Things We Never Got Over

by Lucy Score

  Sometimes life just wasn’t fucking fair.

  She slugged me in the shoulder. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “Our families are right up there!”

  “A whole lot of things,” I said with a grin.

  “You’re the worst. We’re coming!” she yelled.

  “We will be later,” I promised under my breath.

  TWENTY-SIX

  PMS AND THE BULLY

  Naomi

  I arrived at Honky Tonk early for my shift in my Dad’s pristine Ford Explorer. A bonus to having my parents in town. Another bonus was the fact that they were having a movie night sleepover with Waylay at Liza’s.

  I was under orders to buy a car ASAP.

  Between my poker winnings and the proceeds from the sale of my house, I found myself in a pretty solid financial position even with the impending purchase of a decent car. Then there was the quickie Knox had coaxed me into that afternoon when he came over to help me put together Waylay’s new desk.

  I was feeling pretty damn good about life when I strolled into Honky Tonk. “Hello, ladies,” I said to Fi and Silver. “You’re looking gorgeous today.

  “You’re early and in a good mood,” Fi noted, sliding the cash drawer into the register. “I hate that about you.”

  Silver glanced my way as she flipped the stools off the bar. She paused. “She’s got orgasm face. She’s not one of us.”

  Crap. The last thing Knox or I needed was our co-workers gossiping about our incredibly satisfying sex life.

  “Oh, come on,” I scoffed, hiding my face behind a curtain of hair as I tied my apron. “A girl can be in a good mood without having orgasms. What’s with the chocolate and heating pads?”

  Next to the register was a plate of brownies wrapped with pink cellophane, a box of stick-on heating pads, and a bottle of Midol.

  “Knox’s monthly care package,” Silver said. “Who gave you the O face?”

  “Care package for what?” I asked, ignoring the question.

  “All our cycles synced up. Stasia’s too,” Fi explained. “Every month, the boss puts together a period survival kit and is nice to us for a day or two.”

  “That’s really nice of him,” I said.

  Fi slapped the bar. “OhmygodyouhadsexwithKnox!”

  “What? Me? Knox?” I felt my face getting hot. “Why would you think that? Can I have a brownie?”

  “She’s definitely deflecting,” Silver decided.

  “Yeah, Nomi. Your poker face needs some serious work. This is so fucking exciting. You know he’s never shagged an employee before. Man, I knew there were sparks! Didn’t I tell you there were sparks?” Fi slapped Silver in the shoulder.

  “Yeah. Sparks,” Silver agreed. “So are you guys a thing? Or was it a heat-of-the-moment, my-brother’s-just-been-shot kinda thing?”

  “On a scale of Meh to My Vagina is Forever Ruined, how good was he?” Fi asked.

  This was not going the way I’d planned. My gaze slid to the kitchen doors and back to the expectant faces before me. News traveled fast in this town, and I did not want to feed the gossip.

  “You guys, I really don’t want to talk about this.”

  They stood there staring at me. Then they looked at each other and nodded.

  “Okay, here’s how it’s gonna go,” Fi said. “You’re going to tell us everything, and in exchange, we won’t tell anyone anything.”

  “Or else what?” I hedged.

  Silver’s smile was wicked. “Or else we spend the whole shift wondering out loud who put that smile on your face in front of all the customers.”

  “You’re evil.”

  “We’re evil. But we can be bought,” Fi reminded me.

  “Your parents walked in on your one-night stand. Classic,” Silver said ten minutes later when I’d finished verbally vomiting all over them.

  “And your vagina is officially ruined,” Fi added.

  “And we aren’t in a relationship. Unless you’re my parents or a caseworker weighing my stability as a guardian, in which case we’ve been swept away by an unexpected romance.”

  “But you are having sex,” Silver confirmed.

  “Temporarily,” I said with emphasis.

  Silver raised a pierced eyebrow. Fi stopped gobbling down her brownie.

