by Anne Malcom
Gwen raised her brows as she took her glass. “He did that out of the goodness of his heart?”
I shrugged. “Guess so.”
“Honey, these guys are a lot of things. Good isn’t one. I’m not saying they’re bad, there’s just no black and white with them. You know better than anyone.”
I bit my lip. “Well, maybe he feels guilty that the only reason he’s here is because my husband is dead.”
Gwen flinched ever so slightly. My tone was harsh. Cruel.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” she snapped, her eyes tiny slits. “I see you holding all this stuff in. It isn’t healthy. You’re trying so hard to keep it together when this is the one time in life when you can fall apart. You have to. What happened broke you. There’s no hiding that. You don’t have to. Especially around your friends.”
My throat thickened with Gwen’s words, the kindness and love in her eyes. “Okay,” I choked out. “But for now, can we just drink wine and talk about something else?”
“Always,” she agreed, clinking her glass with mine. “And I’m here,” she added. “We all are.”
I smiled at her like her words made a difference.
They really, really didn’t.
Chapter 7
Two Weeks Later
“You’re a little dressed up for a movie night,” I said, looking Amy up and down. She looked how she always looked... fabulous. I had yet to see the woman in sweatpants or anything stained with spit up or any other stains that served as evidence that you’re a mother.
I was pretty sure she was a very powerful witch.
But the skintight, white dress—showing no evidence she’d ever had a child—and six-inch green heels with ties that crawled up her legs was dressy, even for her. She also had on what I was pretty sure was a real emerald choker and matching earrings. Her hair was teased into a messy bun, with just the right amount of red curls escaping.
“We’re not having a movie night,” she replied, leaning in to the mirror to apply her lipstick.
My kids had already run into their large family room, where Brock was with their son Hendrix. Jack and Lily loved all of their ‘cousins’ equally and all of their ‘uncles’, but they definitely loved being at Brock and Amy’s, hanging out with Hendrix. Mostly because Amy let them run wild, do whatever they liked, and Brock had boundless energy to play with them. They also loved going to Gwen and Cade’s by the ocean to play with their kids. Isabella was a few years younger than Lily, but they were still friends. Kingston younger still, but he was impossible not to love. Jack considered himself their protector, and I wondered what might happen when they all grew into young adults. With all the kids and their excellent genes, there was bound to be some romances that each of the respective fathers would likely hate.
“The kids are staying here with the hubby. We are having a girl’s night,” Amy declared.
Her eyes flickered to my outfit. I’d dressed for a movie night. Granted, a movie night with Amy, but still.
Earlier, I’d decided I to mask all my sadness and sorrow with a biker babe chic style somewhat inspired by Evie. I’d kind of been a biker babe before, but biker babe lite. I’d decided to really going to lean into it now, even though my biker husband was gone. My jeans were tight, faded and distressed. I was wearing low-heeled, black ankle boots, a wide belt with a silver hammered buckle, and a faded Harley Davidson tee. Various necklaces were slung around my neck, the one tucked under my shirt holding Ranger’s wedding ring. I still wore mine on my finger. I figured I’d take it off when Lily was old enough and I’d give it to her. If she wanted it. Maybe I’d do a crappy job raising her, she’d grow up to hate me and refuse to wear the ring her father—the one she most likely wasn’t going to remember—gave me as a symbol of our love.
My hair was up in a bun like Amy’s, but mine was messy and didn’t exactly have the same effect. I had some makeup on, if only to cover up the sleepless nights and general grief that was imprinted into my skin, making it look sallow, pale and lackluster.
Definitely not enough glam for a girl’s night with some of the most beautiful women in Amber, if not the country.
“I’m really dressed for a girl’s night,” I hedged. Amy was well aware of the fact that I’d been absent to all girl’s nights the past year, including the one with world famous actress Anastasia Edwards in attendance. The very same one where she’d been kidnapped.
