1. Chapter 1
Chapter one
Four years later, A Thursday night in May: Lucy
W hen she’d agreed to let him plan her dirty thirty birthday, she had assumed he’d be there to help her celebrate the milestone. Yet, there Lucy sat, perched awkwardly on one of four wobbly barstools around a bistro table that likely hadn’t been wiped down all night. Alone.
Practically.
“When’s he going to get here?” Victor shouted over the thump of chest-rattling base, courtesy of the speakers strapped just above their heads. Lucy hadn’t complained about snagging a table in the back—though the others had, vehemently—because they were lucky enough to get any seats this late in the evening without a reservation.
She glanced at her phone for the hundredth time that night and reread the last few texts they’d exchanged.
Lucy:
Where are you?
Brodan:
Almost done, babe. Still finishing the prep for my pitch on Monday.
Lucy:
Cool. We’ll stay here a little longer.
Moving on to The Tackle Boxx. Meet us there?
Got a table in the back! Woo! ETA?
Lucy’s reassuring grin slipped slightly before she flexed it back in place. There were enough scowls at this table that she didn’t need to add another one to the mix. Her fingers scuttled across the screen as she pinged her tardy boyfriend again.
Lucy:
Hello?
Brodan:
Be there in 20. Next round’s on me.
She sent him a thumbs-up emoji, too relieved to be snarky.
“Well?” Tasha sneered, having zero reservations about lacing her words with snark. The willowy woman draped herself against Victor, the usual bored expression frozen across her beautiful yet severe features. If Victor’s girlfriend was capable of smiling, Lucy had never witnessed it, and a cheery expression would no doubt be a startling contrast to her typical pinched irritation.
“He’ll be here in twenty minutes,” she called back over the pulse, flashing her phone screen in their direction as further assurance that Brodan’s friends hadn’t wasted an evening attending Lucy’s celebration only to be stood up by the person they actually wanted to see.
Tasha whispered something into Victor’s ear. He nodded and stood. “We’re going to grab the next round.”
“Thanks, guys,” Lucy shouted, lifting the half-full drink she’d been nursing since arriving at the crowded drag venue. She cringed as the caustic tang of vodka and energy drink coated her mouth and rushed to add, “Can you make mine a beer, IPA, please?”
The couple, dressed so fashionably that they put Lucy’s basic black tank top and snug jeans to shame, turned dismissively and strolled toward the bar.
They can stay there for all I care.
She banged her glass onto the table, inadvertently splashing a little of the high-octane gasoline over the rim and onto her fingers. “Shit,” she mumbled, accepting a small stack of napkins from a passing cocktail server. She smiled bleakly. “Thanks.”
Lucy pointlessly dabbed at her hands and then the table, the flimsy napkins all but disintegrating from the gluey combination of glitter and cheap cocktail mixer. She abandoned her efforts and accepted the sticky fate of her glass, just as the final peppy bars of “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen thundered to a close. Confetti and applause coated the large room in equal measure. A statuesque drag queen—whom Lucy had the fortune of calling her best friend for the past decade—flapped her hands, smiling and cooing her thanks into the crowd.
“You’re too kind. Please stop. Just kidding, MORE applause! Thank you, thank you!” Wrapped in a neon pink latex gown, Dirty O’Feelya wore a chocolate brown wig that added close to ten inches to the queen’s already staggering height. She blew kisses and gestured to the backup dancers to share in the applause. “Thanks, boys! All right children, Mama needs to take a little break and wet her whistle. I’m leaving you in the ever-capable hands of DJ Yum. And boy, is he ever . Let’s give it up and shower him with love!”
The spotlight faded as Dirty O’Feelya descended the stage into the crowd, periodically stopping to accept compliments and pose for selfies with her adoring fans. Upbeat music piped through the speakers but at a blessedly more subdued volume.
“La La Lucy!” the drag queen sang as she approached. “Happy birthday, girl! I am so glad you made it.” Then, after glancing around the little bistro table and grinning wickedly, added, “And about 175 pounds of deadweight lighter, it appears. Does this mean—”
“Don’t go getting your hopes up,” Lucy interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Brodan is coming. He just had to finish some work stuff. He says hello and that he hopes you break a leg.”
“Oh, the little peach, I am sure he does.”
Lucy was under no delusion that her best friend and her boyfriend liked each other. At best, they pretended to tolerate the other’s presence for her sake. But the time spent with both of them at once had become so rare that neither had to put on much of a show.
Dirty O’Feelya plucked Lucy’s glass off the table with two careful fingers and sniffed. “What in the ever-loving hell are you drinking? It’s your birthday; you should be drinking expensive bourbon.” Placing the offending beverage back on the table, she snatched a stray napkin and dramatically wiped the gooey remnants from her skin, paying extra attention to her precariously long press-on nails.
