3. Layla
layla
. . .
My driver slows to the curb in front of Boots & Bourbon, the bar I’ve visited a handful of times when I came to see Catalina many moons ago. I tighten my bag against my side, gripping the strap tightly, something to hold onto as my nerves surge through me.
“Thanks,” I say, handing him a folded bill.
He nods, smiling, and I step out onto the cracked sidewalk.
The red neon sign above the door buzzes faintly in the early evening light.
Windows glow with a soft tinge of terra-cotta, promising warmth, noise, and maybe even a distraction. Catalina and Amelia had told me to get here immediately.
They all live there or something, I don’t fucking know.
Taking a long, deep breath, I push through the heavy wooden door, and the atmosphere hits me immediately.
The intertwining smells of whiskey and polished oak smack me in the face first. Warm light spills from Edison bulbs strung across the ceiling, catching on the rows of multicolored bottles behind the bar, amber liquid glowing beneath the dim lights.
Boots scrape against wood as people laugh, talk too loudly, and clap each other on the back. The low hum of country music threads through it all, giving this place a warm, rustic feel.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I glance at the screen, and my stomach drops.
Brian
Don’t forget why you’re there. Content, Layla. YOU need to make us more money.
Bile rises fast, but I don’t answer. I click my phone on do not disturb and shove it deep into my bag. Lifting my chin higher, I take another step inside, canvassing the bar, looking for my best friends.
My eyes scan the patrons, laughing and drinking their beer, their voices colliding, until they lock onto the bar, and there he is.
Reed’s behind the bar, rag in hand, broad shoulders under a burnt-yellow flannel. The sleeves are pulled down, covering his arms, but from here I can see a glimpse of the scar tissue on the left side of his face, dipping down into the collar of his flannel.
My gaze lingers on the edge of ink there too—tattoo lines I can’t quite make out, disappearing beneath the fabric.
He’s wearing glasses now. They catch the light when he tilts his head, framing those sharp features that haven’t dulled in the slightest. His dark brown hair is longer than I remember, brushed back but a little tousled, and the beard-mustache combo only makes his jaw look more chiseled, more striking.
God, I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten how handsome he was, devastatingly so. The attractiveness that makes your chest stutter and your throat go dry all at once.
My heart trips, stumbling over itself.
Reed continues wiping a glass until his eyes finally look up to lock onto mine.
Oh my God.
His eyes lock onto mine across the crowded room. The chatter of the bar drops out, silence rushing in like a wave, and it’s just him, staring at me like nothing else around him matters.
It feels like an invisible string pulls straight from his chest to mine, tugging us together before I even take a step.
This metaphorical string between us tightens, pulling, but my feet carry me forward before I even think. My heart’s still doing that wild stutter, but I paste on a grin, the kind Catalina always teases me for, because that’s what I do. I smile, even when my insides are tangled in knots.
The crowd parts enough for me to spot them.
Catalina’s already waving both her arms. “Laylaaaa!” she screeches, drawing half the bar’s attention. Carter winces at the volume, but his mouth curves as he pulls her against him, pebbling kisses on her cheek.
I squeal right back, darting straight to Amelia first. She’s perched at a table with Maverick practically glued to her side, his hand spread wide across her very pregnant belly.
“Oh. My. God,” I gush, crouching slightly to press both palms to Amelia’s stomach without asking, because boundaries don’t exist in our friend group. “Look at this bump! You’re glowing, babe.”
Amelia arches a brow, grumpy as ever. “It’s sweat. Don’t let him fool you into thinking otherwise.” She jerks her chin toward Maverick.
“Excuse you,” Maverick cuts in, his blue eyes twinkling as he tightens his arm around her shoulders. “She glows because of me, don’t you, baby?”
“You’re lucky I love you,” Amelia mutters, but she doesn’t move his hand.
I laugh loudly, wrapping her in a careful hug, mindful of her belly. Once I let her go, I fling myself at Catalina, who shrieks and nearly topples backward before Carter steadies her with one big hand.
“You’re here bitch!” she cries into my hair. “Oh my God, we have so much to do, so much to talk about—”
“Obviously,” I tease, squeezing her tight before turning to hug Carter, who pats my back.
“Good to see you, Layla,” he rumbles.
“And you,” I chirp, then move on to Maverick, who engulfs me in a bear hug before I can dodge. “Maverick,” I laugh against his chest, “don’t crush me, please.”
He sets me down with a grin, and just like that, the chaos settles into warmth. My girls are on either side of me, and the boys are steady anchors in the background. For a moment, it feels like I belong here, like I always have.
My gaze flicks back to the bar.
Reed’s still behind the counter, rag limp in his hand, his steady eyes locked on me.
My throat goes dry, and I force my legs forward, each step heavier than the last, until I’m standing at the bar.
“Hi, Reed,” I say softly, my smile wobbling just a little.
The string between us hums, pulling tight enough that I swear I can feel it thrumming under my skin.
