Page 8

Lainey

Beep.

I froze mid-step, a half-eaten fortune cookie in one hand and a blank stare aimed at the carpet. That sound—like a little robotic hiccup—meant I had a text message. Or maybe a missed call. Hell, maybe it was just the battery telling me it had five minutes left to live.

But I needed to find it.

Silence.

“Why does my phone only beep every five minutes when I have a text?” I whispered to the empty living room.

I was in a bind, and the only way I could solve it was to play the world’s slowest game of hide and seek with my own damn phone. I turned in a slow circle, the hem of my T-shirt brushing my bare thighs as I scanned the room like I expected it to suddenly jump up and wave at me.

On the coffee table sat my sad, ice-cold Chinese takeout with a chopstick stabbed in the middle like it had lost the will to live. The Goonies was on the TV, muted, which only made it weirder—Sloth had bellowed something dramatic five minutes ago just as my phone beeped, and I’d gotten distracted, thinking maybe the two things were connected.

They weren’t. Obviously.

“Where did I put you?” I asked the room like I was a detective in a crime show, and the missing phone was the dead body. I crouched beside the couch and peered underneath. Dust bunnies and a rogue sock stared back.

Fifteen minutes ago, I’d polished off the last of my first bottle of wine and cracked open the second with the kind of reckless optimism that always spelled disaster. I had gotten the brilliant idea to text Duane—Dice—whatever he went by now. And in the span of about forty-five seconds, my phone had vanished.

Poof. Gone. Either I misplaced it, or it dissolved into thin air in a cloud of Pinot Grigio.

I blamed the wine.

This is why I didn’t drink often. My alcohol tolerance was pitiful, and apparently my short-term memory was worse.

Either Lottie or Duane had messaged me back. I was assuming Duane—Dice—since it had come through not even a minute after I’d sent the text. Which meant the clock was ticking on me figuring out what it said.

“Where are you?” I screamed, throwing my arms in the air.

Knock knock knock.

I jumped like the floor had zapped me. “Jesus Christ.”

I whipped around with my heart pounding like a drum in my ears.

Knock knock .

“Hello?” a man called through the door.

I stared, with my chest rising and falling like I’d just sprinted a mile. That voice… that was—

“Duane?” I called, my voice breaking mid-word.

“It’s Dice, Lainey,” he said in that calm, half-bored tone I remembered from high school. Always cool, always composed, like nothing ever rattled him.

But then I heard it—a muffled voice followed by a soft laugh.

Another knock.

Panic and wine made a wild cocktail. I spun in a circle like maybe if I just kept moving, I’d suddenly locate my phone and a plan.

“Can you open the door?” Duane called.

“Why?” I snapped and crossed my arms over my chest even though he couldn’t see me.

“Because I don’t think you want your new neighbors to see two bikers standing at your front door yelling at you.”

Well. Shit.

That probably wouldn’t go over well. I’d only lived here a month, and I already got suspicious looks from the woman across the street.

With a dramatic sigh, I padded over to the door. My bare feet slapped against the laminate floor as I reached out and unlocked it.

Just as I started to swing the door open—

Beep.

“Stop!” I screamed and turned my back on the door so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. “Where is it?” I whispered and scanned the room like it held the answers to the universe.

“Pretty sure she’s not gonna try to kill you,” a voice I didn’t recognize said with amusement.

“Where is what?” Duane asked and stepped inside behind me.

“My phone,” I whispered, not turning around. “It disappeared. I had it. I used it. And then poof.”

I could feel them move into the house behind me, the subtle shift in air and the click of the door shutting sealing the moment. I was no longer alone.

“Where was the last place you had it?” the man I didn’t know asked.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be looking for it,” I muttered and dragged my hands down my face.

“Maybe we can help you find it,” Duane offered gently.

I turned to face him with my cheeks flushed from wine and frustration. “I’ve looked. I can’t find it.”

“Obviously.” The other man wandered into the kitchen, picked up the empty wine bottle, and studied it. “Dani would be impressed.”

“Who are you?” I asked, suddenly aware that I was standing in front of two men in an oversized T-shirt that hit me mid-thigh and my legs on full display. Maybe the wine had made me brave. Or just stupid.

“I’m Smoke,” he said with a smile. “Friend of Dice’s.” His grin widened. “Or Duane, to you.”

I nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. “Who’s Dani?”

“My ol’ lady. She’s into wine and cheese. Owns the fancy shop on the other side of town.”

I blinked. “There’s a wine and cheese shop in town?”

“Yeah,” Smoke said. “Stop by sometime. She loves talking cheese and wine. It’s her thing.”

I filed that away. “Why are you here?”

Smoke pointed at Duane. “Here to make sure this wasn’t some trap to kill Dice.”

