by Helena Maeve
Release was hard-won, a victory she couldn’t quite grasp, but as long as she found herself in Dylan’s arms at the end of it all, Hazel didn’t much care how she got there.
“You okay?” He combed shaky fingers through her hair. His customary, casual self-assurance was nowhere to be found.
Hazel nodded. She had to force her eyes open when they seemed to prefer drooping shut. “You moved me,” she slurred. The light, airy color scheme of Dylan’s bedroom was too noticeable a shift for even Hazel to miss.
“We thought you’d be more comfortable here,” Ward replied. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, his fingers locked around her ankle.
She hoped he never let go.
“Anything hurt?” Dylan, again, taking care of the basics.
Hazel took quick stock of her limp body. “Kinda numb,” was the closest she could come to a diagnosis. She yawned, a little put off to discover that the collar was gone from around her neck. “Did I pass out…again?”
Dylan shook his head. “You were awake when we got you up. Just—loopy.”
“We can let you sleep—”
“Stay,” Hazel bit out, too tired to care if she was being clingy.
She felt more than saw Dylan and Ward trade a meaningful look over her head. Something had gone on between them in the playroom—something she didn’t quite understand and was too exhausted to worry about.
“We’ll stay,” Ward promised after a beat. “Now close your eyes…”
He didn’t have to say it again.
Chapter Nine
“Someone had a rough night,” Sadie chuckled, leaning over the counter. “And if that hickey’s anything to go by, it wasn’t talking that kept you up…”
Hazel spun around. “Shh!”
The morning rush had only just begun and the likelihood of Sadie’s voice carrying over the din of clicking cutlery and overlapping chatter was slim. It didn’t stop Hazel from feeling self-conscious as she pulled at the collar of her uniform.
“Is it that bad?”
Sadie flashed a commiserating smile. “Come on, I’ve got some foundation you can use.” She curled her forefinger around Hazel’s pinkie and towed her along between the tables, heedless of anyone who tried to catch their eyes.
The lockers were a stuffy, matchbox reprieve from stares that had been a little too piercing all morning. Hazel grimaced at the thought that every client had seen the hickey she’d missed.
It figured that a good caning had left her with no blemishes, but Ward sinking teeth into the top of her breast would leave a lasting impression.
“So I take it everything’s running smoothly in the Best-Whitley household?” Sadie teased, whirling around with a whole makeup bag in hand.
“You could say that,” Hazel answered diplomatically. They hadn’t talked much about anything, let alone her love life, since their afternoon chat in Newport. Part of Hazel dreaded a rehash of old arguments—a very small part. The rest still chafed at Sadie’s insistence that she take chances she wasn’t prepared to consider.
Sadie straddled the wooden bench and commenced rifling through powder boxes and tubes of lipstick. “I’m glad. Dylan’s a good guy…and Ward seems nice. I mean, when he’s not glaring. The other night, I could’ve sworn he had it in for you.”
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” Hazel blurted out, only tweaking to her choice of language when Sadie met her eyes. “I mean—”
“You’re in love with him?”
“No.” Hazel shook her head. “Of course not. I mean. That would be really stupid…”
Sadie arched her carefully penciled eyebrows. “Why?”
“I’m not exactly girlfriend material.”
“Says who?”
“The universe? My horoscope?” Hazel tugged the corners of her mouth down. “My mother?”
Sadie pinched her lips into a pout—an expression Hazel recognized as her patented ‘you’re being stupid’ look.
“Let’s backtrack, forget I said anything about the L-word… How are things with you and Frank?” Hazel deflected.
“Oh. Good. You know.”
No, I don’t. I’ve never been engaged, remember?
“How’s the seating chart coming along?” Hazel pressed, clumsily trying to steer conversation toward a more palatable topic. The last time they’d talked about Sadie’s impending nuptials, she had barely succeeded in keeping her doubts to herself.
Sadie plucked the mineral foundation she’d been searching for out of the clear plastic makeup bag. “I think we might skip the traditional reception thing and do something more modern…”
“Like what?”
