Chapter 3
Three
Lane
I pull my tips from the jar sitting beside the outdated register and shove them into my purse, too lazy to count them out right now. My shoulders ache from the long shift. The faint smell of vodka still clings to my legs.
My co-worker Rodney leans against the bar, one leg crossed over the other, an easy smile on his lips. “You and Kam coming out tonight to listen to the band?”
He’s in his late thirties, attractive, with light brown hair that brushes his shoulders and dark brown eyes that always look like they're up to mischief. He’s asked me out a few times in the past. But as the saying goes, “don’t shit where you eat”.
I sling my purse over my shoulder, the strap catching my hair before I tug it free, and turn to face him. “Nope. My only plans include pajamas, a big glass of wine, and a book.”
A rom-com and a glass of wine are exactly what I need.
Maybe one with a blonde MMC. The polar opposite of the dark-haired stranger who has been haunting my thoughts all day.
Which is absolutely ridiculous because he said a total of two words to me.
I don’t get hung up on men, unless they are fictional.
As Emily Gilmore once said: He’s just a man, Lorelai.
Rodney chuckles, his elbows braced behind him on the counter, and a knowing look in his eyes. “Twenty bucks says Kam calls you before you get home and drags you out tonight.”
“The only place I’m going once I get home is the kitchen for snacks,” I counter, sticking out my hand. Do I know I’m going to lose? Most likely. Am I going to back down from a bet? Absolutely not.
He grasps my hand, smug. “You said that last Saturday, too.”
“I’ll see you Sunday.” I take my hand back, slinging my purse higher on my shoulder and head for the door.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he calls after me, amusement rich in his voice.
I flip him off over my shoulder, grinning as his laugh follows me out into the warm summer sun.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket as I’m sliding behind the wheel of my black Jetta. “Damn it,” I mutter. I love my best friend, but I already know why she’s calling and it’s going to cost me twenty bucks.
I pull it out and bring it to my ear. “Hey, Kam.”
“We’re going out tonight!” she declares, skipping the hello entirely. That’s Kam, ask forgiveness, not permission. I’m not sure if I love her more for that…or despite it. Depends on the day.
“I just got off shift…” I whine, letting my head fall against the headrest. “Why don’t you come over? Wine and a Gilmore Girls marathon, best of both worlds.”
“Come on, Lane, please. The band is playing and I want to dance.”
Her enthusiasm leaks through the phone, impossible to resist. I sigh, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Fine, but no shots tonight!” I warn, turning the key. The engine purrs to life, I think I’m okay by Yungblud and MGK flows through the speakers.
“I can’t promise that. Pick you up at nine,” she sings before ending the call.
Damn it. There goes my quiet night in.
I learned quickly that it’s futile to argue with Kam.
Once she sets her mind on something, she doesn’t budge.
That’s how we became friends. We met at the local book club after the librarian, Monica, suggested I join.
We bonded over our shared love of romance novels, especially the dark ones.
Kam decided right away that we were going to be best friends. I was hesitant.
I grip the wheel tighter as my mind drifts.
It took me years to trust anyone again after leaving my old life.
A fist to the face, thanks to Leslie Everstine, was all it took to realize the women around me weren’t true friends.
I thought I could confide in her. That I could trust her.
One day while we were out to lunch I told her about the abuse.
I hadn’t even made it home before she called Byron to tell him about the “horrible lies” I was accusing him of.
Kam is different. She’s loud, unapologetic, and the first person who truly saw me. The only person in this world I trust. But even she doesn’t know about my past.
I drive down Main Street, humming along to Passenger by The Deftones, letting the beat steady my nerves.
Fresh flowers bloom along the sidewalk in a rainbow of colors, perfuming the air with their sweet floral scents.
The shops are each unique and well cared for.
It’s like a snapshot straight out of a travel magazine, and the exact reason I picked New Haven.
I still remember the photo that stopped me mid-scroll; Main Street in the fall, leaves falling to the ground in beautiful shades of golds and amber, pumpkins sitting atop hay bales lining the sidewalks. I knew instantly, it would be home.
