Chapter 4 #2
She slid into the seat, fingertips grazing the buttery leather as she exhaled slowly.
A flight attendant appeared moments later offering her a glass of champagne.
Kylee accepted it with a grateful nod, still a little stunned.
The bubbly fizzed gently as she raised the flute to her lips, the cool sweetness settling something inside her.
Her phone buzzed once it was Jake.
“ Have a safe flight, Ky.”
She read it, stared at it, and then placed her phone in airplane mode without answering.
As the plane began to lift off, Kylee let her head rest back against the plush seat, letting the hum of the engine and the luxury of the moment wash over her.
The warm, humid air of New Orleans wrapped around Kylee the second she stepped out of the terminal. The smell of airport fuel mixed with beignets from a nearby café cart, and just like that, she was home or at least somewhere that felt like it.
And there, standing just beyond the security ropes, was Kelly grinning like a fool and holding up a giant white poster board that read in thick purple letters:
"WELCOME HOME FROM PRISON, KYLEE!"
Underneath, she'd doodled terrible stick figures of Kylee in orange scrubs and handcuffs, complete with a cartoon frown.
Kylee burst out laughing, drawing a few curious glances from other travelers. “Oh my God, you’re so stupid,” she said, dragging her suitcase behind her as she walked into Kelly’s open arms.
“I missed your face,” Kelly said, squeezing her tight.
“I missed yours more,” Kylee murmured into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar mix of vanilla body spray and attitude.
Kelly leaned back, giving her an approving once-over. “You look hot. Like, ‘I’m a mom but I still own this shit.” Jake’s gunna regret letting you out of the house.”
Kylee smirked. “I needed this. I really did.”
“Hell yeah you did.” Kelly looped her arm through Kylee’s. “Let’s get outta here. I’ve got your favorite daiquiri waiting in the car and a playlist full of old-school bangers queued up. We’ve got three days of sister time and one rock concert to mentally prepare for.”
As they walked toward the parking garage, Kylee could already feel the layers of stress starting to peel away.
There was something about New Orleans: the heat, the noise, the energy that always made her feel like she was waking up after a long, dull dream.
And this time, she wasn’t just visiting. She was here to feel something again.
The French Quarter pulsed with life as the sisters pulled up to their hotel, the air thick with music, spice, and distant laughter.
Their suite at The Ritz-Carlton was nothing short of stunning chic décor with New Orleans flair, a balcony that overlooked the buzzing streets, and a soaking tub Kylee already mentally claimed for herself.
“Holy shit!,” Kelly said, flopping dramatically onto the velvet couch. “Jake really went all out.”
Kylee set her suitcase by the bed and took a slow, full turn in the center of the room, taking it all in. “Yeah... it’s kind of surreal.”
“Girl, this is luxury,” Kelly grinned. “We ain't wasting this shit!”
Kylee laughed and clinked her champagne glass against Kelly’s. “To escaping mom life for a weekend.”
“To living our best life,” Kelly replied, raising her glass higher.
After showers and a change into matching silky pajamas, the sisters curled up on the hotel bed with a pile of local takeout gumbo, chargrilled oysters, and a box of hot beignets that made them both moan with joy.
They sipped wine, streamed their favorite guilty-pleasure reality show on the hotel TV, and gossiped like they were seventeen again.
“I still can’t believe you’re seeing Bleeding Halos live,” Kelly said, licking powdered sugar off her thumb. “Do you remember how obsessed you were with the lead singer in high school? What was his name again?”
Kylee grinned, the taste of wine still sweet on her lips. “Rio Riot.”
“Oh my God, that’s right. You used to write his name on your notebooks like he was your damn husband.”
Kylee’s smile faltered, just slightly. She set her wine glass down and stared at the flickering TV screen for a moment.
Kylee inhaled slowly, then let it all pour out. “I walked in on them, Kelly! Jake and Rachel! At the office! I saw it with my own eyes!”
Kelly’s jaw dropped. “Wait. What?!”
“I brought him coffee,” Kylee said, her voice flat, like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times in her head. “I had the girls with the sitter, figured I’d surprise him. Walked in... And there she was, bent over his damn desk.”
“Oh my God,” Kelly screamed, covering her mouth. “Kylee!!!Jesus!!!”
Kylee’s eyes were glassy, but dry. “They didn’t even see me at first. I stood there for a few seconds before I said anything. Rachel’s hair was a mess, and Jake looked right at me and didn’t even move. Just froze with his dick inside her.”
Kelly grabbed her sister’s hand and squeezed it tight. “I’m gunna fucking kill him. No! I’m gunna fucking kill both of them.”
