by T I J A N
I heard Brandon sit across from me again with a soft thud. “Now I feel like a dumbass for getting so mad.” He laughed, the sound half strangled. “I almost feel like I should call Brad and apologize.”
I didn’t care—not about that.
I missed Naly.
It hit me in the chest. She hit me there. It was abrupt, and it came out of nowhere, but it was there and I couldn’t push her down.
I missed her in my belly. I missed not having the chance to hold her, to hear her cry, to soothe her, to feed her, to see her eyes looking back at me when I told her I loved her.
I missed not getting the chance for any of that, and I missed Channing, because during that time, it’d been him and me against the world.
I hadn’t been second fiddle to his crew once she was born. But when her little heart stopped, so did that other life I was going to have.
“Heather?”
My brother was staring at me. “You okay? I won’t actually call Brad.”
I couldn’t deny it. I felt it coming. I even knew the catalyst because I’d seen how Channing stared at me when I was in that truck. He’d finished beating his enemy, and his head had lifted, the adrenaline from the fight draining.
“Channing’s going to leave me.” I met my brother’s gaze.
This wasn’t new. He’d had a front seat to our relationship.
He swallowed. “You sure?”
I nodded, feeling the pit in my stomach open up and all of my insides fall out. “Yeah.”
I’d never told him about the other times. If Channing and I broke up, Brandon always realized it weeks later. There was no point in sharing, because he always came back. I always went to him. The revolving door was just that, revolving.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
I got up, accepting it, feeling emotions press down on my shoulders that I usually liked to ignore. I felt Brandon following me inside. Even when I went to the office, so did he. I put the paperwork away, shut down my computer, collected my keys, and turned to him.
He was in the doorway, waiting for me.
He knew where I was going.
His chest lifted. His mouth started to open. He was going to say something, but then an emotion flickered over him, and he shut his mouth.
I left. I was going to do what I’d threatened Channing with when we got together this last time.
It was time to shit or get off the fucking pot.
39
Heather
Junior year
It was a normal day, or as normal as they’d become.
I’d had two years of Channing acting like a dick—fighting, cursing, being a jerk. He’d apologize, and I’d forgive him because I was spineless, or just an idiot girl in love. There’d be cuddling, making out, and I’d be happy for a few days.
Then he would start again.
As Channing grew more and more into a dick, I worked more and more at Manny’s. I was a full-time staff member by the time I was fourteen. Don’t tell the government. Manny’s was home to me. It had become my sanctuary away from Channing’s craziness. He and his friends were out of control. Some nights he crawled into my bed and I didn’t recognize him. He sounded like a stranger. He reeked of alcohol. Most nights there was blood on him—either his or someone else’s.
I stopped asking.
He stopped telling me.
Today was my first day of junior year at Roussou. I’d barely talked to Channing over the summer, which I wasn’t thinking about. He still slipped in at night, but that’d been it for us. Not a lot of conversation happened then, and coming to school, I didn’t know if the nightmare would start up again or there’d be a break in something. Anything.
It happened when I was walking down the hallway, books in hand. I was going to my fifth period class when I saw her.
A girl slipped out of Gus’ janitor’s closet.
Nothing about her should’ve caught my attention. Closet hook-ups happened all the time.
But, for whatever reason, I saw her.
Her lipstick was smeared. It was obvious what she’d been doing.
I started to move past, looking for my classroom, when the door swung open again.
I saw his shoes first. The same black sneakers that’d been by my bed this morning. The same shoes he’d kicked off as he climbed through the window and jumped into my bed. The same shoes he shoved his feet in when he needed a quick getaway.
My heart sank.
I jerked to a stop, nearly falling over.
I couldn’t… My head was swimming. I couldn’t think that.
Right?
He wouldn’t do that.
Right?
But he came out.
The same jeans.
The same hands.
The same tattoos on his arms.
The same shirt I’d watched him pull on this morning.
The same face.
The same lips—no, not the same.
There was lipstick smeared over his lips, and he rubbed at the side of his face as he stepped fully out.
I was on the opposite side of the hallway. He first looked at the students moving past, and then his eyes darted around until he saw me. He straightened up, his hand falling away, and I saw more lipstick there.
Jesus.
I sucked in my breath. My hands tightened on my books. It was like she’d branded him.
He’d cheated on me. I’d caught him red-handed.
An apology flashed in his eyes, but no. No way.
He stepped forward, toward me, but I slammed back into the lockers behind me. I heard the sound, but I never felt it. I just shook my head.
He mouthed my name, but I shook my head again.
No fucking way.
My hands were shaking.
No FUCKING way!
My books fall to the floor. I never heard the thud.
NO FUCKING WAY!
My legs were trembling. My knees knocked against each other.
I was done.
I felt light-headed. Spots appeared in my vision, but fuck him.
Done.
Fuck her.
DONE!
Fuck everything.
I was already gone.
