15. Willow
15
WILLOW
“ Y ou are so lucky you were just on your death bed, or I would fucking kill you!” Jasmine shrieks, dragging me off of her front stoop, and right into her arms.
My voice cracks when I inhale her maple scent. God I missed her, so fucking much that it hurts. When I pull back, a small gasp leaves my lips as I look over her face. A deep pink slash mars the pale skin of her cheek, stretching from her temple down to the crest of her cheekbone.
My stomach twists. I wasn’t there when it happened—I don’t even know what happened—but the sight of it still feels like a punch to the gut.
Jasmine looks different now. Her hair, once a blonde buzz cut, is cropped into a sharp pixie cut, the short strands feathering around her face. The soft lavender highlights catch in the light, giving her an almost ethereal glow, but it doesn’t soften the edge in her blue eyes. She’s still Jasmine, still my best friend, but there’s something hardened in her now, something I can’t ignore .
“Jasmine,” I whisper, my hand reaching up to cradle her cheek. “What the fuck-”
“Occupational hazard,” she nods, her eyes darting over her shoulder to a brooding Landon, and thin lipped Brooke. “Conner isn’t here right now.”
“Yeah, hasn’t been here for three weeks now,” Landon scoffs, taking a slow swig of whiskey straight out of the bottle.
“Landon shut the fuck up,” Brooke snaps, standing up and pulling me into a warm, soft hug. “Hey there buttercup.”
“Hey Brooke,” I sigh into her scarlet hair. “Is everything-”
“You just caught us while we’re licking our wounds,” Brooke whispers, a tight smile on her face. “Don’t worry about us, this is a cat household and we will land on our feet.”
“Amen to that babe,” Jasmine hums, sliding an arm around her waist and placing a tight kiss to her temple.
“So what’s the plan?” I smile, my eyes darting across the room.
“Well since we’ve just been through one of the most difficult months of our lives,” Brooke sighs, sliding her black American Express card out of her bra. “I am thinking of a full fledged makeover, nails, shopping, hair, the whole nine.”
“Count me in,” I sing, looking over at a weary Jasmine whose eyes are locked on Landon’s slumped form. “Jas?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” She says, her voice so low I almost don’t hear her agreement.
Landon grumbles from his chair, eyes bloodshot, his voice slurring as he lifts the whiskey bottle again. "You can't go. The Raiders are still out there. We’re not safe, none of us are. You think some pretty nails are gonna fix that?"
Jasmine meets his eyes, unflinching, and replies in a steady voice, “I can’t hide for the rest of my life, Landon. It’s been two months and look I’m okay.”
“No,” he shakes his head, looking wild. "You can’t go, not without me. I’m not losing you. Not like this."
Her eyes flash, but it’s not with the heat I’m used to. Her eyes narrow into icicles. "You’re drunk," she says, the words firm. "And I’m not going to let you drag yourself into this because of me."
Landon reaches out, grabbing her arm in a grip that’s almost too tight. "I don’t care. I’m coming. I’m not letting you do this alone, Jas."
Brooke steps in before I can say anything, pulling Landon’s hand off of Jasmine’s arm. "Landon, stop." She looks at him like he’s a child, trying to calm him down without getting into a full-blown fight. "You’re not coming. We’ll call Conner, and he’ll meet us downtown. That’s the plan, okay?"
Landon glares at her, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and alcohol. "Conner?" he sneers. "That guy hasn’t even been here in?—"
But before he can continue, Jasmine pulls out her phone and dials, her fingers moving with practiced ease. She hits send, and we all fall silent as it rings. Once. Twice. A third time.
And then Conner’s voice crackles through the phone on the first ring. "Yeah?"
“We’re heading downtown,” Jasmine says, her tone cool and businesslike. "Meet us at the usual place."
There’s a beat of silence before Conner responds with an easy, almost amused drawl. "On my way. "
"Don’t keep us waiting," Jasmine says, hanging up without waiting for a response. She looks back at the rest of us, her eyes settling on Landon. “We’ll deal with the Raiders later. For now, we need to get out of here.”
Landon opens his mouth to protest, but Brooke cuts him off again, this time with a firm hand on his shoulder. "You’re not in any shape to be going anywhere, Landon. You need to get a grip."
Jasmine takes a step back, turning toward the door with a resigned sigh. "Let’s go, Willow. We’ve got things to do."
