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Fucking hell…Raven was a hooker? She had to be. That was the only explanation that fit all of this girl’s references to ‘boyfriends.’ Either that or she sold drugs illegally from her home to her ‘boyfriends’ on Tuesdays. Whatever. Either way, this situation was way worse than I ever could have imagined. Raven had been a good kid once, a smart kid, and part of me always felt she would have crawled her way out of this town by now.

  I guess not.

  I guess she needed me more than ever.

  Leaving the girl behind, I turned and took big strides across the yard. I started heading in the direction I believed Raven to be.

  “So?” Nick shouted from his car.

  “Wrong house,” I called out to him as I kept moving.

  He started the car and followed from the street.

  She’s not a hooker. She’s not a hooker. She’s not a hooker, I chanted inside my head as my pace changed from a walk to jog.

  I started reevaluating my entire plan here. I guess, my whole life, I’d always believed that Raven and I were destined to be together. Soulmates or some bullshit like that. But, when I let Dad come in and take me away, I’d screwed with our fate. I’d altered things. I could have come back to Pecan years ago, when I finished high school maybe, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t because I’d assumed we’d both be fine on our new paths in life. She’d marry young, have a bunch of babies, and work at a hair salon like she’d always wanted as a kid. I’d have a series of girlfriends before I finally found the right woman, maybe not quite as right as Raven could have been, but someone to give my heart to nonetheless. I don’t know. Something. But, even though prostitution wasn’t unheard of in this town, I never would have pictured Raven selling her body for money. She was better than that.

  I came to the last trailer in the row and rushed to approach the door. I didn’t really care what I was about to interrupt. In fact, I’d worked myself into such a fucking frenzy that I wanted to interrupt something. Unlike her mother’s house, this front door had no screen door. There was only solid wood in front of me. With the side of my fist, I banged—hard enough that it hurt. Frustration and annoyance went into my knock.

  I beat and beat on the door.

  Until finally it opened.

  “Raven—”

  The word left my lips like a whisper lost in a storm. A burst of heat rocked through my body. Because, damn, she was…gorgeous. Something fierce to behold. The innocent girl from my youth? Not even close. More like a pinup poster the horny teenage version of myself would have jerked off to. Her fierce emerald eyes, rimmed in deep black makeup, cut into me like knives.

  “You're late,” she snapped. Her eyes quickly ran over my body, from my head to waist. “I don’t care that you’re cute. If we go over your time, I'm charging you extra.” She grabbed my wrist with her surprisingly strong grip and yanked me inside her home, slamming and locking the door behind us.

  Inside it smelled like cheap perfume and liquor. But I hardly noticed as I took in the sight of my former friend. As a kid her hair had been naturally platinum blonde, with perfect curls. Her hair today was straight and dyed a purple-black color. I wanted to hate it, because it was so different than what I expected, but oddly I didn’t. Her lips were full, painted crimson, and she sank her white teeth into the edge of her plump bottom lip—like a porn star, like a woman who knew the exact effect a move like that would have on a man’s dick.

  My dick wasn’t immune, but I ignored the desperate feeling trying to take hold of me.

  “Raven,” I tried again, more forceful this time.

  “I don't know who told you my name was Raven—but don't call me it again. I go by Bliss. Follow the fucking script. There are rules for a reason.” And just then, with that threat, she let the silk, kimono style robe she had covering her luscious body slip to the floor.

  Jesus Christ. I slapped my hand over my eyes before I had a chance to see much of anything. Just a blur of skin and tattoos. I couldn’t look at her. If I looked at her I knew I’d never be able to deny her.

  “Okay, you're shy,” she said seductively, from somewhere in front of me. “I can work with shy.” I felt as her hands went for my belt buckle. “Shy men are my favorite kind.”

  “I'm not shy,” I stated sharply, pulling away from her touch. I took a giant step backward, bumping into a piece of furniture behind me. “Put your clothes back on.”

  She sighed. “I don’t have all the time in the world here. And I’m not much into foreplay.”

