My Hotshot, page 2
Good thing no one was around. I probably sounded like a crazy person, talking to myself and wrestling produce into the drawer.
I didn’t want to think about Duane. It had taken me years to get over him. Years and an entire marriage. And now, somehow, I’d managed to move to the exact town where he lived.
“Excellent work, Lainey,” I muttered, grabbed three giant cereal boxes, and moved toward the pantry.
The pantry was still mostly empty, save for a container of salt, two bottles of ketchup, and one rogue bag of dried lentils I was pretty sure had come with the house. I stared at it for a moment like it might have advice for me.
“Yeah, I don’t know what to do either,” I sighed.
The new house was cute in a basic kind of way. A ranch-style, all on one floor with a big living room that opened into the kitchen. The kitchen had nice granite counters, a decent-sized island, and cabinets that closed with soft hinges—a luxury I hadn’t realized I needed until I had them.
Three bedrooms, two baths, an attached garage, and walls so beige they made white look exciting.
I had already asked the landlord if I could paint. Hadn’t heard back yet, but that hadn’t stopped me from taping paint swatches to the hallway wall. This new chapter of my life was going to be colorful and fun. At least, that’s what I’d been telling myself.
I shoved the cereal boxes into the pantry with more force than necessary and moved back to the island to start on the next bag. Pasta, tomato sauce, canned soup. My hand hovered over four jars of pickles.
“Why did I even buy these?” I wondered. Did I really need sweet, spicy, horseradish, and kimchi pickles?
Distraction. That’s why.
Because thinking about Duane brought up more than I was ready for.
I had just gotten out of my marriage, and I wasn’t looking to shack up with someone else. My ex had been enough for a lifetime.
Lee.
Fifteen years of being married to a man I had never truly loved. Not like I had loved Duane.
We’d gotten married when I found out I was pregnant. It hadn’t been some great romantic proposal. Just a courthouse wedding because it was “the right thing to do.” Plans change when a baby’s involved.
Lottie had been born in the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college. Lee had promised he’d take care of us. In his own way, I guess he did.
The only reason we’d even lasted past the first year was because of his mom. Maggie.
If I was being truthful with myself, Maggie was the reason I’d stayed with Lee for as long as I had. And in a strange twist of fate, she had been the one to urge me to leave him.
Except… she never got to see it. Not like the way I wanted her to. Never got to see me and Lottie finally free.
A lump rose in my throat, and I reached up to swipe a tear off my cheek before it could fall onto the bag of shredded cheese.
Maggie had saved me more times than I could count over the past fifteen years. At the end of the day, I knew she loved her son, but she also knew what he was. She knew the way he talked to me, how he chipped away at me like I was something disposable.
She had been there to soften the blows.
To watch Lottie when I needed to escape. To bring me coffee and soft words when I didn’t have the strength to cry. To quietly remind me that I deserved more.
She never outright told me to leave, not until the very end.
Lee had never hit me. Not with fists. But he had a way of slicing me open with words, dragging me down into a version of myself I didn’t even recognize. The first time I found out he was cheating, it shattered me.
The second time cracked what I had managed to rebuild.
By the third woman, I didn’t even cry. I just accepted it.
So long as he was good to Lottie, I could take it. I learned how to step around him like broken glass and avoid the sharp edges.
But once Stephanie came into the picture? Everything changed.
Stephanie was too smug. Too confident. Too comfortable in my home and around my daughter. She had plans. She thought she could push me aside, take my place, and play mother to my baby.
And that was a big, fat, hell no.
Even bigger than mine was Maggie’s. That woman saw straight through her, and she’d had enough.
She helped me leave. Distracted Lee, covered for me, and packed up my things when he wasn’t looking. Booked a U-Haul. Wrote a check.
Eight months ago, I left Lee.
Four days later, Maggie was gone.
Struck by a drunk driver on her way home from the pharmacy. It had been raining that night.
A part of me died with her.
I owed her this life. I owed her this fresh start, this boring beige ranch house, and the crisper drawer that barely opened.
Even though I knew she knew how thankful I was, I wanted her to see me. I wanted her to see Lottie and me living. Thriving.
Free.
And now she never would.
A low sob tore its way out of my throat before I could stop it. I dropped the box of spaghetti noodles onto the counter and pressed my palms to the cool granite. I leaned forward and dropped my chin to my chest.
“I miss you,” I whispered.
There was no reply, no warmth in the room except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirp of a bird outside.
I squeezed my eyes shut. A long breath in. Out.
She had believed in me. When no one else did. When I didn’t even believe in myself.
I needed to make this new life count.
For her.
For Lottie.
For me.
I picked the noodles back up, straightened my spine, and set them in the cabinet next to the sauce.
Thinking about Maggie hurt.
A slow, dull kind of ache that settled right behind my ribs and pressed in when I least expected it. Like when I passed by the coffee aisle and saw the brand she always bought, or when I opened a cupboard and instinctively reached for the mug she gave me last Christmas.
But thinking about Duane?