We drive through the upscale part of town, where boutiques line the streets and French bakeries spill out their sugary scents. The kind of place where giggling rich girls, all perfect highlights and designer bags, used to make us roll our eyes back in high school. And yet here we are, sitting in a swanky diner that serves the best burgers I’ve ever had. It’s strange, but part of me can’t help but laugh. We’ve become those girls. And as I sink into the plush booth, I can’t decide if I should be proud or disappointed. But in this moment, I forgive us just a little more for "selling out”, just because smash burgers are a weakness for me.
“Jasmine, if you ever mistreat Brooke I am beating your ass and stealing her for myself,” I hiss, taking another bite of my burger which drips down my chin in all its savory goodness.
“Shut up, Will.” Jasmine rolls her eyes, throwing a fry at me. “You’re not even bisexual.”
“Nope but I can be Brooke-sexual.” I wink and Brooke ears tint the prettiest shade of pink.
Jasmine’s eyes narrow on Brooke’s pink cheeks and pinches her chin, drawing her ear close to her lips as she whispers something in Brooke’s ear so dirty her face pales and eyes widen. I giggle, dipping a fry into my shake because it makes all the sense in the world that Jasmine is a switch with more dom-like tendencies. It’s also one of the hottest things about my bestie, and if I was into girls, well I’d be the first one waiting in line to see the action.
"What did I tell you about handing out punishments in public?" A thick Irish accent drapes over me like velvet, smooth and commanding. Jasmine’s lips immediately curl, her expression downright sinful as she turns toward the source. And holy cheese on a cracker , I see why.
Standing there in full uniform is the most devastatingly handsome cop I have ever laid eyes on. And trust me, my guys—my Chessmen—are walking Greek gods, but this man? He’s the living, breathing myth of Hercules. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, that impossible mix of rugged and refined. Talk about to protect and serve.
I drag my strawberry milkshake closer to me and take a big sip to cool down my jets, or I will be jumping the first of my guys that I see.
Jasmine pouts, “But sir, she is already so wet for me.”
The man snorts, sliding into the booth next to me, his green eyes adorned with discipline and want. “When is that a surprise, Jasmine?”
Jasmine pulls her fingers from underneath the table, and they glisten with a shine I know all too well. Brooke refuses to look in my direction, and Jasmine keeps a smug look on her face as she starts to lift the fingers to her mouth, but the man stops her, roughly jerking on Jasmine’s wrist and licking Brooke’s wetness off instead. The man and Jasmine never break eye contact and I know if we were anywhere remotely private they would dismiss me, slide everything off the table and be going at it like animals.
“Hey,” I sing, my eyes darting between Jasmine and the man. “Who are you?”
“You didn’t tell her about me, Mo Shladtha, ” the man clicks his tongue. “Strike one.”
My body shakes because did he just say what I think he did?
“No, she knows about you,” Jasmine rushes out, looking at me with wide eyes and then it all clicks; Irish accent, green eyes, cop badge.
“Conner?” I question.
“At your service.” He winks, Jasmine snarls and I think I unlocked a voyeurism kink because I would love nothing more than to see these three go at it. “Sorry about Jasmine, I am still trying to fix that attitude of hers.”
“Good luck, she’s been a cunt since high school,” I snort, dipping another fry into my shake.
“What can I say,” he sighs. “I love a challenge.”
Three hours later, Brooke, Jasmine, and I sit in our salon chairs, freshly styled and feeling brand new. Conner leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching over us like the world’s most intimidating chaperone.
I turn my head slightly, admiring my reflection in the mirror. My black curls are fuller now, cut into layers that frame my face and add a bounce to every movement. The biggest change? My bangs and color. Wispy, feathered, and falling just above my brows, and my highlights—no more faded pink. Instead, vibrant streaks of deep red weave through my curls, bold and fiery. The color shift makes me feel different —a little sharper, a little more dangerous. Paired with my freshly painted crimson nails, I look like trouble, the kind that smiles sweetly before ruining your life.
Jasmine smirks as she takes me in. “Well, well, look who’s embracing her femme fatale era,” she teases, twirling a section of my hair around her finger. “Gonna start breaking hearts and collecting secrets now?”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the slow grin spreading across my lips. “Maybe. You never know.”
Jasmine, of course, is looking different herself. Her pixie cut is gone, replaced by a sleek chin-length bob with layered extensions. The ends flip out in a way that gives her a playful, effortlessly cool vibe, but it’s the color that really does it. The fox-blue tips stand out against her blonde, striking and bold, just like her. She tilts her head, admiring herself in the mirror, before running a hand through the strands. “Damn, I look hot. ”
“You do,” Brooke agrees, standing up and fluffing out her own hair, which has been transformed into a cascade of enormous, glossy 1960s-style curls. The deep ginger waves frame her face perfectly, adding an air of old Hollywood glamor that makes her look like she just stepped off a vintage movie set.
