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Winter was part of our little three amigos group.

Summer’s parents weren’t original in the baby-naming part.

Summer got her name because she was born in July, and Winter was born in January.

The family joke was that neither even liked those seasons, only tolerated them.

Winter was three years older, but it meant nothing to us.

We were together more often than not. Us against the world, it seemed.

Till Winter stopped at a convenience store on the way home one night after track practice.

She fancied herself an Olympic athlete just without the money and sponsorship backing.

She walked in on a robbery and did the smart thing—she ran.

She was fast, and the cops say she would have made it, but someone in the getaway car saw her and gunned her down in the road as if she was a squirrel or something.

It was brutal. Cops never found out who did it, and that’s something we live with daily.

Summer and I were devastated at first. Then we got mad, then reckless.

It was Mack, an older, old boyfriend of Winter’s, who sat us both down and talked some sense into us.

Actually, he tied us up, forced us to get sober after a three-day binge, and then threw warm water on us till we didn’t smell anymore.

I would say it was torture, but it wasn’t.

Losing her was, and nothing will compare to that loss.

That’s when Mack let us in on a secret. Winter wasn’t doing late-night track meets. She was doing MMA training. She wanted the money to really get into training for the Olympics and figured it was the easiest way to get some cash without giving half away to taxes.

At first we said we should do it in honor of her.

To be close to her in some way. But then we each found something different in it we liked.

For me, it’s the control and freedom of the brain and the thoughts in my mind.

For Summer, it’s just a chance to release all her pent-up rage.

She carries a ton of it, not that you would know by looking at her.

She gives off the “perfect mom” persona, but she’s just a snapped nail away from burning half the damn state down and not giving a fuck when she gets caught .

Summer doesn’t fight often. Not anymore. But she still needs the release, and I babysit when she does. It’s the least I can do for her.

“So, you think they’ll kill him?”

“Who?” I ask.

“The guy who drugged you. Your buyer for the evening.”

I shrug and move her a bit as we sit close enough to touch shoulders.

“Maybe. I’ll put a call in to Mack in the morning and see what he can do.

He knows people and might have a better way to talk to the big bikers that might get them to actually listen.

That or maybe he’ll give them a green light.

Who knows who the guy’s really connected to.

Some of them just talk big but have shit for backing. ”

“You could just show them your boobs.”

I was halfway to lifting my beer to my lips and pause to fully look at her. “My boobs?”

Now it’s her turn to shrug. “Could work. They ain’t big like my melons, but I’m sure they’d do the job.”

“And what’s the job, pray tell?” I shake my head at her ridiculousness as I finally take a drink.

“Distraction. They look at the goods, and then you ask them to let your host go. Guys say yes to anything once you whip out a tit.”

“I’ve literally never had or seen that happen.”

“It’s a fact. Look it up.” She winks at me, and I giggle. Fact-checking is sort of our thing. Well, claiming it’s a fact when we both have no clue. And neither of us actually cares enough to look it up.

“At least now you can admit that the guy’s cute. ”

I don’t. Why give her the satisfaction? I just roll my eyes, which she finds annoying, as she pushes me.

I would have spilled my beer if it wasn’t already half empty.

I’m sure there’s a rule that says you shouldn’t drink beer when drugged and feeling queasy, but I still have a routine to do.

And said routine is to celebrate a victory with a beer. I want tacos too. Lots of tacos.

At that thought, I grab my phone off the side table where I left it to charge and open the delivery app. Damn. Not a single thing is still open. I toss my phone back onto the table and glare at it as if it’s the reason I get no victory covered in queso.

Summer pats my leg as if I’m five. “There, there. You’ll be okay. Tacos can happen tomorrow.”

“Except tomorrow is a holiday, and my favorite joint is closed on holidays.”

“Oh, right?” She honestly looks like she forgot it was New Year’s, but then again, between dealing with me and her kids, I doubt Summer knows what day of the week it is half the time.

She pours herself into the big holidays, but ones meant for partying all night and drinking?

She started skipping them a while back when bedtimes and reading Dr. Seuss became her routine.

I rise, steady myself as I sway, then grab my beer and toss the rest out in the sink. It’s gone sour now that I know I can’t get tacos. That puts a whole damper on life right now. No tacos, nothing to light up the world. It’s a fact—look it up.

“You staying?” I toss over my shoulder as I open one of my cabinets and find some meds that I know will knock me out. Then I can sleep off the pain in my face and whatever is still in my system from being drugged .

That Swiss guy never confirmed what it was after he took my blood.

But I figured if Domino left, it can’t be that bad.

Maybe something that’s meant to just be worked out of my system.

Hell, I might have already thrown it up, and now I’m just dealing with the lasting residue or whatever.

The biker president doesn’t seem the type to go from hero-carrying me to the clinic to not giving a damn.

If it was something serious, I’ve got no problem imagining Domino demanding I go to the hospital or stay at his place so he can watch out for me.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” I turn back and lean against my counter, having only half heard what she said.

“That guy, Domino. Don’t lie and tell me you’re not. And you like him. Another thing you’re shit at hiding.”

“I’m not shit at hiding it,” I protest, but as soon as I speak, I know I screwed up based on the Cheshire-cat smile on her face.

“You’re defensive. You’re closed off. Both things that point to liking the guy. When you think someone’s an ass, you say it. When you think he’d be good for a quick lay, you say that. But when you say nothing… well, that’s all I need to know.”

I don’t give her the satisfaction of glaring at her. Nor do I say anything. I just hold my head up high and walk toward my room. At the last second, I poke my head back into the living room and say, “With that attitude, you get the couch.”

“Fine with me, babe.” She’s already kicking off her shoes and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch over her. “This is comfier than that mattress of yours. You’re the one who’s missing out. ”

Now I do glare because she’s right. First thing tomorrow, I’m buying a new mattress.

“Make sure you get one that’s roomy enough for two. You’re going to need it.”

I pause and look at her. Then at the wall, as if it has a recording of what just happened.

“No, you didn’t speak out loud.” I look at her again and raise both eyebrows.

“I just know you. Your bed is shit, and you know it. It’s logic that got me thinking you wanted a new one.

That and I always complain about your current one and the lumps in the mattress.

And you’re on the cusp of falling asleep after that pill you took, which always has you acting odd.

Go lie down. Pass out. We can talk about this tomorrow.

I’ll even help you find a mattress place that’s open on the holiday. We might get a discount.”

I nod a few times, already feeling drowsy as hell as I fumble my way to my room. And the woman is crazy right, because I don’t even take off the damn dress before I flop onto my bed, not even bouncing a single moment. Definitely need a new mattress.

And while the place isn’t that big, my bedroom is a decent size. Maybe I should get something bigger than a full. You know, for me. And all the spreading of the legs.

Wait, not like that. I just meant I need to spread out.

Right.

Dammit. Now even my inner thoughts are against me.

I roll to my side and get as comfortable as I can. As I drift off to sleep, I only have one thought on my mind.

Tacos.