“A picnic?” Sadie gestured to the collar of her uniform. “Wanna hold that out of the way?”
Hazel hooked two fingers in the stretched fabric and pulled it down an inch, exposing the hickey in all its glory. “I thought you had the venue figured out…”
“Frank doesn’t like it. And we don’t really have time to find anything else or figure out catering in time and still keep the same date, so…” Sadie rolled her shoulders.
“So why not push the wedding a couple of weeks?” Hazel sought her gaze with a dip of the chin. “Hey, come on. I’ll go with you. We can find something. LA’s huge—”
“I said no.”
Hazel clamped her mouth shut, stung.
Sadie heaved a sigh. “That was mean.”
“Yes, it was.”
She shot Hazel a plaintive look. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s all the stress.” Powder puff and plastic box in hand, Sadie slumped. “There’s so much to do and so little time…and Frank is no help at all.”
“Oh, honey.”
“He’s been so distant lately,” Sadie confessed. “It’s freaking me out.”
And I’ve been so consumed with my shit, I didn’t even notice. Hazel covered Sadie’s hands with hers. “He’s probably worried about school. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.” She said it because she had to, because it was expected. Platitudes seemed a more appropriate guide than her notoriously faulty instincts.
Sadie sucked in a wet breath. “Yeah?”
“I’m sure of it…and if it’s not that, you know.”
“What?”
Hazel grinned crookedly. “That rock looks like it’ll turn a pretty penny at the nearest pawnshop.” It was a poor attempt at comedy, but it earned her a snort of laughter. Sadie never could resist a little gallows humor. “Come on,” Hazel said. “We should get back to work before Marco gives us up for dead.”
“You, maybe. He—”
“Loves you,” Hazel finished for her. “Yeah, yeah.”
She waited for Sadie to stow her paraphernalia back into the locker, already halfway out the door when a tiny beep echoed from Sadie’s handbag.
“Hang on. It could be Frank…”
Hazel bit her lip against remarking that if they were still texting like teenagers then whatever trouble Sadie thought they were having wasn’t such a big deal after all. It was an unkindness Hazel could keep to herself.
Silence didn’t stop her leaning back against the door frame and tapping an impatient heel against the bare cement floor. Unlike Sadie, she was pretty sure that Marco would fire her for dereliction of duty if he was in a foul mood.
“Holy shit,” Sadie gasped, thumbs poised above the lit touch screen.
The slack-jawed surprise didn’t strike Hazel as one of Sadie’s many heartbreak faces. It didn’t gel with the tone, either.
“What?”
“It’s Rhonda.”
Hazel groaned. “Oh, God. Another invitation? That woman just doesn’t give up—”
“No, look.” Sadie turned the phone around.
On screen, a picture of Hazel’s radiant sister-in-law in hospital scrubs featured a tiny bundle of pink skin that looked vaguely sleepy. The caption beneath it read, Mr. and Mrs. Whitley welcome new baby Bea to the family.
Hazel glanced up when Sadie sniffled. Her friend’s eyes shone with uns
hed tears.
“Congrats. You’re an auntie!”
* * * *
The rest of Hazel’s shift passed by in a blur. Any attempt to keep the news quiet went up in flames when Sadie broadcast it to the whole diner. Marco came out from behind the serving window to hug her. He buffed her cheeks with kisses twice, whiskers tickling her on both occasions.
“You’ll have to bring us pictures.”
“From?” Hazel asked dumbly.
“The christening!”
“You’re going, right?” Sadie wondered, carefully dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a paper napkin.
No one’s invited me. Hazel nodded. “Sure. I guess.” She had yet to call Buddy and Rhonda to congratulate them.
Patrons she’d never seen before cheered the birth of her niece. Regulars left generous tips, as if in reward. Worse, Sadie and Emmalee insisted that she take the lion’s share home, as though Hazel had played any role at all in the delivery.
“You’ll need to buy Bea something nice when you head home,” Emmalee insisted in the locker room at shift change, stripping off the cardigan she’d worn over her uniform.