Jasmine’s smirk deepens as she leans in, letting her fingers trail over one of Brooke’s curls. “I always knew you were a bombshell, but damn , babe. If I didn’t already love you, I’d be in trouble.”
Brooke arches a perfectly sculpted brow, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Only now you’re in trouble?” she muses, flicking a curl over her shoulder.
Jasmine grins, slow and wicked. “I’m always in trouble where you’re concerned.”
Conner clears his throat from the doorway, barely sparing us a glance. “You girls done flirting, or should I come back in another three hours?”
Jasmine snickers, while Brooke just smirks, unbothered. I shake my head, running my fingers through my new bangs. “Let’s go before we end up making him wait.”
Jasmine sighs dramatically. “Fine. But just so we’re clear, we all look dangerously good.”
Jasmine pushes up from her salon chair, smoothing a hand down the sleek curve of her bob before spinning on the balls of her feet and striking a playful pose. “Well, Conner?” she purrs, tossing him a smirk as she twirls, the fox-blue tips of her hair catching the light in a flash of electric color. “How do I look?”
Conner barely shifts from his place by the door, arms still crossed, but his gaze flickers over her, slow and measured.
“Like trouble,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to send a shiver down my spine.
Jasmine grins, strutting forward with exaggerated confidence, stopping just inches away from him. She tilts her head, letting her newly sleek bob brush against her jawline as she leans in close. “Good,” she whispers, her voice dripping with challenge. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
Conner exhales through his nose, a quiet laugh escaping him, before he reaches up and tugs playfully on one of the flipped-out ends of her hair. “You never do, Mo Shladtha. ”
Conner pulls open the salon door, stepping aside as Jasmine sashays past him with a satisfied smirk. The cool night air rushes in, carrying the scent of freshly fallen rain and city asphalt. I follow behind, glancing back at Brooke as she slides her black Amex across the counter, her perfectly manicured fingers tapping impatiently against the glass.
“Hurry up, babe,” Jasmine teases, flicking one of Brooke’s curls as she leans against the doorframe. “Your sugar mama duties are taking too long.”
Brooke rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, signing the receipt with a dramatic flourish before slipping the card back into her bra. “Someone has to keep you in luxury,” she quips, strutting toward us, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
Conner watches the exchange with an amused shake of his head before stepping onto the sidewalk, his posture shifting—subtle, but noticeable. His relaxed stance tightens, shoulders going rigid, and I catch the way his eyes scan the street, sharp and assessing.
A prickle of unease crawls down my spine.
The street is quiet—too quiet. The usual hum of city life feels muted, as if the air itself is holding its breath.
Then, in the space of a single heartbeat, everything shatters.
The roar of an engine. The flash of headlights cutting through the darkness.
Then—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gunfire rips through the air, the sharp cracks echoing off the buildings. Glass explodes from the salon’s front window, raining down in deadly shards as Brooke lets out a startled gasp.
“Get down!” Conner roars, grabbing Jasmine and yanking her into his chest just as bullets rip through the space where she was standing.
I drop to the pavement, my pulse hammering in my ears. Brooke hits the ground beside me, her hand clutching my wrist in a vise-like grip. I can hear the tires screeching as the car peels away, disappearing into the night as fast as it came.
Then, silence.
A tense, suffocating silence.
Conner is the first to move, his body still a shield around Jasmine as he slowly lifts his head, his gun already in his hand. “Everyone okay?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an unmistakable edge of fury beneath it.
“I—yeah,” I breathe, my hands shaking as I push up onto my knees. Brooke does the same, her face barely restraining her anger as she brushes glass from her arm.
Jasmine, still pressed against Conner’s chest, exhales sharply before shoving back, her blue eyes blazing with something sharp—fear, anger, maybe both. “We need to get you two home. Now.”
“Conner—” she starts, but he cuts her off with a growl.
“Car. Now. Before they spin the block.” His grip tightens around her wrist as he drags her toward the curb, Brooke and I scrambling to keep up .
My pulse pounds as I fall into step beside them, my mind racing. “Jasmine,” I hiss, barely able to keep my voice steady. “What the hell was that?”
Jasmine doesn’t answer.
Brooke sighs, the sound heavy as she slides into the back of the police car. “That’s her punishment for being a snitch.”
The words hit me like a slap, leaving my skin ice-cold, because Jasmine is a lot of things but a snitch was never one of them. I hesitate before climbing in after her, my stomach knotting.
Jasmine doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at any of us. She just buries her face in her hands as Conner peels out, tires screeching against the pavement, the city swallowing us whole.