“It’s a vodka and some kind of energy drink.” Lucy leaned in, continuing quietly. “I didn’t pick the last round.” She gestured to the stylish couple standing at the bar.
Her friend leaned in conspiratorially and with a teasing voice said, “Clearly.” She reached out and gently squeezed Lucy’s shoulder. “Where is everyone? I thought the girls were coming.”
“They canceled this afternoon,” Lucy explained. “Lydia had food poisoning and Kylie couldn’t get anyone to cover her shift; her boss needed her to serve at a last-minute banquet or something.”
Dirty O’Feelya tsked. “Sounds like they blew you off, Luce.”
“What? No.” Her friends would have made it if they'd been able; Lucy was sure of that. She could admit that she hadn’t made much effort to hang out with only the girls in quite a while. Typically, she’d just invite them out when she spent time with Brodan and his crew—to which they’d been politely declining more and more frequently. But birthdays? They were sacred in her tight-knit little group. And this was her thirtieth! They wouldn’t have missed it on purpose. “Both of their reasons seemed genuine.”
“An easy feat over a text message.” Her glossy, pity-filled pout and shoulder squeeze made Lucy’s stomach sink.
Are they avoiding me?
“You know I would have joined you if I weren’t already filling in for one of my sisters tonight, but I have bills to pay. Dirty O’ is a picky bitch, and ostrich feathers aren’t cheap.”
“You look gorgeous. Did I forget to mention?”
“You did, but I’ll let it slide. What else is new?”
Lucy’s smile returned. She’d been dying to tell her friend about the upcoming trip she’d scheduled for June but hadn’t had the opportunity.
“Brodan and I have a romantic getaway planned next month. We’re renting a room in Leavenworth. It’s this cute little Bavarian town—pretzels, beer, bratwurst.”
“You had me at bratwurst!” The queen threw back her head and barked out a laugh.
“The most exciting thing is that we booked a two-night backpacking excursion with a guiding company out there.”
“Wait . . . Brodan agreed to this?” Dirty O’Feelya shot her friend a skeptical look, tapping a long, banana-yellow talon on the bistro table .
“He sure did.”
“Brodan?”
“Yes.”
“Not happily, though, right?”
Lucy’s smile dimmed slightly. “I mean, he wasn’t overly enthusiastic about it at first, but I convinced him. We bought all the gear last week, and he’s been a real trouper about it. Plus, we’ll only be roughing it two nights; the rest of the week, we’ll be in town at an inn.”
A strong side-eye told Lucy her friend wasn’t convinced. “So let me get this straight. Mr. Doesn’t-Know-How-To-Compromise is willing to go on a vacation to a place where there probably won’t be any cell reception, and there are more trees than buildings, and a bug might land on him?”
“Yep,” Lucy said, beaming smugly.
“I’m gagged.” The wig barely shifted as she shook her head. “How did you manage this amazing yet highly improbable feat? Bribes? Sexual favors?”
“I reasoned with him.”
“Well, what a prince. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.”
Lucy’s phone buzzed and she snatched it up with lightning speed.
Brodan:
Just finished, I’m completely wiped and gonna just go home and sleep. Sorry, babe. You understand how it is. I‘ll make it up to you.
Seriously?
Lucy wished she’d been surprised, but the truth was, from the moment Brodan said he had to work late that night, she’d never really expected him to show. Still, she’d held out hope, however misguided it turned out to be.
“Brodan’s not going to make it,” she struggled to confess. “He’s exhausted from work.”
“Shame.” The sentiment lacked all genuineness, but her friend’s pinched brows and head tilt screamed pity. She laid a feather-light kiss on Lucy’s temple. “I’d better go powder my nose before my next set. Love you, sweet pea.”
“Love you too. Brunch soon?”
“Count on it.”
Lucy watched Dirty O’Feelya saunter back toward the stage, simultaneously feeling grateful for her friend’s unyielding loyalty but uneasy that her criticisms of Brodan were a little too spot on. She jabbed a response into her phone, careful not to let her irritation show in the message. The last thing she wanted was a fight on her birthday.
Lucy:
Ok, I understand. See you in a bit. Love ya.
The sickly scent of cinnamon whiskey invaded her nostrils, reaching the table before the returning couple did.
“All outta beer?” Lucy joked to hide her trepidation.
“Nah, didn’t ask.” Victor passed around the shots and said, “Birthdays require Fireball, not beer. This will fuck you up properly.”
Because who doesn’t want to get “fucked up” on their thirtieth birthday, right?
Lucy instantly scolded herself for her snide view. The offer of a celebratory shot was a thoughtful gesture and she needed to be appreciative, even if that particular libation wasn’t what she would have chosen for herself. With a surrendering sigh, she accepted the drink, her hopes of a beer dashed along with the hope that Brodan would have made it out to celebrate her big day.