself, I illustrate my point, opening my mouth as far as it’ll go and pointing at it.
Lexi reaches her hand out, circling her fingers against my lips and then holding it up to her face for inspection, mouth still in a disbelieving O as her fingers don’t quite touch in the same shape.
Rory doesn’t blink twice. “Trust me. I know what you mean. I’m married to a Grady. My jaw deserves a fucking medal.”
“I think that rock on your hand is the medal,” Lexi jokes, pointing at Rory’s emerald cut sparkler that’s damn near the size of one of the crystals dripping from the nearest chandelier.
Wine flows freely, and the conversation even freer, the four of us oversharing as we’re overserved and giggling our way through the night.
I’m glad I told the sisters about my past earlier this week, the day after I told West. Neither of them judged me, just like Weston didn’t. Lexi wrapped me up in her arms and squeezed half the life out of me when I was done talking, and Rory just held my hand, eyes shining bright, but it was more than enough. No one else will ever truly understand what I’ve been through, but for now, being able to share my story with women who want to share my burden was therapeutic beyond words.
West had suggested I ask Rory for help with my brother, finding a way out from under his thumb so we can get my mom moved to town and that nightmare portion of my life can finally be over. Rory offered, too, and we have a meeting scheduled to discuss my brother and mother and possible paths forward.
Truthfully, I’m not sure I’m one hundred percent ready to take my brother on yet. Give me a second to settle, please. These past couple of months have been something I never saw coming.
I’m still adjusting to this world where I have a boyfriend, and friends, and they all know my past and still want me in their lives anyway.
The pessimist in me is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to come to their senses and realize I don’t belong. The darkest parts of me are waiting for the reveal that this is all some joke, they pity me enough they’re letting me stick around until they can figure out how to get rid of me. But the optimist in me is trying to believe the best in the situation, and of these people who have given me no reason to doubt them.
Rory probably shared my story with Wyatt by this point, but I’m not ready to tell Gracie, or stars forbid, let the rest of the town in. My past is something I plan to keep to just the Grady-Weiss family for now, hopefully for good. Just because these few people are good and kind and fair, doesn’t mean the rest of the town would be if word got out.
It’s not too late for me to be chased out of here with pitchforks.
The smiles I get from the Weiss sisters throughout the night, the knowing looks and hand squeezes, they mean the world to me.
You belong , they say.
It’s enough to make my eyes water if I let it. So instead, I don’t go there. I stay in the moment, laughing and bonding with the other women like I’m a normal person as they share stories from their jobs, the men in their lives, and life in this small mountain town I’m starting to think of as home.
The night flies by in a blur of dirty jokes and core memories formed. My third ever girls night in my life, my insides are warm from so much more than the light buzz I still have by the time we’re headed for the door.
More pedestrians than usual continue to wander the stretch of Main that makes up Downtown Smoky Heights, probably relics from the soft opening. It wasn’t anything like the fancy ordeal Rory is pulling off for the grand opening later this summer, but there was still hoopla, visitors who traveled to see the town that was brought back from the dead, even some press in attendance.
That’s why I don’t think anything of it when a woman was standing outside the double doors as Lexi pushes one open, Rory and I walking out linked arm in arm, heads together, still chattering away in the sultry night air.
“Angel?” she asks.
And that’s when I see the small microphone in her hand. The person behind her filming the encounter on a handheld video camera.
“Angel Sanford?”
Rory reacts faster than I do, dropping my arm and stepping in front of me. She puts a hand out, blocking the view of the camera, and stands close to the reporter.
“Leave now. Don’t come back.”
“Eva Ogden with Snoop Scoop , we’re just trying to get a statement from Angel about the murders her father committed fifteen years ago. We’re doing a piece on the families of serial killers, and?—”
Lexi launches herself, trying to tackle the reporter to the ground, but Rory’s arms catch her before she can do the woman bodily harm. Confused, Gracie wraps an arm around me, piecing together that things aren’t exactly great right now, even if she has no clue what’s going on.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lexi hollers at the woman from her sister’s grasp, practically rabid.
“No one here has a comment for you. Leave before I call law enforcement and have you banned from the town for good.” Rory’s voice is ice cold, and I wouldn’t dare defy her if I were them.
“And you are?” the woman asks, not fucking off fast enough.
“Aurora Weiss-Grady, of Smith + Colson, her attorney, and commissioner of the Downtown restoration project, which means it’s within my jurisdiction to have you removed from the premises if you don’t leave now.”
As for me, I’m shaking like the leaves on any of the seasonal trees spaced every ten feet or so on either side of the entire downtown stretch.
It feels like I’m outside my body, watching this happen from up the street. I can still hear conversation and laughter all around us, on both sides of the road, but it’s faint, and barely makes it past the ringing in my ears.
Rory says some other things that sound scary, but I can’t make them out. Lexi frees herself from her sister’s hold and turns to put an arm around my shoulder, taking me from Gracie and steering me to the western parking lot at the center of downtown where our designated drivers wait for us.
Poor Gracie watches on, confused, probably horrified at who she’s been befriending, but my eyes can’t see much of anything right now to put it together. I focus on controlling my breaths, trying to take in my environment, but it’s not working the way it usually does.
Because this isn’t so different from what happened before. This is going to be on the news, airing abhorrent tragedy to pull views, just like those first days and weeks all that time ago. Except it’s just me they’ll be showing.
And this time I have something left that matters to me, something I don’t want to be collateral damage in the aftermath of what comes next.
A brisk clattering of heels on the sidewalk, then Rory’s arm is around me, too, having caught up with us. Her warm, expensive scent grounds me a little, bringing some shred of comfort as the women surround me, escorting me to the waiting pickup where Weston, Wyatt, and Gracie’s husband Ronnie are all gathered around the tailgate, still having their own boys’ night, an overflow from the bar, I guess. Wilder, the new chef at the restaurant, is there too.
As soon as Weston sees us, when we round the back of the building that houses the cafe and make it to his line of sight in the parking lot, he’s sprinting over. He takes over, wrenching me from the grasp of the girls, and wrapping me up in his arms.
“What happened?” he asks me.
I don’t have the words to answer him.
“A reporter came,” Rory says in a hushed tone, all business. “They are planning a series on the surviving families of famous killers, and they tracked her down and wanted an interview. Some sick gotcha journalism.”
“They what ?” Weston’s voice is stony, furious.
“They’re gone now,” Rory assures him, and I feel her hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to alert the sheriff’s office and make sure we don’t see them again in the Heights. I’ll send a cease and desist letter from any harassment or unwanted contact as your attorney. I’ll need to consult some legal codes first, this isn’t my usual. Maybe just get some sleep, Amelia.”
Weston presses his lips to the top of my head, and it gives me something to focus on in the here and now.
Something other than the fear of my worst secrets, my entire past, and the new identity I’ve worked so hard to create all being blown wide open and published for the world to use against me, all because I stopped moving and the past caught up to me, wiping out any chance of a future here.