An unusually cold front had settled in over the coast for the past week. Hazel suddenly felt it in her bones. It was unusual for California—back home in Dunby, they’d never believe LA had room for anything but scorching sun and clear skies.
That’s not all they won’t believe about my life…
“What’s this about a new baby?” Travis asked, stepping through the door. “You turn MILF on us when I wasn’t lookin’?”
His big, booming voice made Hazel wince.
“Idiot. Her brother’s just had a baby,” Sadie reported proudly. “Here, let me find you the picture. She’s the cutest little shrimp…”
But Travis wasn’t listening. “Aw, guess congratulations are in order! C’mere,” he said and swept Hazel up in his big, strong arms. If he noticed her go as rigid as a block of wood, he didn’t let on. “Why am I not surprised those good genes run in the family?”
Hazel forgot to breathe. They were in full view of Sadie and Emmalee, though neither was looking their way, and Travis’ hands never strayed below her waist. Yet every nerve in her body recoiled, curling in upon itself as if to escape contact.
In her mind’s eye, Hazel heard her mother—rouged lips pursed, square jaw tensed—hiss familiar advice. Hold it together, Hazel, for God’s sake. Don’t cause a scene. You’re better than that. She saw every man who had ever hollered at her in the street, or on the bus, or in clubs where the bustle simultaneously made her bolder and more afraid, every patron who’d thought to play grab-ass while she cleared their table, tense smile grafted onto her face.
She didn’t move a muscle, paralyzed and flushed with vestigial incredulity. This isn’t happening. It surprised her every time.
“Shit, my battery’s dying,” Sadie groused. “Hang on, I’m gonna ask Marco for his charger—”
Emmalee followed her out of the locker room, humming under her breath about someone needing to work around here.
Before the door had even swung shut behind them, Hazel got both hands between her body and Travis’ chest and shoved.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” she half-shouted, half-spat.
Big as he was, Travis actually retreated back a step. “Whoa, easy there—”
“Don’t you ‘easy’ me, you fucking pervert!” She had no rape whistle, no mace. Her car keys were in the depths of her handbag, which was still in the locker—behind Travis. The bench was between her and the exit. If she jumped over it, though, she might have a chance at making a run for it before Travis grabbed her.
That chance fizzled away to nothing when he loomed over her, anger blazing in his beady eyes. “The hell’s wrong with you, woman?” he growled.
He actually had the gall to sound affronted.
With me? A startled laugh spilled from Hazel’s lungs. “You couldn’t wait until you had me alone. If you touch me again, I swear to God, I’ll scream!”
“Touch you…” Travis held up his hands. “Lady, you got issues. I was hugging you.”
“You were making a pass at me,” Hazel scoffed. “And now that I called you out on it you’re too chickenshit to—”
“Hazel, I ain’t into women!”
She nearly steamrolled his interjection, powering on with frustration too long kept quiet. Nearly. “What?”
Travis held her gaze, imploring. “I’m not making a pass at you…’cause I don’t like women. That way.”
“You’re…” Hazel leaned back against the lockers. Her brain cycled over and over that admission, struggling to make sense of it. “But I thought…with the video and the innuendos. The—the getting me out of my clothes stuff, I don’t…” I thought you were being a creep.
Not being interested in screwing her didn’t entirely negate that possibility.
To his credit, Travis stopped short of claiming innocence. “Shit, Hazel. Buddy of mine showed me the clip… I figured you were moonlighting as a porn star. That’s all.”
“What?” It was Hazel’s turn to stare back dumbly.
“You think you’re the only one?” Travis tugged a hand over his shaved scalp. “You gotta find a way to pay the bills. I get that. I ain’t judging.”
That much, she could believe. Not like Ward or Dylan. They’d had money or love or intellect growing up, any two of which were sure to offer better odds than the ones Hazel had been dealt. Not even Sadie, whose mother had supported her every step of the way no matter how many mistakes she made, understood where Hazel was coming from.
Travis was cut from the same cloth—they were rootless, on foreign soil, the ground constantly shifting beneath their feet. They had no safe harbor to cling to.