I turn onto my street, and my eyes snag on a green Ford Bronco I’ve never seen before in the review mirror. My heart rate spikes and my hands tremble on the wheel as panic creeps in.
Are they following me?
The rational part of my brain tries to cut through the panic. Calm down. It’s nothing. Just paranoia fucking with you.
I pull in front of my house but don’t kill the engine, watching as the Bronco rolls past, disappearing down the street until it's out of view. The windows were too dark to see the driver, but I noted the license plate: New York.
My chest loosens with a shaky breath. “You’re fine,” I whisper, resting my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, to collect myself, before climbing out.
Smooth stone clicks softly beneath my shoes as I head toward my small one-bedroom house. I’m drained, both mentally and emotionally. All I want is a hot bubble bath and a few chapters of my book.
Still, a smile tugs at my lips when I take in my home. I bought it with the money I had left over after paying for my new identity. Money I had secretly been hiding away for years, always looking over my shoulder and changing hiding spots. Constantly terrified Byron would find it.
She wasn’t much when I bought her, but five years, a few good friends, and a whole lot of YouTube later, she’s mine. The wraparound porch with twin rocking chairs, where I read in the summer. Warm Paint colors I chose myself. Everything about it feels like freedom.
Right at nine, the front door opens and Kam’s voice rings out. “I’m here, bitch!”
I swipe red lipstick across my lips in the bathroom mirror. “In here!” I call, pressing them together to even out the red sheen.
Byron never let me wear lipstick. Said it made me look like a slut and accused me of wearing it for other men. Now, I wear it whenever the hell I want.
Kam appears behind me in the door, her gaze sweeping me from head to boots. “Damnnnn girl.”
After dragging myself out of my bubblebath, I changed into a denim mini-skirt, a white tank that shows just a hint of my midriff, and my favorite black-and-tan cowgirl boots. Cute but simple.
Kam on the other hand is anything but simple.
I laugh, turning toward her. “Damn yourself.”
Kam is a knockout; curly blonde hair, baby blue eyes, curves for days. She could wear a trash bag and still stop traffic. Tonight, in stilettos and a painted-on dress? She’s lethal.
I arch a brow and rest my hands on my hips. “You do realize we’re just going to the local dive bar, not some club in the city?”
She gives her hips a shimmy. “I dress to impress no matter where I go.”
I shake my head, an easy smile on my lips. She’s everything I’m not; authentic, unapologetic, herself. And I love her for it.
Walking into The Broken Bottle on a Friday or Saturday night is like walking into a town hall meeting. Every local in a ten-mile radius packs inside to blow off steam and listen to the band play 90’s country covers in the back near the pool tables.
Kam and I weave our way through the crowd, stopping every few feet to chat, our voices barely carrying over the music flowing through the bar.
Rodney’s smug smile slides into place when he sees us approaching. “I thought you weren’t coming out tonight?”
I nod toward Kam and pull a twenty from my pocket, slapping it on the counter. “You try saying no to this maniac.”
He chuckles, pocketing the bill. “Why do you think I bet you?”
Kam shrugs and looks around the bar, her head bobbing along with the music, completely unbothered. “I wanted to watch the band.”
We grab our drinks and make our way to the dance floor, weaving through bodies pressed close, voices raising above the song.
By my third drink, I’m warm, laughing, and loose. Ryan and Brad, regulars from the next town over, find us and ask us to dance. They’re harmless, flannel-and-Levi’s rugged, and we always say yes. It’s easy, fun, and safe.
I’m so caught up in the music, in the carefree rhythm of hips and clapping hands, that I almost forget why I thought I needed a quiet night in.
Almost.
That is, until the hairs on the back of my neck lift. That sixth sense I’ve learned not to ignore. Someone’s watching me.
I lift my gaze and slam into a pair of storm-gray eyes. He’s leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed, unmoving. Those eyes lock onto me, intense and unreadable.
My chest tightens. The crowd blurs. The music dulls to a low murmur. The air turns heavy and thick, making it hard to breathe.
“Who is that?” Kam yells over the band, following my stare.
I don’t answer.
I can’t, because everything inside is telling me that this time, he’s not just passing through. He’s here for me.