“She’s a messy bitch, too,” Brooklyn said.
I glared at her. “Don’t start.”
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she ate a pita chip. “Eating hummus.”
Sighing, I stood and announced to the crowd, “Nothing to see here. Drink, eat, and leave it the hell alone.” I smiled at Brooklyn. “I’ll send Carter over here.”
Brooklyn smiled. “Please do. And, Juke?”
“Yes?”
“You did the right thing.”
“I know that.” I leaned over and kissed her brow. “Thanks for always being there.”
“That’s exactly how brotherly a forehead kiss should be.”
Laughing, I headed toward the bar. On the way, I stopped to pick up a broken glass and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. The party was back in full swing, the music was loud, and everyone seemed sufficiently uninterested in me and my drama. Until tomorrow when I’d hear about how Laura bashed me in the head with a glass before she told me I wasn’t shit and walked out, leaving me devastated. The joys of living in a small town. People couldn’t wait to tell the story, but it was never right and always outrageous by the time it spread around to everyone who cared to know.
When I glanced around, I noticed Ronnie standing near the pool tables, looking my way. Now that I’d taken care of my Laura problem, there was nothing holding me back. I wanted to go to her, talk to her, finish what I’d hoped to start earlier. But when she turned her back on me and started talking to Bryson and Jordan, I decided to wait.
Something else my granny used to say? “A delay is not a denial.” She was right. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to redeem myself. And I was definitely going to take it.
Chapter Three
Juke’s Winter Cider
VERONICA
“Make it stop!” I squeezed my knee, flinching as my friend Stacyee finished the last French braid in my hair. “I think you might have braided my scalp.”
Stacyee laughed, swatting my shoulder. “Girl, stop being a baby. I don’t even braid tight.”
Someone should have reminded me that braids and a hangover didn’t mix well. “I should have just put my hair in a ponytail and called it a day,” I grumbled, standing and stretching as soon as Stacyee was done. “Or maybe I should cut my hair short like Brooklyn.”
“Please, don’t.” Brooklyn set down her magazine. “My poor sister would be rocking hats until it grew out.”
Stacyee gave Brooklyn a high-five. “Right?” She glanced at me. “No offense, but you have no hair skills. It’s best for you to keep your hair long.”
“Shut up,” I mumbled, walking over to the mirror to check out the style Stacyee had given me.Nice.Easy.Me. They weren’t wrong. I’d never been able to do my hair. In college, I had a matching baseball cap for every outfit. And when I didn’t wear a hat, I donned my famous ponytail or braids. “Thanks, Stacyee. I appreciate you doing this.”
Stacyee stuffed her hair products back in her bag. “I don’t know why you wanted braids. I just spent an hour and a half on your hair yesterday. And it looked damn good.”
Bryson’s wife, Jordan, stepped into the room. “Y’all done? Dinner is almost ready.”
The word “room” seemed so small for the space we were currently hiding out in while the men watched football and the kids screamed for no apparent reason. It was more like a luxury she shed, a secret haven complete with a small kitchen, a full bathroom, a bedroom, a sitting area, and a flat screen television.
New Year’s dinner was at Jordan and Bryson’s home this year, which used to be our father’s home. Senior had willed it to my brother, with the caveat that he live in it for one year. Of course, that hadn’t gone over well with Bryson due to the abuse he’d experienced in this very home. If Jordan hadn’t wound up getting pregnant with my beautiful nieces, Bryson would have probably walked away from it all. And I wouldn’t have blamed him. From all accounts, Senior was a monster. I often considered myself lucky to have never experienced the evil side of him. Actually, I’d never experiencedanyside of him. Which, apparently was a good thing.
I nodded. “Yep. All done.”
“No!” Stacyee said. “I’m trying to figure out why Veronica wanted me to braid over my masterpiece.”
I shrugged. “The party is over.”
“But it’s still your birthday,” Stacyee argued. “That’s a big deal.”
“Not really.” I put my earrings back on. “Besides, I have to drive to Indianapolis in the morning. I’d like to not have to worry about my hair while I’m down there.”