  “Saying it out loud makes it sound stupid. Maybe we should finish getting ready to open?”

  “Eh. I’m PMS-ing. I’d rather eat another brownie and talk about penis length and orgasm intensity,” Fi said.

  I was saved from responding by my phone signaling a text.

  Sloane: My blabbermouth niece told me something I think you should know.

  Me: What? Is my side part out of style?

  Sloane: Yes. Also she said the teacher’s been pretty rough on Way the last two days.

  Me: What do you mean?

  Sloane: Chloe said Mrs. Felch is being mean to Waylay. Yelling at her in front of the rest of the class. Making “weird” comments about her mom. Chloe and Nina got in trouble for defending her.

  Me: Thanks for letting me know.

  Sloane: You’re going to go mama lion on an elementary school teacher, aren’t you?

  I pocketed my phone. “I hate to do this to you guys, but I need to go to Waylay’s school.”

  “Is Way in trouble?” Fi asked.

  “No, but Mrs. Felch is about to be. Mind covering for me until I get back?”

  Silver looked up from the heating pad she was taping to her stomach. “I’ll cover for you if you bring me back one of those pretzels with caramel dip from the place next to the school.”

  Fi’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh! Bring two!”

  “Better make it three,” Silver amended. “Max is coming in at four thirty and she’s on Day Two of the Red Tide.”

  “Three pretzels with caramel dip. Got it,” I said, untying my apron and grabbing my purse. “You sure you don’t mind covering for me?”

  Fi waved away my concern. “It’s always slow the first hour or two after opening. And Knox won’t be here with all us gals in the middle of Shark Week.”

  “Shark Week?”

  She pointed at the Midol and brownies.

  “Oh, right. That Shark Week. Thank you for covering!” I blew them kisses and headed for the door.

  The school was less than two blocks away, so I hoofed it. It gave me the time to work up a good head of steam. I was sick and tired of people thinking they could judge someone by their family’s behavior. I’d lived in the shadow of Tina’s misdeeds my entire life and I hated that Waylay was facing the same kind of problem.

  She was just a kid. She should be having sleepovers, playing games, sneaking junk food. Not dealing with the fallout of her mother’s reputation.

  Worse yet, she hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me she was having problems with her teacher. How could I fix a problem if I didn’t know it existed?

  Knockemout Elementary School was a squat brick building in the middle of town. There was the standard wood-chipped playground to the right and the long drive out front where buses loaded and unloaded every day.

  The school day had already wrapped up, but I hoped I could catch Mrs. Felch in the building.

  The front doors were all still propped open from the mass exodus of students, so I headed inside. It smelled like floor polish and disinfectant. It was only the first week of school, but the bulletin boards outside the sixth-grade classrooms were already full of artwork. Except for Room 303. The board was empty except for a calendar with a countdown on it and a piece of paper with the name Mrs. Felch.

  I hadn’t met her at Back to School Night. She’d been out sick, and I’d spent most of the hour gently reminding parents and school staff that I wasn’t my sister. I kicked myself for not making more of an effort to meet her before leaving her in charge of my niece.

  I spied a woman sitting behind the desk at the front of the classroom. Best guess put her in her early fifties. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a bun so tight I bet she got
headaches from it. She was dressed in head-to-toe shades of beige, and her lips were pursed in a thin line as she scrolled through something on her phone. She gave off the air of someone who was disappointed in just about everything life had to offer.

  I gave a cursory knock and walked into the room. “Mrs. Felch, you don’t know me, but—”

  The woman looked up and bobbled her phone, eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “Don’t play games with me. I know who you are.”

  Good lord. Hadn’t the dang grapevine caught up to the teaching staff yet?

  “I’m not Tina. I’m Naomi Witt. My niece, Waylay, is in your class, and I’d like to talk to you about how you’ve been treating her.”

  I’d never been good at confrontations. Hell, I’d squeezed my ass out of a church basement window to run away from a wedding rather than tell the groom I wasn’t going to marry him.