“Trap?” I gawked. “Why the hell would I want to trap you?”

“Uh, no reason, babe,” Duane cut in, shooting Smoke a look. “We just like to be careful.”

Smoke raised a brow but let it go.

“Let’s see if we can find your phone,” Duane said. He pulled out his own phone and tapped the screen. “I’ll call it.”

A moment later, my ringtone echoed faintly from somewhere inside the house.

Smoke lifted a finger. “Kitchen.”

They both moved quickly, like a couple of search dogs. I stood there useless, hugging my arms across my chest and watching them hunt for my dignity.

The ringing stopped.

Duane pressed a few more buttons, and the ringing started again.

Both of them froze in front of the fridge.

“Oh no,” I groaned.

Duane opened the fridge and reached inside. The sound grew louder. Then he pulled out my phone like a magician revealing a rabbit.

“Got it,” he chuckled, holding it up.

“Oh god,” I muttered and covered my face with both hands. “I must’ve put it in there when I got the wine.”

Smoke closed the fridge with his lips twitching.

“Well,” he said, “since we solved that mystery, I’m gonna head to the store and then back to the clubhouse if you two are all good here. I don’t think Lainey is going to kill you.”

I blinked. “Kill you?” I repeated. “What is with you guys?”

Duane gave Smoke a nod. “Thanks for coming. Tell Yarder I’m all good.”

Smoke nodded. “Will do.” He turned to me. “See you around, Lainey.”

I almost told him no— you won’t see me around. But instead, I just nodded awkwardly. “Uh, have a good night.”

Smoke tipped his head once, then walked to the front door and opened it. Then the door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, it was just Duane and me.

Alone.

Duane leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, and his gaze heavy on mine. “So…”

I nodded, lips pursed. “Yup, so…”

“I have to admit, I was pretty confused when your message came through. No ‘hi’ or ‘hello,’ just your address.”

I cringed and wrapped my arms around myself. “Well, that’s because I’m operating on a bottle of wine. Any and all common sense I normally have? Just straight out the window. I’m more than likely going to regret this in the morning while I nurse my pounding head.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You want me to leave? We can pretend like this didn’t happen.”

Did I? My mouth opened to say yes, to brush it off, blame it on the alcohol—but I didn’t. I looked at him. Really looked at him.

The years had been good to Duane. Better than good. The boy I’d once known had vanished somewhere along the way, replaced by a man who wore tattoos like second skin and filled up every inch of the space he stood in. He didn’t feel like a stranger, though. Not completely.

“No,” I whispered. I shook my head. “No, you don’t need to leave. I just… I just wouldn’t have texted you if I wasn’t drinking.”

“Truth juice,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been there before, babe. Though the truth that came out of me was that I once tried to trade my bike for a sandwich after a forty-eight-hour bender.”

I blinked slowly and let out a surprised laugh. “Well, if that’s the only truth that needed to come out of you, then I guess you’re doing pretty good.”

“I’ve already admitted that I wanted to see you again, Lainey. Now we’re just on the same page.”

“Uh, well, I wouldn’t say that I wanted to see you again…” I trailed off.

His eyebrow arched. “You text just your address to people you don’t want to see?”

I wished the floor would just swallow me whole. “Uh, well, you see. Lottie’s spending the night at a friend’s house for the first time since we moved to Mt. Pleasant, and I was…”

“Lonely?” he offered gently.

I frowned. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t use that word exactly. I was just trying to figure out what color to paint the walls and thought it would be good to get a second opinion.”

“So you texted me your address so I could give you my opinion on the wall color?” he chuckled, doubtful.

I crossed my arms and nodded. “You and Lottie are the only people I know within two hundred miles. I’ve been busy unpacking and whatnot. I did meet a couple of your friends at the farmers market today.”

He tilted his head. That surprised him. “You were at the market today?”

I pointed behind me at the bounty still scattered on the counter: tomatoes, a braided loaf of bread, half a dozen pastries, and a box of donuts with only two survivors. “I might also be in the middle of a sugar rush. Wine and sugar make me do some crazy things, apparently.”

“Roll it back to you meeting my friends. Who’d you meet?” he asked, suddenly interested. Maybe even… concerned?

“Uh, Sloane and Aero. She talked him into buying her an appropriate amount of crocheted animals.”

He relaxed visibly and let out a chuckle. “Yeah, they were at the market. Aero was bitching about those animals when they walked in the door. Something about how Sloane needs to take up crocheting so he can retire off the profits. You fall victim too?”

I lifted the small crocheted turtle from the counter and stroked its tiny green head. “Lottie loves anything turtle. The second she picked it up, I knew we weren’t leaving without it.”

He studied the turtle for a beat, then me. “Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you have a kid.”