  “Neither am I, Raven. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not here to have sex with you. Put your clothes back on so I can take my hand off my face. Now. Please.”

  I waited until it was safe to uncover my eyes. Once I did, I saw that she had redressed in her robe. There wasn’t recognition on her face—only annoyance. I guess it kind of hurt that she didn't know it was me. I mean, despite the hair, the makeup, and the half-sleeve of tattoos that covered one of her arms, I think I would have recognized her anywhere. My heart was squeezing like mad seeing her again.

  I guess I wasn’t as memorable as she was.

  Nah, that's bullshit. I was fucking memorable. Just ask any one of my girlfriends from the past. Perhaps a man changes more with age than a woman. Who’s to say? Whatever. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have all the time in the world here either. Nick was outside waiting. Maine and the Sea Dogs back home were waiting. Even her little girl down the street—she had to be waiting on a life better than this.

  “Raven it’s me—Mickey Lawson.”

  My words dropped like a small grenade. My entire body froze in place as I waited for the bomb to explode and for the realization of what I’d just revealed to set in.

  “I go by Mick Jasmine now,” I added.

  For a few heart-pounding moments she didn’t move or say anything.

  Finally she whispered, “Holy shit.” And her face paled. All the confidence she’d exuded moments ago evaporated. She cinched the material of her robe tighter over her body. “Wh—what?” she breathed, opening and closing her mouth a couple times. It seemed she didn’t have words. Until finally she muttered, “Oh God,” and walked across the room. There was an open bottle of vodka on the counter, which she grabbed, tipped back, and started to chug.

  For several long seconds she drank.

  “Raven,” I warned. Because it was a hell of a lot of vodka. I knew the nearest hospital was over thirty miles away. I didn’t want to have to take her there.

  “You’ve got some nerve coming back here, and coming into my home like you’re hot shit—Mickey Lawson.” She breathed out, slurring my birth name like it was the worst name in the world. She removed the bottle from her pouty lips. “Fuck you, Mickey. I hate you.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door. It was either Nick, who’d never been great with patience, or the mystery fuck she’d mistaken me for moments ago.

  Without her permission, because I certainly wasn’t done here yet, I went for her door and answered it.

  Sure enough—Mystery Fuck. On her doorstep.

  Short. Balding. In a suit about two sizes too small. Was she seriously going to sleep with this random man?

  “Um,” he said, looking up at me with skepticism, “Does Bliss Love live here? Or do I have the wrong house?” He glanced down a piece of paper he held in his hand, double checking something.

  “Wrong house.” I slammed the front door in his face.

  “What? It wasn’t the wrong house!” Raven yelled at me.

  “Yes, it was.”

  She growled, literally growled at me. “That was five-hundred dollars you just cost me! And my rent for the month!”

  I sighed, frustration like I'd never felt building inside me. Five-hundred dollars? She was worth so much more than that. Meanwhile, she took another giant swing of the alcohol.

  “Seriously, slow down on the vodka.”

  That must have been the wrong thing to say, apparently, because she chucked the opened bottle with all her force across the room. What the hel
l was it about women throwing stuff at me? Did I have a target drawn on my forehead? I side stepped and the bottle crashed against the wall, glass and liquid coating my feet.

  I groaned. “Dammit, woman!”

  “Dammit, Mickey!” she returned. “Why are you here? I haven't seen or heard from you in fifteen years and you suddenly show up. Today of all days, too. I never expected to see you here in Pecan again. Not ever.” She exhaled deeply. “Fuck—fuck my life.” She dropped to her knees. Her demeanor changed in an instant. Her hands rested on her thighs. Her head hung down in defeat. “I hate you,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, you hate me, we’ve established that much.” Tentatively, I took a single step toward her. Truth be told, she scared the piss out me. I really didn't know what to think of this girl, a girl I'd once known better than myself. I guess I knew nothing about her now. Still—it didn't stop me from wanting to help her just the same.

  When no more objects came flying my way, I took a couple more steps in her direction.