That hurt in a whole different way. Sharper. Quicker. It flared up in my chest and spread like heat under my skin. Sixteen years ago, I lost him. Sixteen years of pretending I didn’t wonder where he was, what he was doing, and who he had become. Sixteen years of swallowing that ache and moving on with Lee.
And now?
Now he had just waltzed right back into my life like a punch to the gut.
Sexier than the eighteen-year-old I had in my head. Tattooed.
My god, was he tattooed.
His arms had been covered, and he had wings wrapped around his neck.
His eyes had been the same, though. Knowing and piercing.
Mr. Tattooed Motorcycle Badass had replaced the gangly eighteen-year-old.
What was I supposed to do about that?
Talk to someone? Maggie would’ve been the one I immediately went to. She would’ve sat me down with a cup of coffee and stared at me until I spilled everything. Then she’d nod, give me her honest opinion, and probably follow it up with something completely unexpected.
But I didn’t have her anymore.
Hell, I didn’t have anyone. Not here.
Just Lottie.
And as much as I adored my daughter, some things weren’t meant to be shared with a fifteen-year-old trying to survive her first two weeks in a new school.
We’d been in Mt. Pleasant for two weeks, and I had zero friends on the horizon. I’d been more focused on making sure Lottie fit in and that she was adjusting okay. The mom stuff. I hadn’t thought once about trying to find a tribe for myself.
“Fresh start,” I sighed out loud as I tucked a box of granola bars into the pantry. “That’s what this was supposed to be.”
I didn’t know that start was going to include Duane.
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and chewed on my bottom lip as I stared down at the screen. I hadn’t even saved his name—just the number he had typed in when he’d handed my phone back to me.
He hadn’t asked for mine.
Hadn’t called or texted himself to get the contact.
He had firmly left the ball in my court.
If I deleted the number, it would be like he didn’t exist. Like he hadn’t shown up with that same slow drawl and half-smile that used to undo me.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Delete.
It would be so easy. One tap, and he’d be gone again. I was the queen of avoidance. I could dodge and sidestep with the best of them. Hell, I’d stayed married to Lee for fifteen years without fully being present in that marriage.
I could pretend Duane never showed up.
I could.
But I didn’t.
“Having his number in my phone doesn’t mean I have to message or call him,” I muttered, half to myself and half to the granite countertop.
I typed in his name, Duane, not Dice, and stared at it. I tapped save and for a second felt like I was making a mistake.
“We don’t have to call him,” I reminded myself.
I backed out of the contact screen and returned to my home screen. The background was a picture of Lottie at the beach last summer with her hair a wild mess of curls and her face sun-kissed. She looked happy. That’s all I wanted.
I hit the lock button and slid the phone back into my pocket.
Duane was officially on the back burner.
I’d think about him later. Or never. Never sounded like the smarter option.
Right now, I needed to focus on getting us settled. Unpacking boxes, stocking the pantry, getting the water bill figured out—real-life things.
My eyes flicked to the microwave clock.
“Crap.”
I shoved the last of the crackers into the cabinet, jammed all of the frozen things into the freezer, and tucked the milk, eggs, butter, and ten other things that would spoil into the fridge. Everything else on the counter, I’d deal with later.
I grabbed my purse off the hook by the back door, tugged it over my shoulder, and snatched my keys from the bowl as I moved.
The garage door slid up as I pressed the button. The sun filtered in low and golden across the concrete floor. I rushed to the car and started the engine as I shut the door.
Lottie was going to kill me if I were late picking her up from school again.
Trying not to think about Duane was not working. I needed to put him firmly out of my mind and get back to starting the life I had wanted for the past fifteen years.
I backed out of the garage, pressed the button on the visor to shut the garage door, and rushed down the street to the high school.
“Focus on what matters, Lainey, and not Duane,” I advised myself.
Duane had broken my heart sixteen years ago.
I wasn’t going to let him do that to me again.
Chapter Three
Dice
Yarder’s voice cut through the low murmur in the room like a blade. “Leo and Brynn are ready to move on Boone, Gibbs, and their crew,” he announced from the head of the table. “Stretch included.”
The room stilled.
“No,” I said, my voice loud enough to rattle a few skulls.
Compass turned his head and shot me a glare that could’ve melted chrome.
“Stretch did not flip,” Pirate said, his voice hard and unwavering. “There ain’t no fucking way that he did.”
Yarder shook his head, slow and heavy. “The only proof that Leo and Brynn have found in the past two weeks is that Stretch did, in fact, flip. He’s doing shit for Boone and Gibbs. He’s in their inner circle.”
I shifted in my seat, feeling the eyes land on me like weights. I hadn’t told Yarder about the call I made to Stretch. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He would’ve made me call that number again, and that could’ve put Stretch in more danger than he was already in. Not that danger was avoidable anymore. The Banachi didn’t give a shit about loyalty. If Stretch was in their way, they’d mow him down with the rest of them.
“We all know Stretch wouldn’t go against the club like that,” Throttle said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He has to be getting close to them on purpose. Working an angle. When he’s got enough, he’s gonna flip it all.”