Turning away, I walked past my classroom. I walked past the office. I walked all the way out to the parking lot, got the extra set of keys Channing kept under his truck, and I drove to Fallen Crest Public High School.
I broke up with him, transferred schools, and took his vehicle—all without saying a word to anyone.
I was done with Roussou.
40
Heather
Present day
Tuesday Tits had a line out the door. Channing was right. He was starting to get our old clientele. I recognized a bunch of college students that were regulars at Manny’s. He’d said his karaoke nights were doing well, but tonight was the martini night.
A few people recognized me as I passed.
A guy called out, “Hey, Heather!”
“Hey, guys. You here to enjoy Thursday Night Titinis?”
The name was ridiculous, but it got the buzz going. I had to give Channing credit where it was due, and yeah, there might’ve been some business envy attached to it. I was human.
One of the girls laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Five bucks a martini? We’d be nuts not to grab that deal.”
Note to self: steal his idea.
The sale only lasted an hour, but it was enough to get people lit and keep them around.
Another girl linked her elbow with the first. “Besides, there are hotties to look at.”
There was that too.
I grunted. “Maybe I’ll see you in there.”
They waved as I headed for the door. A few grumbled that I was cutting, but they were hushed.
Congo and Chad were manning the door, and both grinned in greeting.
“How’s my woman?” Congo asked.
“Still nuts. I don’t know who she thinks she’s prote
cting me from, but she’s still at Manny’s, and I’m here.”
Chad burst out laughing before pointing over my shoulder. “You sure about that?”
A glaze of pride and lust showed in Congo’s eyes as he looked too.
Stalker strolled up around me, almost sauntering. She ran a hand down Congo’s arm, leaning in for a kiss. “Hello, lover.”
I didn’t need to see that.
No one did.
When tongue got involved, I held my hands up. “Okay. Stop. Even your future children are scarred.”
Shit. The words slipped out before I knew what I was saying, but I was the only one who froze.
Chad and Congo laughed.
Rebecca (I couldn’t bring myself to call her Becca like the others were, and it felt a little mean to keep referring to her as Stalker) huffed, turning to face me. “Respect the Becs. I’m here to protect you, whether you like me or not.”
Congo wrapped his arm around her. “She promised Channing she’d watch out for you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You promised Channing?”
Congo’s arm slipped to drape over her front. She held onto it at her waist. “I did. I fulfill my promises.”
She was still a stalker. I wasn’t going to thank her. Instead, I twisted to Chad. “Is he here?”
“He’s in the next building.” He pointed past the line. “Door’s around the corner.”
“Thanks.”
I’d started off when Becca called after me, “Do you need backup?”
I flicked some of my hair over my shoulder. Yes. I’d become that girl in this situation. I still didn’t trust her, and I didn’t know if I ever would. Why Channing put her on me was something I’d have to take up with him. “I’m going around the corner. Pretty sure I’ll be fine.”
Chad had gone back to checking out the girls in line.
Rebecca detached herself from Congo and came over, digging into her large white leather purse. “Here.” She shoved a brooch into my hand. “Put it on your purse.”
“I don’t use purses.”
She looked down my body, her nose wrinkling. “Where do you keep all your stuff? Your keys, phone? Your password receptor. Your clothes are a second skin all the time.”
I fought against rolling my eyes, chiding softly, “I don’t think that’s proper etiquette.”
I left the password receptor comment alone. Stalker. Her. There you have it.
She flushed. “No, you’re right, but pin this to your jeans or something. If you need me, just press it. It sends an alert to my phone, and I’ll know exactly where you are.”
Oh my God. This took stalking to another level.
“No. No.” I gave her back the brooch. “If I need help, I’ll text Channing.”
“Come on. Don’t be like that,” she cooed as she took the brooch and started to look for a place to pin it. She reached for my jean jacket, but I evaded her, stepping back. “Come now, Heather. We all need help. You too.” She went for my jeans pocket, bending down to my waist.
“Stop!”
I took two steps back. She followed me.
“Seriously. Stop.”
“Just hold still.” She was going for my shirt now, where it was peeking out from my jacket. “Oh, right there would be perfect.”
I began backing away, through the line and around the corner. Becca trailed after me, still trying to pin the brooch on.
“Stop.” I plucked the brooch out of her hand and turned to throw it.
“Wait—”
“Ms. Heather Jax?” A guy approached, stepping out of a black SUV. He smoothed a hand over his tie and inclined his head forward. “You’re Heather Jax, correct?”
I squared off against him. “Yeah?”
We had stepped fully around the corner, and this side of the street had minimal lighting. Cars were parked up and down the road, but the line had snaked the other way. We could hear the people around the other side, but that was it. We were almost isolated.
Becca popped out from behind me. “Who are you?” She grabbed the brooch from my hand, palming it.
