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Bedroom Eyes gives me another onceover, stopping somewhere in the neighborhood of my thighs. Then lower. Like he’s appraising my choice of footwear with the outfit. Maybe they don’t appreciate the homeless, wilderness girl look here as much as they do in the north. “I’ll let you come in to look for the boy … provided you hand over the knife tucked inside your boot.”

My jaw comes unhinged at that. How the heck did he know I was carrying a knife? In as subtle a gesture as I can muster, I wriggle my ankle to make sure it’s not sticking up, or something, and clear my throat. “I don’t …. I’m not carrying a knife.”

“You are. And you tried to bring it inside my establishment, which makes you seem awfully shady. Someone could get hurt.”

My eyes scan over him quickly, just as his did me a second ago. Unfortunately, his weapon is in plain sight, which makes my observation less impressive. “Says the man with the Glock at his hip?”

Seconds tick, and at some point, Justin’s going to be done doing his business. I’ve heard horror stories of little boys and girls getting molested in bathroom stalls, and I’ll be damned if that happens on my watch.

“Fine. Fine!” Frustrated, I stuff my hand down inside my boot, awkwardly bending forward in front of both men. “Jesus, you guys make it sound like you’re concealing missiles, or something, in there.” With a small bit of effort, I pull out the ridiculous knife Russ gave me out of my boot, glad I didn’t actually need it for self-defense, because I’d probably be a dead woman for all it took to slide the damn thing out.

When I hand it off to him, Bedroom Eyes wrinkles his nose, as if I’ve offended him, and jerks his head toward the Troll. “He’ll take it.”

“I want it back.”

“You’ll get it back when you exit my club.”

“How the hell did you know, anyway?”

Another sweep of those eyes. “Who the hell would wear boots this time of year?”

Touché.

“I should have you arrested for carrying such an ugly weapon.”

“It was a gift.”

“You must’ve been quite special to that person.”

“If you must know, I happen to appreciate ugly things. Take your attitude, for example. I could easily tell you to piss off, but I can appreciate that being a jerk is as much a part of your genetics as that pretty face.” Though my words are meant to mock him, the guy really does have a painfully pretty face, a fact that doesn’t seem to faze him much, as he stands looking completely unamused.

Once I’ve handed off the knife, Troll lowers his arm, allowing me passage, and as I scoot past the man in black, I can’t help but notice the size of him, and how absolutely imposing he is, even with his casual stance. I feel like I’ve just had the most invasive pat-down of my life with this man’s eyes. He’s definitely more than what he seems on the surface, and I would bet what’s buried below is something sinister.

“After you’ve found the boy, I’ll ask you to leave the premises immediately.”

“Sure. And by the way, I didn’t think you had to be twenty-one to enter a bar.”

“You don’t.” He strides past me, never once having taken his hands out of his pockets, and I have to will myself not to focus on his obviously muscled ass in those slacks. “Bathroom is down the hall on the right,” he says, just before the shadows ahead swallow him once more.

The sound of giggling draws my feet toward a door on the left, and when I peer inside, I find Justin sitting on the lap of a woman wearing a costume with bright colorful feathers that makes her look like a peacock. The sight of her tickling him would give me the creeps, except that, standing behind him is the boy’s mother, arms crossed, rolling her eyes as she talks to a woman whose back is to me.

“Hey, there you are.” Stepping inside brings the entire room into view, crowded with back-to-back vanities, costumes hanging from racks all around the room like a flock of birds exploded into sequins.

“Cawly!” Justin squeals on seeing me, and wriggles off the woman’s lap. “Look, Momma! It’s Cawly!”

With a sheepish grin, I wave back at Marcelle, and not a second later, the woman she’s talking to turns around to face me. Golden skin with a slight reddish tone, a short and wavy French bob, petite frame, and bright hazel eyes are all features that strike a bittersweet chord.

My heart catches in my throat.

Years can change a person, I know that for a fact, but beneath whatever the world does to change the landscape of skin and bones, there is something constant. The warmth of familiarity that time can’t touch. As I stare back at my friend from all those years ago, the urge to break down tugs at the back of my eyes. So long, I’ve yearned to feel something. Anything.

And suddenly, I feel everything.

“You!” The curiosity I thought I saw just moments ago morphs into anger, and she storms toward me, pointing her finger. “You were gonna just … drop her off here to pick up my keys and let her drive him home? When it’s obvious she’s high as a damn kite right now! What the hell is wrong with you!”

“Brie! Don’t you dare talk like I’m the younger one of us.”

Her sister swings back around, and if the woman were capable of producing those winged things that come out of lizards when they’re mad, she’d probably knock the girl sitting next to her off her chair. “You don’t get to speak. Not until you’re sober. You’re canceled, Marcelle, so zip it!”