I’d heard all this after the fact, since Mia was at my house the very next day with coffee, donuts and all the gossip. Thankfully, she hadn’t come with her two boys, since I usually needed an hour to prepare the house and remove all possibly dangerous objects in order for those hellions to visit. And needed to have at least three fire extinguishers on hand.
So yeah, life hadn’t stopped since my husband died, the crazy continued.
“You look amazing, actually,” Amy countered, looking me up and down. “Which isn’t really a surprise since you’re a stone-cold hottie. But you’ve also lost your husband, your heart has been broken and your world has pretty much imploded. That shit is bound to show up on a girl’s complexion.” She moved to cup my cheek, smiling sadly. “But you still look beautiful. A different kind of beautiful, a sad one which breaks my heart. I wish I knew a dark magic to make this all go away, but the only magic I know can make it hurt a little less and comes in a cocktail glass.”
She let go of my face and stepped back before I did something insane like cry in the face of Amy’s unique form of comfort.
“Do you really think girl’s night is a good idea?” I asked, nervous to be around everyone, wondering if they’d be mad at me for avoiding them and ignoring all of their calls. Even though that wasn’t how our group worked.
“No.”
That answer didn’t come from Amy but from behind her.
Brock was leaning against the wall, watching his wife primp with heat in his eyes.
Amy frowned and whirled around to face her husband.
“Ah, even after all these years of marriage you still think you have any kind of say in where I go or what I do. How adorable,” she cooed with saccharine sweetness. “Shouldn’t you be watching the children, honey?”
I bit back a smile.
“Girl’s nights don’t really have the best track record lately,” Brock replied, eying his wife while smartly not commenting on her statement. There was a warning in his tone and a danger in his gaze. The kind of danger that most men and women would blanche at and go off running, no matter how much Brock resembled a chill surfer dude.
Amy merely rolled her eyes. Old Ladies were immune to all the intimidating and scary glares. Which was mostly why they were Old Ladies. These men didn’t want women who scared easily; they needed women who could weather their alpha bullshit and throw them sass right back. Or be gentle in the face of it.
Amy wasn’t about being gentle right now, though.
“Well, the last one doesn’t even count because Rosie totally planned on Anastasia being kidnapped,” she snapped.
“And the rest?” he asked, a whisper of a grin teasing at the corner of his mouth.
She waved her hand. “All part of the Sons of Templar mating process.”
He blinked. “Sons of Templar mating process?”
She raised her brow. “Oh, come on, don’t play dumb. We’ve only been through this like...” she trailed off, counting on her fingers. “Eight times. Give or take. You know that once a man in a leather cut sets his sights on a woman, that woman most likely gets involved in trouble. Usually through no fault of her own.”
Brock was flat out grinning now. “No fault of her own?”
She scowled. “Are you trying to tell me that Gwen wanted to be kidnapped by those creepy Spider dudes? That I wanted to be kidnapped by an arguably creepier crime lord type dude? That Mia wanted to be kidnapped by her gross, asshole ex-husband? And that Lily, Bex, Lauren, Macy and Caroline wanted all the shit that happened?”
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br /> Brock looked suitably chastised. His grin disappeared, most likely from the memory of his now wife’s kidnapping and all the dramas and near-death experiences that came after it. “I’m not saying that at all.”
She put her hand on her hip. “Well, you should stop saying anything at all if you want to get lucky tonight.” She hitched her purse onto her shoulder, one that I was pretty sure was worth as much as my first car, though, I was used to her pricey accessories by now. “Now, Lizzie and I and the rest of the girls are going for a quiet drink, to shoot the shit with Laura Maye. No drama. And even if there is, we’re all more than capable of handling it.” She winked, leaned in to kiss her husband then left.
The table that was always reserved for us at Laura Maye’s bar was almost entirely full of glamorous women, laughing, drinking cocktails and commanding the attention of everyone in the bar when we arrived.
Everyone stopped talking when Amy and I approached.