  “Why are you here?” Her eyes left the ground and connected with mine. A single tear slipped down her cheek, smearing her black makeup. It was the first time she'd looked at me—I mean, really looked at me. And it did funny things to my heart—made it ache in unexpected ways.

  “I needed to be sure you were okay in life.”

  “And what's the verdict?” She chuckled. “That I'm a fucked up mess?”

  “No.” I figured it was time to tell her my real reason for coming. No way to sugar coat it— “I've come to take you home.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Home. It’s exactly what my dad said to me the day he came into my life. Son, pack your bags, I'm here to take you home.” With my throat doing its crazy stifling thing, feeling more like sandpaper than flesh, because this was a lot harder to say than I expected, I looked her dead in the eyes. “Raven, pack a bag, I’m here to take you home.”

  A second of silence passed before a sudden burst of laugher filled the room. For a moment I thought maybe it was the alcohol talking, the alcohol laughing, until it occurred to me that she was laughing at me. I was trying to do a nice thing here and all she could do was laugh. Nothing about today was even remotely funny.

  She stood to her feet, wobbling in her heals. Her laugher died quickly, and a sternness replaced it. “Go home, Mickey. Back to wherever you came from. Back to whatever posh world you live in now.” She pointed at my clothes as if there was something posh about them. There wasn’t. I had on a Sea Dog’s t-shirt and Levis—my standard when I wasn’t working. “I don't need you anymore. I stopped needing you a long time ago.”

  “Maybe you don't need me,” I said sharply. “But your daughter down the street—the little girl who’s home alone in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Hiding in the shadows of a trailer with a broken door. A girl who knows her mother is doing ‘illegal things’ with her ‘boyfriends.’ That little girl—she needs someone and a chance at a better life than this. I'm offering you an out. For both you and your daughter. I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend or to have sex with me like Mr. Bald just did. I’m simply, as your former best-friend, asking you to pack your bags and get the hell out of Pecan with me. So what’s it going to be? You want to come with me? Or do you want to keep glaring and pretending that you’re tougher than you are?”

  The air felt heavier after I finished speaking. The ticking of a clock somewhere in the small space seemed to punctuate the silence. Raven, still clinging to her pride, said nothing. But I could tell I’d won. Of course I’d won. I always win.

  And then she said it—one word, “Fine.”

  With that one word I knew she’d given in. She’d accepted defeat. I had to assume it was only for the sake of her daughter, but the way she bit out the word, the word exhaled through her teeth, was like pure, unfiltered loathing being thrown in my direction. Which didn’t make sense to me. I mean, sure, I could understand how she hated that I'd left her all those years ago. But, seriously, we were only ten. I was here now. I was making it right. Did she not see that? Could she not give me just a tiny bit of leniency for that gesture, at the very least?

  Whatever. She could hate me if she wanted. This wasn't about rekindling our friendship. This was simply my way of clearing my conscious. I knew that now.

  “Pack yourself a bag.” I took a step for the door. “We're killing daylight hours, and I've got to be home, rested, and functional by Thursday. Meet me outside when you're finished packing. Nick's waiting in the car. Oh, and pack light—because there's zero trunk space.”

  CHAPTER 3:

  RAVEN

  Have you ever had a ‘what the fuck’ moment? Where you wake up so completely disoriented that the only thing that comes to mind is... What. The. Fuck. Seriously, that was me—right this moment, right this second.

  I woke up with chucks of time missing from my memory. The only thing I knew for certain was that it was the next day and that I now had one hell of a hangover. I always drank when I had sex for money, it was the only way I could get through it, so the hangover that followed was to be expected. Except something was different this morning. This morning I wasn’t in my own bed like usual.

  The first thing I felt was drool running down my chin. Beautiful. As a natural reflex, I moved to wipe it away. My attention shifted next to my back. It ached the way a back only aches from sleeping on it wrong all night long. Ouch. I shifted, trying to correct the feeling but the pain still lingered. I tried to speak. But only incoherent babble came out. Then I attempted to open my eyes, but it was so damn bright that all I saw were spots. So I immediately pinched my eyes shut once more. See…

  Worst.

