Heathens & Hold Ups (Book 2 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 21- Callie

"We'll be in touch." The words play round in round in my head as I sit at a scuffed up high-top table at Dusty's, drowning out the day with the weakest whiskey sour known to man. The voicemail was waiting for me when I got out of my shower as I got ready for tonight. I should have expected to hear from Rivers, but still it's worrying. He's smarter than the local cops and I had just managed to get him to drop my case. I thought about calling Miller, but he had already done enough today. There wasn't much he could do about it anyways. It was only a voicemail. No date of his arrival or even a hint on if this would be a friendly visit or he suspected me of a crime. I'd been a witness before, but now?

Rivers was tomorrow's problem, I decided.

I should have ordered a double, but I know how Nicole is. Pacing myself is a survival strategy. Plopping herself down in the chair next to me, she groans dramatically. "I wish I could hate you for leaving me to suffer Officer Douche Canoe alone, but I don't blame you. I think he growled more than he talked." She pauses her rant to get up and order her drink. I stay grateful for little blessings. It gives me just enough time to try and fix my face and act like my freedom doesn't have ticking clock counting down on it. Maybe that's a bit pessimistic, but it's the grim reality looming over my future.

"The bar looks dead," she pouts.

"Well, it is only seven. On a Friday," I point out. "Pretty sure most people are still putting their kids to bed with the sitter or finishing up getting ready. The only ones here are us, the regulars, and the alcoholics." Although the last two are basically the same people just in differing states of the journey.

"Well we deserve a drink after our day," she raises her glass to clink against mine.

"All the drinks," I agree.

"And the music," she adds. "Hey Jake," she yells over to the bartender. He rolls his eyes indulgently. Pretty sure they have an off and on thing, but she's been a bit dodgy about it anytime I ask. "Can you play something a little livelier? It sounds like a damn cowboy's funeral in here."

Soon the song ends and something a little less, sad plays. Gunpowder and lead. Feels more like murdering an abusive ex and I have to smother my laughter in my drink. It beats crying about it and I'm not the least bit sorry.

"You good?" She asks carefully.

"Just peachy," I nod and choke down another sip of my quickly watering down drink. "Guess cowboy funeral is the theme tonight," I laugh.

She tilts her head to listen for a moment. "Only now we're celebrating instead of mourning." She shrugs. "I'll take what I can get. I doubt they have play anything that came out in the past decade, but the drinks are cheap and I don't have to worry about driving home."

"Because your ride home closes the place down?" I tease her.

"Hush your mouth. At least I'm getting some. You could do with some dick in your life. Might turn that frown upside down," she sing-songs as she sets her drink down and grabs my hand, half pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, Callie. Dance with me," she urges as I set my drink down and follow her onto the dancefloor.

Dancefloor is a generous word for the sticky, scraped up wooden floor that is relatively clear of patrons. Still, we lose ourselves in the music, dancing and singing along without a care in the world. Rivers and the guys will still be there tomorrow. Tonight is for singing along off key, dancing with my best girl, and taking shots.

****************

My head is throbbing a line dance behind my eyes and I'm pretty sure I attempted to join Nicole in doing the splits last night after a pretty epically disastrous dance routine to Taylor Swift. Side note, Nicole did drill team in high school and I buried my head in the library. Needless to say, walking is not my favorite activity today.

The rain last night was a blessing in disguise. Didn't feel that way when I was running for my rideshare and doing a stunning impression of a drowned rat. But this morning? Heaven.

Hangovers and sunlight are just the universe's way of punishing you for having too much fun. I much prefer a nice rain storm. Nature's lullaby. I slept like a vampire, only waking to answer Nicole and Rachel's text to let them know I was still alive.

The grey overcast weather outside is the perfect excuse to hermit up in some fuzzy socks, heat up a frozen pizza, and zone out to trash tv. The slow drizzle of rain is soothing and gives me the best excuse to not do much of anything. It works for a while, until my head starts to clear and reality rears its ugly head.

An email pings on my phone from Hughes telling me that I don't need to come in Monday. I curse my stupid need to have my phone clear of notifications. That number hovering in the corner of my app won't be the death of me, but I'll know it's there and curiosity will just ride me until I open it.

I'm not fired. That part was a highlight at least. I skim the rest. 'Just until the internal investigation is complete'. Blah, blah, blah. 'With pay'. Great. So now I don't have a job to go to, my life is back under a microscope, and I can't even go see the guys with my down time.

Binge watching mood gone, I decide to be productive with my time. I suck down an iced coffee and get started getting my apartment to look the opposite of my life, clean and orderly. Laundry, dishes, trash. I sweep, vacuum, and mop until you could eat off the floor. I wouldn't suggest it, but it could be done. Five second rule easily getting extended to at least ten now.

I still feel restless. Opening up the weather app, I check tomorrow's forecast. Cloudy, cool, and free of rain. Not my favorite conditions, but I need to get out and run. I know if I don't get back to my routine, I'll regret it later. Besides, according to that email, I now have nothing but time. The last thing I need with my mind swirling with anxiety.

I toy with send Dario a message, but I end up just picking up and putting down the phone. Repeat. Open up his contact. Repeat. Type out a message. Don't send it. Repeat. Erase previous message. Repeat. Write new message. Pace. Repeat. Remember to drink water and reheat half eaten frozen pizza. Repeat. Yell at the guy on the tv who keeps gaslighting the girl who deserves way better than him. Repeat.

A message popping up breaks me out of my indecisive funk. Eye. Crossed out symbol. Bride. Finger pointed at me and a two. It takes me longer than I'd like to admit to figure out the second and third emojis. A lot longer. Not bride. Mrs. Not a Mrs., so a Miss. I miss you too.

He has to have a camera in here. That or he's psychic. At this point, I'm not sure which I wish was true. I miss them and I can't wait for this to be over. Half of my life is hidden in a bunker and until they resolve things with Hamilton, I'll always be straddling the line between moving forward and that girl they found scared of even stepping a foot out of line.

Why can't they just forget about Hamilton? Forge new identities like I did and live new lives. Dario's smart enough to do it and if not, I could always ask Rachel where she got ours. She never told me who made them, but I'm sure if I told her why, she could help them out.

I want to be able to trade stories with Nicole after a scandalous night instead of only telling her the scandalous stories I've read about. It's not fair, but then life never is.

A good night's rest is exactly what I need to shake off this pity party of one.