It had been a long time since I’d attended a girl’s night, the night at the club taking more than enough out of me. Sure, since then there had been coffee dates with Gwen, Mia, Lauren. Each had gently—except Mia, who wasn’t really the type to beat around the bush—asked about my conversation with Kace. It was clear they were not only curious but hopeful.
For what exactly, I didn’t know. For some kind of romance? A fling? Distraction? For some kind of second chance at a happily ever after? They were all hopeful women, insulated by their own happiness. It was sweet of them, but too simple. As cliché as it was, you couldn’t put a Band-Aid over a bullet wound. And that’s what any kind of romance would’ve been right now. Despite the subtle pull I felt toward the man, he wasn’t a cure. Or a salve. A distraction at best.
But I didn’t need to distract myself from the pain. I had to face it head on, figure out how to live with it so I could eventually move on.
In about ten years or so. Maybe longer, when the kids had moved out of the house, not having memories of their father tainted by some strange man their mother brought in because she was lonely.
So I told the women, and myself, that it was nothing. That he was just being friendly. I definitely did not tell them about him mowing my lawn. Gwen thankfully kept her mouth shut too.
“You look amazing!” Gwen squealed, getting up to hug me.
“I’ll have to second her on that one,” Mia winked, giving me her own hug, followed by the rest of the group.
Laura Maye placed a drink in front of me as soon as my ass hit the stool, squeezing my shoulder.
“There you go, honey. That’ll solve all your problems. For the time bein’ at least,” she joked in her trademark country twang.
Laura Maye had been in Amber for over ten years. Maybe longer. It was hard to remember what life was like without the beautiful, buxom, Southern woman who wore leopard print, faux fur and leather and hair out to there.
I’d known her for years and had yet to see her without perfectly applied makeup. I knew she had a sad story, but she’d never told any of us. You could see it in her eyes sometimes. In the wisdom she always shared with women when they were going through hell. The kind of wisdom that only people who had made that journey could give.
We’d all gently tried to pry it out of her, but she was as stubborn as she was strong, intent on keeping her past where it was.
I got that. In fact, I envied that. There was no option for me to do that here in Amber. Not with everyone knowing my story. I couldn’t erase it. Couldn’t ignore it. Just had to find a way to live with it,
Laura Maye’s cocktails certainly helped.
It was bound to happen.
As kind and understanding as my friends were, they were also pushy bitches. They were not going to let me sit down and bleed quietly without helping.
Or at least trying to.
“How are you, Lizzie?” Mia asked. “Really. Before you say fine or give us some other bullshit. We know you’re not fine. Your husband is dead, and your world is nothing like it should be. Like you deserve. So how the fudge are you?”
My first instinct would’ve still been to lie. To pretend to be brave and strong and act as though I’d been handling life with a semblance of sanity.
As it was, Laura Maye’s cocktails didn’t just soften the edges, they loosened my tongue.
“I used to tell myself all kinds of stories about what would happen if I lost him,” I mused, swirling my drink. “Not that I wanted to invite those kinds of things in, but with Ranger being involved in the things he was, me loving him as much as I did, there wasn’t really a way not to think about the worst happening.”
The women around the circle nodded, their eyes dark with the possibility of how easily they could’ve been me. How they still could be one day.
“I figured I’d be a mess,” I continued, taking a sip. “That I wouldn’t get out of bed for months. I wouldn’t brush my hair or eat or breathe without crying.” I took another sip. Amy was right about one thing, Laura Maye’s cocktails were definitely strong enough to dull most of my feelings.
“But that’s not how it’s gone,” I continued. “I’ve been brushing my hair, getting out of bed, eating every meal, going about life.” I paused. “But I’m not okay. Not by a long stretch. But I’m also not broken how I thought I’d be. And that scares me.”
“Oh sweetie,” Lily frowned, moving to squeeze my hand.
“We all like to tell ourselves stories about how life’s gonna turn out,” Laura Maye said, sipping her own cocktail. She’d long shut down the bar and kicked out the rest of the patrons in honor of girl’s night. And also to “reduce the risk of kidnappings.”
