The smile fades. Brooklyn wraps both hands around her mug and stares down into the black coffee. She dropped out of college a few months ago—left everything behind—when her dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. Moved back to Odin with her two-year-old son, Maverick, and into her dad’s house by the marina so she could take care of him.
“He’s got his good days and bad days,” she says quietly. “But the oncologist thinks the chemo’s working. His last scan showed some shrinkage in the tumor, so…” She lifts one shoulder. “We’re hopeful.”
“He’s tough,” Stella says firmly. “Toughest man in Odin.”
“He really is,” I agree.
Brooklyn nods, blinking a few times like she’s fighting the sting behind her eyes. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I’m fine. The club keeps me busy.”
She means Pretty Kitties—Anarchy’s strip club on the edge of town. Brooklyn took the job to help cover her dad’s medical bills. It’s not what she planned for her life, but she’s never been the type to sit around feeling sorry for herself. She does what needs to be done. I admire the hell out of her for it.
“Speaking of the club,” Stella starts, “how’s that going? Everything cool?”
Brooklyn’s mouth does this thing—this little pucker, like she’s holding in the words she’s not sure she should say out loud.
Stella narrows her eyes. “Secrets don’t make friends.”
“Yeah, what’s that face?” I prop my chin on my fist.
Brooklyn sighs, her green eyes sliding to Stella. She hesitates for a beat.
Stella pats her cheek innocently. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because.” Brooklyn sets down her mug. “I have my own biker problem.”
Stella and I lean forward, our brows raised. “Oh, you gotta tell us now,” I laugh. “We need details.”
“That asshole, Gator,” Brooklyn says flatly. “He keeps running off all the big tipping clients.”
Stella’s gray eyes go wide. “WHAT?”
“Shhhh!” Brooklyn reaches across the table and clamps a hand over Stella’s mouth, glancing toward the counter where the baristas are pretending not to look at us. “Would you keep your voice down?”
“Sorry.” Stella giggles behind Brooklyn’s hand. Brooklyn releases her, and Stella lowers her voice to a whisper. “I just can’t picture it. Gator is so sweet.”
“Sweet?” Brooklyn’s nose scrunches. “He’s a smartass. Last night this guy tipped me a hundred-dollar bill, and Gator ‘accidentally’ spilled a pitcher of beer in the guy’s lap and told him the club was closing early.”
I choke on my latte.
“It was nine-thirty, June. On a Friday.” Brooklyn shakes her head. “The club doesn’t close until two.”
I wipe oat milk off my chin, trying not to laugh. “Okay, that’s kind of?—”
She points at me accusingly. “Don’t you dare say cute.”
I mime zipping my lips.
“What about you, Stells?” I ask my bestie, trying not to laugh at the disgusted look on Brooke’s face. “What’s new?”
Stella waves a hand. “Same ol’ same ol’. Work and school.” She takes a long sip of her macchiato. “I picked up extra hours at Deziree’s to get out of the apartment, and my classes are kicking my butt, but it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She flashes a bright smile, but I can see the exhaustion she’s trying to hide underneath it.
“You got this, babe,” I promise as my phone buzzes across the table.
New message from user:9928113
The tips of my ears warm. Is this a new account?
I tap it open.