Kylee let out a bitter laugh. “I haven’t told anyone. I’ve just been pretending like everything’s fine. For the kids. For my own damn pride.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Kelly said fiercely. “You hear me? You are not alone in this.”
I know,” Kylee said softly. “I just... didn’t want anyone to know we don’t have this picture perfect marriage like everyone thinks. I didn’t want to talk about it till now.”
Kelly poured them both another glass. “Then we talk. And then we get you ready to look like a bad bitch at that concert tomorrow night.”
Kylee smirked. “Deal.” And even through the ache in her chest, she felt lighter just saying it out loud.
The morning sunlight spilled through the gauzy hotel curtains, casting soft golden rays across the polished suite. Kylee stretched slowly in the plush bed, the high-thread-count sheets tangled around her legs.
For a moment, she forgot about everything Jake, the betrayal, the ache of pretending. Today was about something else entirely.
Today was concert day. Kelly busted into the room already dressed, her oversized sunglasses pushed up into her messy bun. “Get your ass up, bitch! We’ve got beignets to inhale and outfits to slay.”
Kylee laughed, rolling out of bed with a glow in her cheeks that hadn’t been there in months. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!”
They got dressed in casual-but-cute-fits Kelly in a mini jean skirt and a cropped tank, Kylee in a flowy sundress and headed straight to Café du Monde. The scent of powdered sugar and strong chicory coffee wrapped around them like a welcome home hug.
“I swear to God,” Kelly mumbled with a full mouth, “this shit could fix any bad mood.”
Kylee nodded, her cheeks dusted in sugar as she sipped her coffee. “If I die tonight, bury me in beignets.”
After breakfast, they strolled through the Flea Market, weaving through stalls filled with handmade jewelry, voodoo curios, and band tees that screamed NOLA attitude.
Kylee picked up a black lace choker and a vintage leather cuff.
Kelly found a vendor selling shot-glass necklaces and insisted they each wear one for “pre-gaming like the legends they are.”
By noon, they were tipsy from oversized daiquiris from their walk on Bourbon Street. Kylee had a hand grenade and Kelly had a monsoon. The sisters danced along the cobblestones to a street performer on the corner, swaying with the crowd and soaking in the chaos and charm of New Orleans.
“You look hot,” Kelly said, eyeing Kylee from head to toe. “Like, shut-up-and-take-me-to-the-tour-bus hot.”
Kylee laughed, a real one that echoed from her chest. “I feel hot. That’s the weird part.”
“Not weird. Deserved.” Kelly clinked their shot glasses together. “Now let’s go get ready to blow Rio Riot’s damn mind.”
As the sun dipped lower behind the wrought-iron balconies, a slow hum started in Kylee’s stomach, the kind of hum that comes when something big is about to happen. Tonight wasn’t just about a concert. It was about stepping into something entirely new.
Kelly had music blasting old Bleeding Halos tracks mixed with a few guilty-pleasure dance bangers as she flitted around the room curling her hair and touching up her eyeliner.
Kylee stood in front of the floor-length mirror wearing nothing but a black lace thong, one hip cocked as she held her phone in her hand.
Her skin glowed in the hotel light, curves soft and dangerous in equal measure. Her lips curled into a smirk as she angled the camera just right, capturing her silhouette, the dip of her spine, the lace hugging every inch of her in all the ways he used to worship.
She typed out a single message:
Does Rachel look this good?
Sent.
No emoji. No filter. No second-guessing.
She tossed the phone onto the bed and turned back to the mirror. Two outfit choices lay on the bench: a crimson dress and a leather jacket that clung to her like a second skin, and a black mesh crop top with leather pants and heels that said touch me and burn.
“You going sexy or lethal?” Kelly called from the bathroom.
Kylee smirked. “Both.”
“Then the leather pants and crop top is the move. It’s giving rockstar’s revenge fantasy.”
She slipped into the outfit, zipped up the pants, and layered gold chains at her collarbone. A bold smoky eye, matte berry lips, and soft wild curls completed the look. Her reflection stared back at her like a woman reborn, dangerous, confident, and untouchable.
Her phone buzzed.
She lifted it slowly and read:
Jake:
“Kylee you look sexy as hell…
Please don’t do this.
You know you look better than anyone. I messed up.”
It was hesitant. Weak. Laced with shame.
She didn’t reply.
She smiled just a little and locked the screen.
When she stepped out, Kelly looked her up and down with a grin. “Damn, girl. You look like sin on legs.”
She grabbed her perfume, misted it along her neck, and slipped her phone into her purse without a second glance.
“Let’s go rewrite my story,” she said.