Yarder scoffed. “If that’s what he’s doing, then he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought. How the hell is Stretch going to take down Boone, Gibbs, and everyone working for them? What’s he got—nerves of steel and a death wish?”
“I never thought Stretch would flip on us,” Yarder went on, “but since we can’t get a hold of the asshole, we have to assume he did.”
“He didn’t,” I cut in, my voice low but certain.
Yarder glared at me. “I’m gonna need some fucking proof from anyone saying Stretch didn’t flip. I’m all for believing in unicorns shitting rainbows and Stretch not being a traitor, but we all know neither of those things can be proven.”
“I can prove it,” I said, still calm.
Yarder tilted his head, mouth tight. “How the fuck can you do that?”
“I talked to him.”
You could’ve heard a fly fart in the silence that followed.
“What?” Compass whispered.
“You talked to him?” Yarder asked.
I nodded, resting my forearms on the table. “Almost two weeks ago. Right after Leo and Brynn told us Stretch was with Boone and Gibbs.”
The look on Yarder’s face was a whole new level of pissed. I half expected steam to shoot out of his ears.
“You’re just now telling us that you talked to Stretch?” he exploded. “Two fucking goddamn weeks later?”
If I put a cape on him right then, we could’ve called him Super Pissed.
“How the hell did you call him?” Compass barked. “I’ve been calling his phone ten times a day. It always goes straight to voicemail.”
“Same,” Cue Ball added. “His voicemail’s full. I can’t even leave a ‘fuck you’ anymore.”
“Because I didn’t call that phone,” I said simply.
Yarder lifted his hand, already exhausted. “How about you just tell us exactly how you talked to Stretch since clearly you’ve got some magic backdoor line none of us do.”
“Had,” I clarified. “I had a line to Stretch. When I called, he told me not to call him again. That he’d reach out to us when he needed to.”
Compass let out a long, annoyed huff and leaned back in his chair. “Pretty sure by the time he thinks he needs us, he’ll be six feet under in a trash bag when Boone and Gibbs are done with him.”
“What the hell did he say?” Yarder demanded.
I met his eyes. “He was pissed I called him. Told me I was screwing things up. I told him he needed to get the fuck out of there. Let him know the Banachi were coming.”
Pirate scoffed. “Seeing as he’s still cozy with Boone and Gibbs, I’d say he didn’t take your advice.”
“Pretty sure if someone told me the Banachi were coming for my ass, I’d be halfway to Mexico by now,” Cue Ball said with a dark chuckle.
“Yeah,” Yarder nodded, dry as a bone. “Almost like you tipped him off that the Banachi were coming, and he let Boone and Gibbs know.”
“He said he’s in deep,” I continued. “That he couldn’t stop now. Told me I know him and asked me to keep the Banachi off his ass.”
Yarder threw his hands up. “Un-fucking-believable, Dice. Not only did you talk to Stretch and keep it to yourself, now we have to talk to the Banachi and tell them to ease up? After we practically begged them to get involved?”
“Lay off Stretch,” I said. “Not Boone and Gibbs. He didn’t say anything about stopping them.”
“Sure,” Aero said with a humorless laugh. “I’m sure Leo and Brynn can run in guns blazing and magically dodge Stretch in the chaos. Sounds easy.”
Yarder ran both hands through his hair, seething. “I am so fucking sick of this shit. We were this close to wrapping this up, and now we’ve gotta pump the brakes because Stretch thinks he’s goddamn Jason Bourne. You—” he jabbed a finger at me, “—you’re gonna be the one to talk to Leo and Brynn. I put my neck on the line to get their help, and now we can’t even fucking use it.”
“I’ll get a call into them,” Compass offered.
Yarder shook his head. “Nope. I’ll call them, but Dice is doing the talking.”
He yanked out his phone, hit a few buttons, and laid it on the table. He hit speaker, and we all stared at it like it might bite.
It rang five times. Straight to voicemail.
“Leo,” Yarder said. “Give me a call back when you have a chance. We’ve got some intel you’ll need.”
He ended the call and muttered, “So fucking sick of this shit.”
He stood abruptly and pointed to the rest of us. “I’m done for the day. I’m hauling Poppy into our room, locking the fucking door. Don’t bother me unless the goddamn place is on fire.”
And with that, he stormed out.
Aero looked at me like I’d just kicked his dog. “You really thought it was smart to keep it quiet that you talked to Stretch?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Because if I told Yarder right away, he would’ve made me call Stretch again, and that’s the one thing Stretch said not to do.”
Silence again.
We were all pissed. Hurt. Confused. Stretch had been one of ours. Still was, if I was being honest. Even if the guys wouldn’t admit it right now.
“Can’t fucking go back now,” Fade muttered, standing and stretching his back.
“Let’s just hope he’s not lying to you, Dice,” Throttle added.
One by one, the guys got up and headed out of church, filing back to the common room without a glance back.
I was the only one left.
I tapped my fingers against the edge of the table, jaw tight, heart heavy.
I hoped Stretch wasn’t lying to me either.
