16. Char
CHAR
brRRRP. brRRRP. brRRRP.
Brrrrp. Brrrrp. Brrrrp.
Brrrrp. Brrrrp. Brrrrp.
My phone buzzed off the hook, pulling me out of sleep. I groaned as I rolled over, slamming my hand against my phone to get it to shut the fuck up.
But instead, M.J.’s voice rang out loud and clear.
“Char? You there?”
I furrowed my brow as I rolled back over. “I meant to ignore the call, sorry.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“Just don’t feel well, that’s all.”
“Wait, are you sick? Do you need medicine? Please tell me you need something. I have to have something to do. I’m going fucking crazy.”
I snickered as I hunkered down beneath the covers. “Four days with the bar being closed and you’re already going stir crazy?”
“You can blame that shit on my family by the way.”
I cleared my throat as my voice grew stronger. “No, I don’t need anything. Just rest.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“You’re not running a fever or anything?”
I cleared my throat. “No, nothing like that. Just sore. Achy. Got a headache that I can’t kick.”
“Want me to bring you over some soup?”
That made me chuckle. “You’re really struggling over there, aren’t you?”
“I’m fucking dying, Char.”
Her words gave me pause. The past few days were a blur. Every morning, I rolled out of bed to go and see if the bar was opening. And every morning, I was greeted with that dumbass sign and those boarded up doors.
Did we even have a job any longer?
“Char?” M.J. asked.
My phone beeped. “Ten bucks that’s DeShawn.”
“Most likely, he just called me.”
I reached for my phone, stretching out my aching muscles as I threaded his call in with ours.
“DeShawn?” I asked.
“It’s about damn time you picked up your fucking phone.”
“See?” M.J. asked.
“Hey! I just tried calling you! Why didn’t you pick up?” he asked.
“Because I finally got Char on the phone. Why else?”
“Makes sense. She’s been off the grid for how long now?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m right here, assholes.”
“In theory, maybe,” M.J. said.
I smiled. “I hear your grin.”
“Good,” she said.
“So,” DeShawn said. “Day four of no bar. Do we even dare ask if we’ve all got jobs?”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” M.J. said, “my paycheck dropped into my account last night, and it’s easily double what I normally make on our busiest nights.”
“Wait, really? Lemme check real quick,” DeShawn said.
I couldn’t have cared less about the money, though. If anything, I couldn’t stop thinking about how useless I had become.
Like my mother.
Jesus Char, she did the best she could.
“Oh hell yeah!” DeShawn exclaimed. “I’m restocking the kitchen today, boys. Woo hoo!”
I snickered. “Only you would get excited about grocery shopping.”
“Can I come with you?” M.J. asked. “I’m dying over here. My father’s driving me fucking nuts.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come pick you up. Char? Wanna make it a three-way today?”
“Ew,” M.J. said.
I chuckled as I shook my head. “I don’t need anything, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Want us to drop food by or something?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m fine, really. I’m just catching up on rest. I’m more tired than I figured I’d be with the time off.”
“Hey, no arguments there,” M.J. said.
“Sure we can’t pick you up anything? Not even one of those doughnuts you like from the bakery up the road?” he asked.
I licked my lips. “You drive a hard bargain, you know that?”
“I’ll drop one by and hang the bag on your doorknob, okay?” he asked.
“Or she could let us in so that we know she’s not dying,” M.J. said.
That word. That one word sent me careening back into the past, and I cursed myself for ever thinking that my mother was useless.
She wasn’t useless. She was as strong as she could have been in the scenario in which she found herself.
My mother was a fucking saint, shrouding me from the horrors of my father as long as she could.
But she was also my dad’s fucktoy. A woman who got tossed around whenever Dad wanted.
It didn’t matter where I was, what I was doing, or even if I was present in the room. Whatever he wanted, he took.
That’s how Dallas made me feel, and the sting of tears was enough to drive my face back into my pillow.
“Char?” DeShawn asked.
I did my best to clear my voice. “Sorry guys, I have to go. Sleep is about to drag me back under.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? I’m really worried about you,” M.J. said.
“I promise, I’ll resurface when I’m not so fucking tired. But I’m telling you, I’m exhausted.”
“Well, I’ll drop that doughnut by, and hopefully it’ll help pull you out of bed,” he said.
“I’ll get some coffee, too. One of those nice white mocha ones you like,” she said.
I smiled as tears drenched my pillow. “I love you guys so much.”
“We love you, too,” M.J. said.
“Sure you don’t need anything from the store while we’re there?” DeShawn asked.
I shook my head. “No, I’m good. Thank you, though.”
“All right, you get some more sleep,” she said.
“You guys have fun, okay?” I asked.
“Oh, trust me, we will,” DeShawn said.
“Weirdo,” M.J. murmured.
I reached for my phone. “Love you guys.”
“Love you, too,” they both said.
I hung up the phone and let the chest-racking sobs I had stuffed down take over.
“Why, Dallas?” I asked through my sniffling.
Why would he just leave like that? I knew they were grieving. That day was impossible for so many reasons. But we shared something so beautiful. So spontaneous, and ravenous, and joyous. I was so vulnerable. Willing to bend to his every whim and need.
How the hell was it so easy for him to walk out on me?
Maybe I should just find another job.
That thought pulled me out from beneath the covers.