  Hangover.

  Ever.

  Wait. Shit. Why was I in a car?

  My eyes flew open as realization set it. Mick—ey! Lawson! Holy crap. Holy crap! He sat in the passenger seat of the car I currently rode backseat in. All the memories from yesterday came rushing back, hitting me like a tornado on a hot summer day.

  None of it had been a dream. All of it had been real.

  Mickey Lawson had come back into my life. So random. So strange. Oh that annoying bastard—why now? Why out of the blue? What did he want? Other than to take me home with him—which was super weird, wasn’t it? And why had I stupidly agreed to this? Did Mickey have some sort of sick ulterior motive? Probably. Most men do.

  All these questions flooded my mind, making the nausea I already felt in my stomach double. It didn’t help that this man had to be straight up handsome, too. Like Clark Kent Handsome. Like handsome is such a classic, generic way. You know the type—thick, wavy black hair, stubble for days on one hell of a strong jawline, deep blue eyes, a cleft chin, and lips that could drop panties. He even had on dark frames today, as if he really were trying to channel Clark Kent up in the front seat.

  Good thing I'd always been a Batman fan.

  His looks were so cookie-cutter handsome that it infuriated the hell out of me.

  What’s worse? He was posh, and put together. Even now, sitting in this car, waking up with drool on my face, disoriented and confused, he even smelled superior. The first thing that hit my nostrils, aside from the stale smell of vodka that seemed to be seeping out of my own pores, was the fresh pine and leathery smell of Mickey. This Volkswagen Beatle car of his was cramped and tiny, so realistically the fresh man smell might have been coming from the other man with us, the man driving, but the man smell had a hint of familiarity to it. Like a long forgotten memory. And from smell alone, I knew it was Mickey.

  Samantha!

  Shit. Holy cow.

  For a small second I’d been so focused on being in the same car with Mickey, in the same car with his smell, and on the events of yesterday that I’d forgotten all about my daughter. For a moment I had a mini stroke thinking she wasn't with me. But one quick glance to my right eased my mind. She was here. She was beside me. She was happily looking out her window, watching the s
cenery pass by.

  Lush, green scenery.

  Oh holy hell, we weren't in Kansas anymore.

  “Stop the car,” I demanded.

  Mickey glanced over his shoulder. A grin crossed his lips. “Oh good, beautiful, you’re awake. I was starting to worry. You’ve been sleeping for hours.”

  “Stop the car,” I repeated. “Now.”

  “Um,” said the young man driving. He adjusted the knit hat he wore on his head. “This isn’t the best place to pull over.”

  I had no clue what this guy was talking about because the shoulder looked perfectly empty to me. “You're either going to pull the car over right this second or I'm going to have an accident on the seat!” I shouted at this stranger. Seriously, now that I mentioned it, I realized that I hadn't been to the bathroom since yesterday and I desperately needed to go.

  “Relax lady,” said the driver said. “Give me a minute, I’ll pull over.”

  “Give him a minute,” Mickey seconded. Once again he glanced at me over his shoulder. A second ago his eyes had been friendly, this time his eyes held a warning. A protective warning. A warning that told me I could yell at him all I wanted, but I couldn’t yell at this other person.

  So I sat on my hands, rolled my eyes at the ceiling, and attempted patience. Something that had never been a strength of mine.

  It took this man driving—with dark hair similar to Mickey’s, I realized—almost fifteen minutes before he decided it was safe to pullover.

  About a million curse words wanted to flow from my mouth. But I respected whatever loyalty Mickey felt to this other man. Plus, Samantha was getting older, more impressionable, and I’d been trying harder lately to watch what I said around her. Finally the Bug came to a stop. It was a two door, and I had to wait for Mr. Beanie to move and let me out of the car.

  “Mom?” Samantha asked as I pushed my way into the open air.

  “Stay in the car, honey, I’ll only be a minute,” I told her. “Mickey—” I barked, turning all my attention and the anger I had building inside me on him. “You. Get. Out.”