  But in that moment, I felt a fire burning in my belly. Backing down wasn’t an option. Neither was retreat.

  “How I’ve been treating her? I’ve been treating her the way she deserves to be treated,” Mrs. Felch snarled. The lines on her face carved deeper. “I treat her the way the daughter of a whore deserves to be treated.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I realized that I had a much bigger problem than a horrible sixth-grade teacher.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  FIELD MICE REVENGE

  Knox

  I walked into Honky Tonk through the kitchen, twirling my keys around my finger and whistling.

  “Someone’s in a good mood,” Milford, the line cook, observed.

  I wondered exactly how big of a dick I usually was that made my good mood breaking news, then decided I didn’t really give a shit.

  Making sure to school my expression into my normal scowl, I headed into the bar. There were about a half dozen early birds scattered around the place. Max and Silver were eating brownies behind the bar and clutching their mid-sections.

  Fi came out of the bathroom with her hands on her low back. “God. Why do I have to pee 147 times a day when I’m riding the cotton pony?” She groaned when she spotted me. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s Period Night.”

  “I own the place,” I reminded her, scanning the bar.

  “Yeah. And you’re also smart enough not to show up when you have three menstruating women on shift.”

  “Where’s Naomi?” I asked.

  “Don’t you take that tone with me today, Knoxy. I will break your face.”

  I had taken no tone with her, but I knew better than to point that out. “I brought you brownies.”

  “You brought us brownies so we don’t cry in the kitchen.”

  She had a point. Fi knew my secret. Tears were my kryptonite. I couldn’t handle a woman crying. It made me feel desperate and helpless and pissed off.

  “Where’s Naomi?” I asked again, trying to modulate my tone.

  “I’m fine, Knox. Thanks for asking. Even though I feel like my uterus is being crumpled up inside my body so it can be expelled through my Lady Canal, I’m thrilled to be working tonight.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but she held up a finger. “Uh-uh. I wouldn’t do that,” she advised.

  I shut my mouth and tagged Silver at the bar. “Where’s Naomi?”

  Her expression stayed carefully blank, but her eyes skated to Fi, who was making an exaggerated slashing motion across her throat.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  My business manager rolled her eyes. “Fine. Naomi was here, but there was some trouble with Waylay’s teacher. She went to take care of it and asked us to cover for her.”

  “She’s bringing us pretzels afterward,” Max said around the brownie she held between her teeth as she shuffled by with two fresh beers. I was pretty sure that was a health violation but was smart enough not to mention it.

  I eyed the women before me. “You thought I’d be pissed that she went to take care of something at the school?”

  Fi smirked. “No. But it’s a slow day. Thought it would be more fun this way.”

  I closed my eyes and started to count to ten. “Why haven’t I fired you yet?”

  “Because I’m amazing!” she sang, spreading her arms wide. She flinched and clutched her stomach. “Fucking periods.”

  “Amen,” Silver agreed.

  “Strap on one of those damn heat pad things and take turns getting off your feet,” I advised.

  “Look who’s Mr. Menstruation,” Fi said.

  “Working with the Synched Sisters has educated me in ways I never wanted to be. Who’s the teacher?”

  “What teacher?” Max asked as she blew past us again with a couple of empties. The brownie was now gone. I hoped it hadn’t fallen into one of the beers.

  “Waylay’s teacher,” I said in exasperation. “Did she say what the problem was?”

  “Is there a reason you’re so interested?” Fi asked, looking too damn smug for my liking.

  “Yeah. I’m paying her to be here, and she’s not here.”

  “Your tone is aggressive, and I don’t react well to aggressive during my Lady Business,” Silver warned.

  This was why I didn’t come near Honky Tonk during Code Red, which is how I labeled it in my calendar.

  “Mrs. Felch,” Max called from the corner two-top she’d commandeered. She was sitting on one chair with her feet propped on the second and a damp bar towel draped over her forehead and eyes.

