First in Line

Now

CHAPTER

ONE

Evangeline

But she said she’d be here soon. She promised.

When a car turns into the empty lot, I look up with a mix of hope and relief.

The grin falls from my lips as soon as I realize this isn’t my mom’s car.

Instead, it’s an electric blue car that looks like it was built to be fast but has seen better days.

My attention remains on it as it pulls up a few spots from me, right by the liquor store’s entrance.

Two young men climb out, wearing all black, from the beanies on their heads to the boots on their feet, then walk inside the store, barely granting me a glance.

They seem too young to buy alcohol, but it’s like everyone has fake IDs now, and the owner never passes up an opportunity to make a buck—even off of teenagers.

A third man stays behind the wheel, and despite the surrounding darkness, I notice that he’s looking at me.

I avert my gaze, staring down at my bare legs and white sneakers.

I really should have walked home. It would have been safer than waiting by the town’s shadiest liquor store.

Shivering, I adjust my jean jacket around me.

It’s officially too small, though I outgrew the bedazzled “Princess” on it a while ago.

I’ll have to ask Mom if we can go to Goodwill so I can replace it with something warmer.

Late in the evening like this, it’s cold.

Too cold for the short skirt of my waitress uniform.

I should have changed before leaving the diner, but the cook was drunk, and his not-so-subtle innuendos had me leaving as soon as my shift was over.

When I hear the car door open and close, I keep my eyes on the ground, hoping the driver will do as his friends and walk into the store. Instead, his steps come all the way to me, until I see his black boots appear in my field of view.

“Do you have a lighter?” he asks, his voice lower than I expected.

Still staring down, I stutter, “Wh-what?”

“A lighter.”

When he makes a gesture, I’m forced to look up. He’s wearing all black like his friends, but what I thought were beanies, as it turns out, are bunched-up ski masks. And his is pulled down completely, covering his entire face except his eyes and mouth.

Before I can wonder what’s happening and panic, a peculiar detail steals my focus.

I know him. Or I’m pretty sure I do. I’ve never been this close to him since he’s a year older and we don’t have classes together, but I’m fairly certain we go to the same high school. There aren’t that many people around here with eyes like that. One blue, one brown.

Because I still haven’t answered, he motions at the cigarette between his index and middle fingers, but my attention quickly returns to his unusual gaze.

“Oh, no, sorry, I don’t smoke,” I hurriedly answer.

“Hm, I figured. Too bad.” With casual gestures, he returns the cigarette to its packet and into the back pocket of his dark jeans.

“What’s in there?” he asks, pointing at the locket hanging around my neck.

Surprised that he even noticed it, I look down and instinctively touch it. “Oh, nothing.”

“No picture of a boyfriend or something?”

“It’s not for a picture, it’s to put something in it. But I can’t think of anything worth carrying around like this.” After a couple of seconds, I add, “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I like it.”

“Thank you. I like your car.”

“Thanks. It’s a Subaru Impreza WRX. From 1995. Her name’s Winifred.”

“You named your car?”

“Of course. She’s an old lady, hence the name. But she’s still pretty fast.” Then, he casually wonders, “What are you doing out here so late?”

“Waiting for my mom. She’ll be here any minute now.”

“You work at the diner?”

I glance down at my attire, then up at him again. “What gave it away?”

He chuckles, his lips bending into a broad smile that extends past the hole in his mask. “I’ve never seen you there.”

“I started last week.”

“I see … I’ll try to come soon, then.”

My cheeks heat up at his words, and I’m forced to stare up front again.

If I’m right about who he is, then I should stay away from him.

No matter how handsome and charming he might be, Jackson Reyes is trouble.

The mere fact that he’s here with his friends, trying to score some alcohol despite being underage …

Some commotion in the store grabs our attention, and as we twist around to look into the wide windows, I can’t help but ask, “And you, what are you doing here so late?”

“Oh, we’re robbing the store.”

My jaw falls open, and I look at my masked interlocutor with shock. “What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s all good.”

“All good?!”

“Yeah, one of my buddies in there? It’s his brother’s shift. He’s only putting up a fight for the cameras. We’re splitting it four ways. And the owner is an asshole who sells drugs on the side, so he won’t get the police involved. Not too much, at least.”