For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move, nor does he blink, as he stands there with that rag limp in his hand, his eyes locked on mine like he’s searching for something I don’t even know if I have to give.
Up close, he’s even more intimidating. The glasses accentuate his green eyes, giving me a small glimpse of blue threaded within. His beard is neatly trimmed, but there’s a ruggedness about him, something unrefined—like he doesn’t bother to smooth out the rough edges.
Don’t even get me started on his mustache, talk about hot.
The flannel he wears with the sleeves rolled down to his wrists conceals most of him, but I catch faint glimpses of scar tissue when he turns to grab something or when his collar gapes. A shadow of ink curves along it, a rose, disfigured from his scars.
My heart stutters so hard I swear it skips.
I grip the bar top, grounding myself in the cool wood beneath my palms because he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room. And I don’t know what to do with that.
“Hey,” he finally says, his voice low, rough around the edges.
One word, just one, yet it hits me like a stone dropped into water, rippling outward until I feel it everywhere.
I force a laugh, overly bright, because if I don’t, I’ll burst under the weight of his gaze. “What, no hug for me? Catalina nearly tackled me, and Maverick lifted me off the ground. You’re slacking, Reed.”
A flicker. The corner of his mouth twitches, as if he wants to smile but has forgotten how.
Catalina pipes up instantly, “Reed doesn’t do physical touch, Layla, get with the program.”
“Yes, he does,” Amelia cuts in, rolling her eyes. “He hugged me at our baby shower, you guys saw.”
“That was a side hug,” Maverick calls, already laughing. “Doesn’t count.”
The group erupts with loud, overlapping voices, but Reed never looks away from me.
It feels like the noise around us turns into static. Like it’s just me, leaning against the bar, and him, standing firm in the chaos as his eyes are locked onto mine.
My smile softens. “It’s good to see you.”
His jaw flexes as his eyes sweep over my face like he’s memorizing it. When he finally answers, it’s quiet, so quiet I almost miss it over the noise of Boots & Bourbon.
“You too, sunshine.”
Sunshine? SUNSHINE?! HELLPPP.
My heart practically skips a beat. Butterflies hit me so hard I almost lose my breath.
I give him a curt smile, turning my attention back to the group.
Catalina’s laughter rings above the music, her hands flying as she recounts some dramatic story, and Carter watches her like she hung up the moon and the stars, holding on to her tightly as he kisses her knuckles.
The sight of that makes me tear up, but I swallow it down.
I want that.
Amelia mutters under her breath about swollen ankles and heartburn, but the second Maverick presses a kiss to her temple, she softens, leaning into him despite her grumbling.
I jump right in, loud and laughing, rubbing Amelia’s belly every chance I get until Maverick swats at me, groaning that she’s his wife.
Weirdo.
Catalina and I scream-laugh at that, and Carter pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing, while tugging her into his lap.
The chaos swirls around us, and this is the only place I truly feel like I can be myself and have fun when I’m with my friends, my soul sisters, and I guess their wild husbands, too.
It’s easy to get caught up in it, easy to forget the ache in my chest, the text burning a hole in my bag, the reason I left in the first place.
Every time I glance up, Reed’s eyes are always on me, not once wavering.
Always steady. Always watching.
When our eyes lock, he looks away just as quickly, dropping his focus back to a glass, a rag, or the bottles lined neatly behind him.
Hours slip by, drinks and laughter flowing until the night stretches long. One by one, my friends peel away—Amelia crying about her feet hurting as Maverick carries her out, Catalina dragging Carter toward the door while mumbling about it’s their facemask and bubble bath time.
Just like that, the noise is gone.
I’m perched at the bar, scrolling through my phone, checking my stats as Reed wipes down the same glass, all while doing everything in his power not to look at me.
He clears his throat, the sound making me sit up straighter. “Where are you staying?”
I bite my lower lip, glancing toward the door my friends disappeared through. “I… didn’t want to intrude. They deserve their privacy with their obsessed husbands.” My voice softens around the last words, a smile curling my lips. “I found a place outside of Ruby Ridge, called the Lone Star Motel.”
“The Lone Star Motel?” His voice rumbles low, “Layla, that place is barely standin’. The roof leaks when it rains, and the locks don’t always stick. You shouldn’t be staying there.”
The rag in his hands is abandoned, tossed onto the bar. His eyes find mine, and my chest tightens under the weight of them.
“You don’t need to tuck yourself away because you think you’re intruding,” he says, softer now, almost careful. “You’re not. Not with them. Not with me.”
His words land heavier than I’m ready for, heat rushing to my cheeks. My lips part, but nothing comes out, because all I can do is watch him shift his weight, clearing his throat like he’s trying to swallow back something raw.
“Stay at my place,” he says finally. The words are simple, but they feel like they crack something open in my chest. “It’s safe. And I’d… I’d feel better knowin’ you weren’t out there alone.”
For the first time all night, he doesn’t look away.