  “I’m personally not a fan of Mrs. Felch. One of my kids had her. She gave homework over Christmas,” Fi recalled.

  “Fuck.”

  Fi and Silver turned to look at me. Max peeked out from under her cold compress.

  “Mrs. Felch is married,” I said.

  “That is usually what Mrs. means,” Silver said, patronizing me.

  “Mrs. Felch is married to Mr. Felch. Nolan Felch.”

  Fi got it first. “Oooooh, shit. That’s not good.”

  “Wait, didn’t Tina—”

  “Yeah. She did. I gotta go. Try not to scare off all the patrons.”

  Fi scoffed. “They’re here for the free Bloody Mary shots we give out during Crappy Hour.”

  “Whatever. Later.” Heading for the parking lot, I vowed never to come back to Honky Tonk during a Code Red.

  I made it almost to my truck when Liza’s Buick rolled up. But it was Naomi’s dad, worry lines carved into his forehead, behind the wheel instead of my grandmother. Amanda was in the passenger seat, looking agitated.

  “Everything all right?” I asked, reading the mood.

  “Waylay is missing,” Amanda announced, a hand clutched to her heart. “She walked to the cottage to get her schoolwork together and was supposed to come straight back to Liza’s. We were going to have dinner-and-a-movie night.”

  “She didn’t come back, and her bike’s gone,” Lou said gruffly. “We’re hoping Naomi had seen her.”

  I swore under my breath. “Naomi’s not here. There was some trouble at the school with Way’s teacher, and she went to handle it.”

  “Maybe that’s where Waylay went,” Amanda said, clutching her husband’s arm.

  “That’s where I’m headed now,” I said grimly.

  “You’re part of a parent-teacher conference?” Lou scoffed.

  “No, but I’m sure as hell gonna have your daughter’s back when she walks into an ambush.”

  I ignored the speed limit and stop signs on the short drive to the elementary school and noticed Lou did the same behind me. We pulled into adjacent parking spaces and stormed the front doors, a united front.

  I hadn’t stepped foot in the school since I was a student here. It looked as though not much had changed.

  “How do we know where to go?” Amanda wondered when we walked in through the front doors.

  I heard raised voices coming from one of the hallways.

  “My money’s on that way,” I said.
/>   “Your sister ruined my life!”

  I didn’t wait for the Witts. I headed toward the shouting at a dead run. I made it to the open door just in time to see a seething Mrs. Felch fisting her hands at her sides as she leaned into Naomi’s personal space.

  I stalked into the room, but neither woman paid me any attention.

  “From what you’ve told me, your husband ruined your marriage. An innocent eleven-year-old certainly isn’t to blame,” Naomi said, hands on hips, not giving the woman an inch.

  She was wearing another flirty denim skirt. This one had a distressed hem with threads that skimmed her thighs. I both loved the way it looked on her and hated the fact that she was wearing it to serve beer to men who weren’t me.

  “She’s got her mother’s blood, doesn’t she? There’s nothing innocent about any of you,” Mrs. Felch hissed, pointing an accusing finger in Naomi’s face.

  My plans for Naomi and her tight little skirt would have to wait.

  “Bullshit.”

  My announcement had both women whirling around to face me.

  Mrs. Felch’s eyes got big behind her glasses. I was a scary fucking guy when I wanted to be, and right now, I wanted to be downright terrifying. I took two steps forward, and she backed into her desk like a cornered rat in bifocals.

  “Knox,” Naomi said through clenched teeth. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She was tilting her head and subtly pointing toward the floating wall that created a coatroom just inside the doorway.

  I glanced in the direction and caught a glimpse of blonde and blue hair. Waylay, holding a jar of God knows what, gave me an embarrassed finger-wiggle of a wave from her belly on the floor.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered.

  “There’s no need for language,” Mrs. Felch barked.

  “The fuck there isn’t,” I countered, angling myself to block part of the opening to the coatroom. “And I think Waylay’s grandparents will agree.”