Maybe M.J. and DeShawn were all right with getting paid for work they didn’t do, but work helped me to feel as if I had a purpose.
A reason for living, even though my family was decimated.
I had to work. I didn’t have anything else, apparently, if I didn’t have work.
Maybe at one point in time I thought I had the guys.
But maybe that was also just wishful thinking.
“Come on,” I groaned as I forced myself upright, “you don’t even have to leave the bed to do this part.”
I reached toward my bedside table and eased the drawer open with my fingertips.
I pulled out my laptop and flopped it onto my lap, where the screen managed to blind me the second that I opened it.
Email notifications flooded my main screen, making it hard to even navigate to the fucking inbox in the first place.
But when I got it to load by the grace of whatever God had forsaken us, I saw I had several emails in my inbox.
All of them wanting to confirm times for interviews.
“Shit,” I hissed as I opened them up.
Some of the dates had already come and gone.
However, there were three interview timeslots that were still technically in the future.
I cracked my knuckles and got to work. I mean, even if I didn’t take the job, or even if it wasn’t offered to me, it wouldn’t hurt to dust off the ol’ interviewing chops.
Answering pointed questions from out of nowhere was a fucking art, and since I didn’t give a flying fuck about half the jobs I once applied for at the beginning of all this, I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in practicing.
Jesus, it felt like a lifetime passed by since submitting those resumes.
Knock knock knock knock knock.
The soft, rapid sound made me pause midway through my first interview confirmation email.
Knock knock knock knock knock.
Maybe if I ignored them, they’d go away.
But what if it was one of the guys?
Knock knock knock knock knock.
I set my laptop to the side. “Who is it!?”
“Special Agent Monica DeFleur. I have a few more questions, if you’re up for them.”
Fucking hell, I’d completely forgotten about that woman.
“I tried to find you at the bar,” she said through the door, “but it doesn’t look open.”
I sighed as I tossed my laptop onto the bed in front of me. “Uh, yeah. The renovations are taking more time and space than necessary.”
The lying was becoming much more second nature, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with that.
“Makes sense,” she said behind the closed door as I reached for my robe. “There was a pretty big hole where that stage once was.”
“You’re telling me,” I said as I wrapped my robe around me.
I shuffled my way toward the door and flipped the lock. I was tired, and I sure as hell didn’t want to sit there and rattle off a bunch of nonsensical answers to a bunch of dumb questions she had. I threw the door open and stood in the threshold, refusing to let her cross into my space.
She did her best to peer inside over my shoulder, though.
“Look,” I said with a heavy sigh, “it’s been a rough past few days. So could we?—”
“You didn’t tell me you were in a relationship with Dallas.”
My entire body froze at her words. “We’re not.”
The agent tilted her head. “So you’re just… fooling around?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why is the ATF concerned about who I’m fucking, Special Agent?”
“Because you originally told me that you didn’t know them very well.”
I grinned. “Didn’t know I needed to know someone’s life story to fuck them.”
I didn’t know who in the absolute fuck that woman thought she was, but now I had proof. Not only was she watching the bar, she was watching what the guys were doing. Where they were going. Who they were doing it with.
I wondered if they knew just how closely she was watching them.
“Miss Charlotte,” the woman said as she lowered her voice, “if you’re engaging in something you don’t want to be doing, I can assure you?—”
My eyes widened. “Christ, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just a bit of fun, that’s all.”
The agent cased me up and down with her stare. “What do you know about the explosion that happened a few days ago?”
I furrowed my brow. “What do you know about it?”
“I know they’re a man down because of it, and that they’re going to be disoriented for a while due to the loss.”
“That’s about all I know, too.”
“You sure about that?”
I quirked an eyebrow. “I think you should go. I’m no longer comfortable with this line of questioning.”
Agent DeFleur nodded as she took a step toward the stairs. But then she paused and turned back to me.
“Covering for them isn’t going to get you anywhere except where they’ll eventually be, Miss Char. So if I find out that you know more than you’re letting on, I’ll technically have enough to arrest you for obstruction.”
“And exactly where will they eventually be, Special Agent DeFleur?”
Her gaze hardened on my face. “In handcuffs.”
I watched her turn back toward the stairs before she started traipsing down them, and I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t make much sound when she moved.
There was something very off about that woman. She knew too much that she shouldn’t. She was looking into things that weren’t hers to look into. Then again, she was also technically right. If I knew something and I withheld it from the authorities, I was in deep shit.
I found myself frustrated that I had no way of contacting the guys.
I waited at the top of the steps until she disappeared around the corner.
She didn’t look back, she didn’t backtrack, and she sure as hell didn’t flag anyone else down to follow her.
She came alone, and that felt off. As my memories ripped me back, one thing I remembered very clearly was that none of the investigating detectives, officers, or agents assigned to my father’s case went alone anywhere.
All of them had a partner, or someone standing guard, or someone watching over the interviews taking place.
It was intimidating, sure. But all of those officers and agents and detectives reassured me that it was for everyone’s safety.
No one talked alone to anyone else so that conversations could be corroborated in court.
So why the fuck had that woman showed up twice to talk to me alone?
I really need to find a way to get in contact with the guys.
Because even though Dallas broke my heart, I still cared about what happened to them.
And I had no idea how that reflected on me as a person.