Survival was the best they could hope for.
“Because you’ve done it,” Hazel’s voice was small, but not so small as to be inaudible.
Travis was silent, lips thin. He nodded.
“People like us…we can’t always make ends meet. Look, this is prolly out of line, but—I know a guy. If you’re gonna do this kind of thing, you should at least get paid, you know? He’s got a website, real legit. He advertises on all the free sites, but he’d never put out your work for everyone to see like that. Ain’t fair to the performers.”
Is that what you call it? Hazel sank to a crouch, fingers laced beneath her chin. Her racing breaths were slow to resume a steadier pace. Her throat felt as though rubbed with sandpaper.
Travis seemed to take her silence as an invitation to go on. “I’m sorry if I spooked you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Don’t sound like it,” he wheedled, trying to catch her gaze. “Aw, come on now. You ain’t really scared of me, are you? I’m a teddy bear.”
Hazel put all the scorn she had left into answering his prodding with a glare. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
“Oh yeah, wiping ketchup stains off tables. My dream-fucking-job.”
“Feel free to give it up to someone who needs it, if you’d rather be sucking cock on camera,” Hazel snipped. She pushed herself up from the floor and brushed past him with courage she hadn’t realized she possessed. It was easier now that she knew he wasn’t going to tackle her. “Tell Sadie I took off.”
Travis snorted, unamused. “Tell her yourself. Bitch.”
Hazel didn’t wait for the door to slam shut in his wake before storming out, blood thumping wildly in her ears. The sweet perfume of spilled tequila filled her lungs. She doubled over in the narrow alleyway behind Marco’s diner, breathing through her mouth.
Look at me, baby…
Behind Hazel’s eyes, a camera flash ignited, whiting out her vision. It took everything she had not to crumble. Six years ago, that hadn’t been a problem. Her wannabe pornographer had planned ahead.
* * * *
For all its square footage, the loft offered very few hideaways. The wide, open spaces echoed like the inside of a hangar. Hazel considered l
ocking herself in the playroom, but cell reception was shaky at best behind so much concrete. Sequestering herself in the bathroom reminded her too strongly of the first day of junior high.
She settled on Ward’s bedroom, in the end. High altitude, with noisy metal stairs to warn her of visitors. The door was open when she reached the landing, bed made like in a hotel room. It would be another hour or so before Ward got back from work and if the last few days were any indication, he’d be too tired to notice if a hair was out of place.
Still not a good reason to encroach on his privacy. Hazel waved away the thought.
Besides, hadn’t Ward dug up her secrets before they even knew each other?
“Just get this over with,” she muttered, determined not to dredge up the last time she’d been in Ward’s bedroom.
As a rule, whenever she spent the night at the loft, she slept in Dylan’s bed. She messed around with his toys. Ward’s room was verboten since they’d drunk themselves into a misguided lay, all those weeks ago. It was one more landmine to avoid.
The mattress sank beneath her. The bedsprings didn’t dare squeak.
Hazel stabbed her finger into the Call button. Please go to voicemail. Please go to voicemail.
The call connected.
“Hello?” her brother’s voice filtered down the hundreds upon hundreds of miles of plain and concrete separating Dunby from LA, and opened a chasm between Hazel’s ribs.
“What’s this I hear about a kid?”
“Hazel!”
They hadn’t spoken since Christmas and they’d stopped telling each other anything important since long before that, but Hazel made-believe she wasn’t imagining the relief in Buddy’s voice.
A muscle spasmed in her chest. “Yeah, it’s me,” she confirmed.
She didn’t have much to say after that. Not usually a gregarious, talkative sort, Buddy was all too eager to fill her in on every gushing detail about his picture-perfect family. It was a genetic trait inherited from their mother, but coming from Buddy, Hazel didn’t mind it so much. She played her fingers over the raised seam in the chocolate-brown comforter draped over Ward’s bed while her brother led her down memory lane, casting people she’d once known as characters in a detailed report of the delivery.