No wine in prison.
“If I want to go to church, I will do it on my own time, thanks.”
He shakes his head, like he’s a disappointed father talking to a wayward child. “All right, girl, call me if you need anything.”
Girl?
I finally slam the door shut and dead-bolt it. When I turn around, Eden is watching me with one hand on her belly.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, sitting down on the floor with Dutton. He moves into my lap. He smells faintly of cigarette smoke, and I wonder if Matt is smoking around the boys. I can’t let myself think about all that happens when the twins are not with me.
“I’m fine. Bummed that I have to work tonight.”
She sits down on the couch. Dawson comes over and knocks over the tower Dutton built, starting an argument. They’re both tired, clearly. I doubt they’ve had a nap or adhered to a decent bedtime in the last few days.
“I’m sorry. I think they both need sleep. I’ll lay them down in your bed, and you can snuggle them when you get home.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She smiles softly. Eden has been a godsend.
I look down to see my phone is ringing, and my ex-mother-in-law’s name is on the screen. My stomach is tight as I answer it.
“Hey, Sandy.” I stand up, pacing the kitchen.
“Hello, Dallas! I was just calling to check in. I heard you and Matt had a little spat. I know he has a temper at times. I hope you’re okay.”
I close my eyes, sighing. I’m glad she isn’t blaming me completely, but it feels like she’s blind to her son’s toxic behavior.
“He’s—he keeps trying to convince me to get back together with him. I’m not interested. I just want to learn how to co-parent peacefully.”
“Ah, yes, I completely understand. He’s having such a hard time accepting the divorce. I think he misses you and the boys. I know we do! Maybe if he could see them more often, it would be easier. I could pick them up just while you’re busy working or something. Would that be okay with you?”
I sigh, looking over at the twins. I don’t want to give up any of my time with them since I’ve always been a stay-at-home mom and it’s what they’re used to. But if Sandy wants to babysit while I’m at work, I trust her. I feel confident she would take better care of them than her son does.
“I guess that would be okay. Just while I’m working.”
“Wonderful! I have so many fun plans. I promised them we’d go to Disney!”
The row of ten tequila shot glasses is lined up perfectly as I run the bottle over it, filling them to the brim for the bachelorette party. I add a lime to each rim.
“Okay, ladies, here you go! Bottoms up!” I plaster the best work smile I have on my face, like seeing the cute little brunette bride-to-be with the veil on her head doesn’t make me want to pull her aside and ask her if her fiancé has ever called her colorful names or threatened to choke her out.
Not all men. They’re not all like that.
She bounces over to me, along with nine pink-clad bridesmaids. They resemble a swarm of pink flamingos. They each grab a shot glass, clink them in a chaotic toast, and tip them over their lips before raising the empty glasses in the air and cheering.
Half the bar looks over, male gazes leering as they try to determine who’s drunk enough to approach.
Being a bartender isn’t my favorite job, but it’s definitely one of the best people-watching gigs. When I was in my early twenties, going out, I was always drinking and unaware of what other people were up to. Now that I’m watching from the safety of the bar top and I’m fully sober, it’s like a new reality show every night. Fights between couples, men trying to get lucky, girls sworn off love or celebrating their upcoming nuptials—it never gets old.
“I want to save a horse and ride a cowboy!” one of the bridesmaids shouts.
A man in a black cowboy hat pulled low over his face ambles into my line of sight, his button-down denim shirt halfway undone. My throat tightens when I recognize the broad shoulders and the double-Rbrand on his chest.
Duke walks up to the bar to my right, where my coworker, Harper, is serving patrons. She has bright red hair and huge boobs spilling out of her tank top.