I scoffed. “I don’t even think I can call her a kid anymore. She’s teetering on the edge of being an adult at fifteen. Keeps reminding me she needs to take the test to get her learner’s permit. I’ve been conveniently forgetting about it.”

Duane chuckled, and I let myself watch him—really watch him. The years had changed him. His jaw was stronger, his shoulders broader, his tattoos snaking down his arms like stories I’d never read. Lainey from sixteen years ago would have melted into a puddle at the sight of him now.

“Lainey,” he said softly.

“Uh, yeah?” I snapped my eyes back to his face.

He shook his head, that grin dancing on his lips. “Nothing, babe.”

We stood in silence. It should have felt awkward. After all this time, after everything.

But it didn’t.

It felt… right. Comfortable. Like slipping into a pair of shoes I hadn’t worn in years but still fit perfectly.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “where’s this paint you wanted me to look at?”

“Paint?”

He smirked. “You wanted me to come over to give you a second opinion on the paint you chose since Lottie isn’t here.”

“Oh!” I gasped and turned toward the hallway. “Yeah, totally. Come to my hallway.” Lord, I was smooth.

Duane chuckled and followed me down the short hall. I flipped on the light and presented my masterpiece: eleven swatches of paint in a chaos of color smeared across the wall.

“Whoa,” Duane laughed. “I did not think you were going to have that many choices.”

I winced. “Yeah, I walked into Home Depot and liked every color I saw.”

“Clearly.” He stepped closer, examining the swatches. “I thought you said you’d already figured out the color?”

“I did when I texted you, but now I don’t.”

“Has Lottie picked one?”

I pointed to the second shade of butter yellow. “She picked that one for the hallway.” I gestured to the dark plum. “And this one for an accent wall in her bedroom. The rest she wants white.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then turned to the living room wall. “What’s wrong with the color in there?”

“It’s beige,” I said flatly, as if that answered everything.

And then it hit me. I was standing in my hallway with Duane—Dice—talking about wall paint.

“I don’t know why I called you,” I murmured and tried to move past him. But his arm came up, gently barring my way.

“Where are you going, Lainey?”

“To find a hole to fall into because I just realized I called biker Duane to help me pick out paint colors,” I groaned. “I am never drinking again.”

He chuckled. “Drinking a whole bottle of wine by yourself is not the best idea, but I can’t judge. I’ve put away more cases of beer solo than I can count.”

“You did that when we were in high school, Duane,” I reminded him with a smile.

“God, Lainey. I haven’t been called Duane in years. You blow into town and only call me Duane.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, not sorry at all. “Calling you Dice doesn’t sound right. I could probably manage D, but that’s as far as I can go. Your biker friend got a kick out of me calling you Duane.”

Duane raked his hand through his hair. “Yeah, pretty sure I won’t hear the end of that for a while.”

We were quiet again. The hallway felt smaller. Warmer.

“So much has happened in the past sixteen years,” I whispered, “but why does it feel like we’re back in high school when I look at you?”

He stepped closer. “Because life moved on, but what you and I had… it’s still there.”

I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve told him to leave. I didn’t want a relationship. I had one for fifteen years that nearly broke me, and I was just now learning how to breathe again. Letting Duane in—Dice, whatever—was reckless.

“You left, Duane,” I whispered.

He nodded slowly. “I did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” he said, voice low. “I wasn’t made to stay in Enid. And neither were you.”

“I went to Stillwater,” I said. “Barely an hour away.”

He shrugged. “You still left.”

“And you could have come with me.”

He shook his head. “You had college. I wasn’t going to college. I barely graduated senior year, babe.” He reached out and gently brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I think the whole school was trying to figure out how my dumbass managed to land the prettiest, smartest girl.”

“No one thought that, Duane,” I said quietly. “They wondered how the nerdy girl managed to land the hot bad boy.”

He grinned. “Well, we sure gave ‘em something to talk about.”

His fingers lingered against my cheek, and I didn’t stop him. I didn’t flinch. If anything, I leaned in.

His hand suddenly dropped. “I can leave if that’s what you want.”

I looked up at him, with my heart tight in my chest and a little confused.

“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted. “I only know that I’m tired of doing everything alone. Even though I was married for fifteen years, I was alone. And that for some dumb reason, texting you tonight didn’t feel like a mistake.”

“That’s not dumb,” he murmured. “It seems like you’re finally doing what you want to do.”

We stood in the hallway, surrounded by painted swatches, and the silence thick but not suffocating.

“Tomorrow,” I said softly, “I might panic. I might regret this, then.”

“Then we deal with tomorrow, tomorrow,” he said, stepping even closer. “Tonight, we just be.”

I didn’t move away.

Not this time.