Three
Aroundnoon,Iwalkinto Pete’s. Rebel’s in school and Teagan is working, so I decided to pay her a visit. Her dark hair is up in a bun on top of her head, and when she comes up behind the bar, her eyes go wide.
“Hey, I didn’t expect you.” A broad smile appears on her face.
“Got bored.” I grin and slide onto a bar stool. “It’s quiet.” There’s just one couple sitting between the dozen empty ones; I motion in their general direction.
“It’ll fill up soon. It’s not even noon yet.” She winks. “What’d you want to drink?”
“Mountain Dew, please.” I put my elbow on the bar, and rest my chin in my hand. “It never changes in here,” I observewith a sigh, looking at the mustard-yellow walls and dark wood paneling that’s been there since I was a kid.
Teagan comes back up with a can of Mountain Dew in her hand, and grabs a glass from the shelf behind her. “True. I think there’s something soothing about the familiarity. The comfort and predictability of it creates a strange sense of calm, don’t you think? ” She opens the can, pours the yellow liquid into the glass and slides it over. “Folsom’s always predictable. The people, the surroundings, the customs. It’s one less thing you have to worry about.”
My fingers clamp around the glass. “That’s true, but at the same time, I can’t get rid of the labels they’ve given me over the years.” I grimace.
Teagan bursts out laughing. “True. You are and always will be the daughter of Elias Turner, the infamous former vice president of the Renegades Motorcycle Club. That makes you unaccountable and unpredictable, Layne. It makes you the odd one out.”
“Simultaneously, I’ll always remain the girlfriend of Kyler Young as well, the son of the Renegades’ infamous president.” I heave a deep sigh and take a sip. “It doesn’t matter that we haven’t been together for ages, or that I haven’t spoken to him in forever.”
Teagan wipes down the surface of the bar. “That’s the least of your worries, sweetie.” She winks.
“Oh, I’ve already heard the one about making my husband disappear.” I roll my eyes. “First, I wouldn’t know why I would’ve done that. Second, I don’t even know how I would’ve done it if I had wanted to.”
“But Layne, you could’ve just called your old boyfriend Kyler, right? He’ll bury him somewhere for you. Surely everyone knows that.” She laughs again.
“Yeah, you laugh. It’s funny as long as it’s not about you.” With a sour face, I take another sip of my drink. “Even the police don’t believe me.”
Shaking her head, Teagan sits down on her stool on the other side of the bar. “Of course not, Laynie. I just told you, you’ll always be the daughter of, and you added the rest yourself. Why would the police believe the daughter of a — in their eyes — criminal when they’ve got zero evidence?” My best friend raises a brow. “Besides, if the people in town are right and you still have ties to the MC, there’s a real possibility that you did it yourself. According to them.”
“Shit, you’re not making it better.”
Behind me, the door chimes. I look back briefly as a man in motorcycle clothing steps in. He’s wearing sunglasses and a bandana. A shiver goes through me and discomfort settles in my stomach.
“He ain’t a Renegade,” Teagan whispers.
“Is he wearing a cut? Because otherwise he could also be just a normal biker,” I whisper back. I’m too scared to look at him again. Far too obvious.
“Nope.”
Teagan steps around the bar and I whisper, “What are you doing?”
“Taking his order. I work here, remember?”
Wide-eyed, I watch Teagan walk over to the table at which the man has just taken place. Of course, nothing is going to happen. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. It’s not like he’s just going to pull out a gun all of a sudden and start waving it around just because he’s wearing biker clothes and looks imposing. Still, there’s something about the man that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
It doesn’t take long for Teagan to return.
“What did he want?” I whisper to her.
She shrugs. “Pancakes with maple syrup and a glass of orange juice.”
Both my eyebrows go up. “Seriously? Pancakes?”
My best friend passes the order to the kitchen, without so much as a comment, and pours the drink herself, then brings it to the guy. When she returns, we’ve got another half hour of small talk before it’s time to pick Rebel up from school.
As soon as school’s out, Rebel asks if she can bring her new friend over to come play, forcing me to have a polite conversation with Miss Too-good-for-you prom queen from my high school, who was snubbing me then and still does now. I plaster on my best fake smile and discuss the details of the play date with her. Finally, I give her my address so she can drop off her daughter.
“I’d expected to have to go to that motorcycle clubhouse,” she remarks.