The struggle inside the store seems to intensify, and when the loud bang of a shotgun resonates through the glass, I jump back.

“Don’t worry, that’s also part of it. We choreographed it and everything,” he explains with a shrug.

Despite his confident assurance, I can’t help but feel like this could go terribly wrong. “Is this—is this a joke? Are you joking?”

“Nah, it’s legit. I’m the getaway driver and everything. Which reminds me, I should probably get back to it.” He looks away from the windows and back to me before offering me a crooked grin. “I’ll see you around, princess,” he cheekily says with a wink.

Still stunned, I stand there while he trots back to the car and climbs in. Just as he starts the engine, his two friends, who now have their masks down, rush out of the store, each carrying a bag filled to the brim.

I watch it all unfold as the car pulls back in a perfect maneuver, then practically flies out of the parking lot, tires screeching on the asphalt.

I didn’t notice earlier, but the license plates have been either removed or blacked out.

It has just disappeared at the corner when the store clerk runs out with a bloody nose and his phone to his ear.

“They just drove away! You need to send someone now!” he shouts into it. I vaguely hear the 911 operator answer something, then he replies, “I told you, I don’t fucking know!”

If that man is indeed in on this, he deserves an Oscar for his performance. He’s very convincing. As he turns around to head back inside, he notices me, pauses, then walks in. I’m still reeling from everything that happened when a red sedan drives into the lot. About time …

My mom parks right by me, then steps out of the car as soon as the engine’s off. “Sorry, baby,” she quickly says. “Let me get my bottle, and we’ll go home.”

“About that …”

“What?”

“I don’t think the store is operational.”

Confused, she turns to the door and the “Open” neon sign on it. I, on the other hand, keep my eyes on the spot where the blue car screeched off. I still can’t believe I witnessed all that.

Jackson Reyes … Who knew?

The balled-up stress in the back of my throat isn’t going away. In fact, it’s only getting worse. Swallowing requires effort, which is ridiculous. I’m only here for one simple thing, and then I’m out and on my way back home.

I can do this. I drove four hours, and I’m not letting my nerves get the best of me.

It’s not like I have a choice, regardless. I’ve tried the proper, legal way, but nothing has worked. This might be my best chance, so I’m taking it.

Adjusting myself on the lounge chair, I smooth the skirt of my white dress down my thighs.

This place is far too fancy for me. The lush opulence of the hotel’s lounge only adds to my anxiety.

Anyone who looks at me can guess I don’t belong here, with my cheap heels and knockoff handbag.

I mean, I could pay for a couple of nights in this place, but then I’d have a hard time paying my mortgage next month.

But it doesn’t matter. I’m not here to impress or fool anyone. I’m here for a specific person, and as soon as I’ve seen him, I’m gone and never returning. My eyes travel to the thick envelope on the table next to my drink. All it’ll take is two minutes of bold bravery, then I’m done.

The knot in my stomach tightens at the mere idea of seeing him again. Six years. No, more than that. It’s been over seven years since I last saw Jackson. It’s troubling to think I was certain we’d spend the rest of our lives together, yet I haven’t seen him in that long.

Though I suppose I’ve seen him around. A lot.

In magazines, billboards, commercials … Even that one time at the theater, during a brief cameo in some action movie.

He’s done it. He’s living the dream he’s chased his whole life, like he said he would.

Not that I’m surprised. There’s nothing that man can’t do. Not once he’s set his mind on it.

Part of me feels some pride in his success. I helped a little early on. Before anyone knew who he was, before his face was plastered everywhere, before the mention of his name turned knees to jelly and sent hearts into frenzies all over the world.

He was mine before he was everyone else’s. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.

But all that was a lifetime ago, and we have both moved on with our lives. Moved on to better things. And I’m thankful for that as well.

Everything is so much better this way for both of us.

With the hope that it will appease the sensation in the back of my throat, I lean forward to pick up my Shirley Temple and bring it to my lips for a couple of sips. This alone costs more than I’m comfortable with, but I couldn’t stay here without a drink. At least it’s good.

Another tense five minutes go by before there’s a sudden burst of activity in the hotel’s lobby. I’m angled in a strategic way that allows me to see what goes on, and despite the avid fans surrounding the heart of the commotion, I get a glimpse of a familiar profile.

It’s him. He’s here.