“But the thing is, we’re not the ones writing our stories, not really,” she continued. “Yeah, Ranger’s story is over. He got his end, however premature it was. But your story is far from finished. You, my dear, are not someone to be broken and battered down by even the most horrible of things.” Her eyes moved around the table, at the women who had been through hell yet managed to carry own. Still managing to create beautiful lives.
“You, my dears, are far more complex than a simple love story, as amazing as those stories may be. Yes, without that great love, your story feels a lot darker, sometimes even hopeless, but that’s not all you have. Not all you are. You have your children. You have your kickass girlfriends. Most of all, you have yourself. You still have endless things to discover about who you are. About what you’re capable of.” Her eyes were soft as they pinned me, even with all her harsh—but totally epic—makeup around them. “And, my darling, you might not be ready to hear this right now, but you may have another love in your story. One that you deserve. One that will be nothing like what you’ve had, one that won’t erase anything you’ve felt before. You’re still young. Look at that face. You look like that... without Botox!”
I chuckled under the weight of her words, especially the love comment. It sat like a stone in the bottom of my stomach. It was tempting to dismiss such a notion verbally, but I stayed quiet. I couldn’t ever love another man. Not now, not ever.
“Wait!” Gwen exclaimed. “You’ve never had Botox?” She squinted at my forehead with a practiced gaze, here own not moving with the gesture. “How is that even possible?”
I shrugged, happy for one of my friends to break the moment, stopping me from having to respond to what Laura Maye said. My eyes touched on Laura Maye, hopefully communicating all of my feelings about everything she’d said. She smiled at me, like the sage in pleather she was.
After that, the discussion melted away from my trauma, thankfully moving on to wrinkle lines.
Which was totally fucking fine with me.
“What is he doing here?” I snapped, my eyes zeroing in on the cluster of men entering the bar.
One man stood out from that cluster. The one who had mowed my lawn and given me kindness that I hadn’t exactly returned.
Bex’s eyes followed mine, much sharper than the rest of the women since she was sober. Despite her past issues with
drugs, she enjoyed many cocktail nights with us, though, she was a lot more conservative with the amount she consumed. I figured losing control might bring her too close to demons of the past that were only sleeping, never dead.
Plus, she was still breastfeeding. Ember was just over six months old, as cute as a button, and the light of Lucky’s life. Though a lot of people might not expect it—on face value, at least—Bex was a wonderful mother, surprising herself most of all, I thought.
Babies weren’t cures for problems, but they surely made the prospect of tomorrow a lot more hopeful.
“Well, considering the sheer number of women well over the legal limit, you included, I’m guessing he’s here to help with the sober driving effort. There was probably some kind of pool tonight, and he drew the short straw.” Her eyes darted between the both of us. Or at least I thought they did. I had not been conservative in my cocktail consumption tonight, so I wasn’t positive.
“Or maybe he pulled the long straw,” she continued, her eyes narrowing and some kind of knowing in her voice.
I frowned up at her, planning on asking her what the heck she meant by that, but it was too late. The men in leather had approached our table.
“I’m delighted to see there hasn’t been a single kidnapping, bar fight or drive by shooting.” Brock announced, winking at his wife.
“Speak for yourself,” Amy replied.
He grinned at her, yanking her forward for a kiss.
Asher moved to Lily, her arms wrapping around him easily while he murmured something in her ear.
My stomach clenched at my utter aloneness. All of these women had men to pick them up or men waiting at home. Someone to fall asleep with tonight, someone who would bring them Advil and coffee in the morning.
Against my control, my eyes flickered to Kace. His were already settled on me, as if he’d been staring at me the entire time. Which, of course, was insane. Why would he want to stare at me?
More aptly, why did I want to stare at him? That was not an appropriate thing to do. Staring. Appreciating how sculpted his arms looked in that tee. Thinking his hair looked good in a delightfully messy way. Wondering what it might be like to run my fingers through it.