Chapter 25
“Judge Moodycakes sentences us to more tequila.”
-Cam
Tequila, my old friend, is the only one in the bar not judging me for my appearance. Oh, I’m not talking about the clothes or shoes I’m wearing. This is all about the butterfly bandages on my forehead, the bloodshot eyes, and about half-pound of dirt that covers my skin. I made a half-assed attempt to wash my face and arms in The Squad Room’s restroom but gave up after a minute.
Fuck it. I didn’t need soap and water. I needed tequila.
“Another,” I point to my empty glass.
Dixon Abreo gives me a questioning glance but says nothing. Wysdom shared some of Dixon’s history with me, how he is a former cop and bought this bar with his retirement money. She also told me he usually keeps his goddamn opinions to himself.
“Maybe you also want some water,” Dix suggests as he tops off my double shot glass.
I shake my head, shoot back the tequila, and slam the glass down on the bar. “Again.”
The squeak of the front door catches Dixon’s eye. He looks over my shoulder, nods at the newcomers, and moves away with the bottle.
“Hey!” I protest.
“Don’t you think that’s enough?” Aaron eases into the rickety stool to my right.
“Do you look both ways before you get on my nerves?” I fire back.
Another big asshole slides onto the stool to my left. The wood creaks. I don’t even have to look to know it’s my over-protective not-so-new brother-in-law, here to do Celia’s bidding.
I shake my glass at Dix. “What does a gal have to do to get a refill?”
Dixon snorts and keeps talking to another customer.
“This is going to be reflected in your YELP review!” I holler at him.
I swear the motherfucker smiles wider at me. Although, after about seven double tequila shots, it’s hard to tell.
“Camellia,” Aaron places his hand on my arm. “Let’s go.”
I snort. “Go where? Back to your house so you can roll me into this tidy little happily ever after fantasy you have of us? Hard pass.”
“Cam,” Flint snaps at me. “We need to get you out of here. It’s not safe.”
“Nowhere is safe, apparently,” I reach over the bar and grab the first bottle of liquor I find. Gin. Gag. But it’ll do. I tip it back and swallow down the heinous liquid. “Ugh. Gross.”
Aaron snatches it out of my hand. “If it’s so gross, why are you drinking it?”
“You can’t drink all day if you don’t start early,” I sing-song.
A warm numbing feeling is spreading outwards from my chest. For the first time since I returned to Flamingo Cove, the judgmental voices in my head quiet down. The ache in my heart dulls. And for about five seconds, I believe I might get some peace today.
“Chief Pearce?”
The three of us turn to see Virgil Troutwine wearing his too-short pants and stained button-up shirt from the 1975 Sears catalog.
“What’s up, Vir-JILL Troll-wine?” I slur, then frown. “Sorry. Vir-JILL TROLL-wine. Damn. That’s not right.”
“Don’t mind her,” Flint steadies me on the stool. “Cam and Jose Cuervo are hooking up today.”
“No way, Jose!” I shout. “I’m a Patron woman!”