He was a tall son of a bitch, maybe over six foot and four inches, but the slicked-back hair and shifty eyes gave him a sleazy vibe—that and the whole approaching us on a dark street thing. The one light that worked on this road was halfway down the block. It cast a long shadow, and this guy stepped into it, coming toward us.
He held a hand out. “I’m Eric McDougall. I represent an associate of your significant other.”
This guy had to do with Channing. I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you want with me?”
“Us,” Rebecca clarified, also folding her arms.
I rolled my eyes.
“Uh…” He looked between us. He started to pull his hand back, but Rebecca moved forward and grabbed it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McDougall.” She smiled up at him, and when he frowned at her, then transferred his attention to me, her hand darted out. She dropped the brooch into his pocket, bumping into him slightly. “Oh, sorry! I had some wine earlier. It must’ve gone straight to my head.” She fluffed her frizzy blond hair, shaking it out before moving back to stand next to me. She caught my gaze, and I arched an eyebrow. She moved her head back and forth, a discreet shake before clearing her throat and smiling at the guy.
He coughed, his hand out to me again. “As I was saying, Brett Marsch is one of my clients. I recently had an interaction with Mr. Monroe and was wondering if you knew where I could find him?”
Nope. I didn’t know this guy. I didn’t care to know him. I didn’t trust him.
“I have no clue.”
He blinked a few times. “What?”
“No clue. You want to know where Channing is? I have no clue.”
He narrowed his eyes, sweeping over us. “Ma’am?”
“Oh.” Her head went from left to right. “Nope. I don’t know either.”
“I was told that if anyone would know, it would be his ‘woman.’” His gaze rested on me.
He fell silent after that.
So did I.
So did Rebecca.
A full twenty seconds of silence passed.
It was obvious this guy expected us to help him, and for the love of me, I had no clue why.
“Miss Jax.” He was all authoritative, coming to stand on the sidewalk with us. “I would like your help with this matter. It’s very important for me to find Mr. Monroe.”
“Oh!” My arms dropped from over my chest, and I turned to Rebecca. “When he says it like that? You know? It must be important.”
She didn’t get the sarcasm, her eyes darting right back to him and narrowing.
“I mean, it must be something vital for you to find me and ask me. Right?” I didn’t wait for his response, rushing on. “You need help locating Channing. That’s what you need?”
“Yes.” His eyes gleamed.
“Well, then…” I stalled. “I probably should tell you…“
He leaned closer. “Yes?”
“…that… ”
“Yeah?” He began grinning.
Game was up. I didn’t have the patience. “You need to decipher sarcasm better.”
He snapped back, and the grin dropped abruptly.
Stalker started laughing. Her elbow nudged my arm. “That was good, Heather.”
I ignored her, jerking my head toward the corner. “If you don’t have balls enough to try to get into his bar, why the fuck do you think I would help you?” I snorted, starting around him. “Get out of here, jackoff.”
“Miss Jax, I—”
The door opened farther down, a bell jingling, and we heard, “It’s the Peter.”
Channing left the store with his sister and her crew members, as well as another guy, behind him.
“What are you doing talking to my woman?” He passed me, going up to the guy and standing close enough to violate his personal boundary bubble.
His tone was cold. His smile was uninviting.
Th
e guy tugged at his collar, straightening his shirt before moving back a step. “It’s Eric McDougall, Mr. Monroe.” He softened his voice too. “But you’re quite aware of my name, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Just like you know going up to Heather would be the first way to piss me off.” Channing chuckled under his breath. “So, good job there. Did your boss send you my way? Does he want to get rid of you and I’m supposed to do it for him?”
The guy didn’t respond, instead scanning the group. He paused on me, then Rebecca. His gaze moved behind us to Bren and her crew. I didn’t need to look to know that no one was breaking. Not one of us was shocked at Channing’s threats.
This guy was the outsider. Outsiders weren’t welcome.
“I see. And no, Mr. Monroe, my employer did not send me. I actually came as an act of good faith. We’d previously discussed doing business together.”
The second he stopped talking, Channing began.
“Yeah. No. Not anymore. You need to learn the rules, and finding her first broke them all.”
“I wasn’t aware. I am now.”
“You are now.”
Channing wasn’t backing off, a hard glint to his tone.
“Well, then.” The Peter coughed. “Maybe I could speak with you in private?”
He directed his question to Channing, but Channing nodded to Rebecca. She darted around the corner as Channing glanced back to us. “Bren? Why don’t you guys…”
“We’ll head out.” Bren’s best friend moved ahead. “Unless you need us?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
They moved past, one by one, going around the corner until it was only me, Channing, and the Peter.
“Heather?”
“Not a chance.” I wasn’t leaving. I’d come for a talk. I was going to have that talk, but I did lean back against the building. “I can wait.” I smiled at him, ignoring the small grin that appeared on the Peter’s face.
It didn’t matter anyway.
Moose, Chad, and Lincoln came around the corner. I waited, but no Rebecca.