Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  When I started Lawson Construction, though—my own business—and built my own home, they still always looked at me like they wanted better but knew it was useless to say anything. They’d given up.

  It wasn’t that they hated what I did or were unhappy with the man I’ve become. They mourned my missed opportunities and still worried about their son’s happiness. What they didn’t realize, though, is that I have my own son now and his happiness comes first.

  And I actually love a lot of things about what I do. I get hours of fresh air every day, the sun, exercise…. It’s a good life. I sleep well at night. It’s nice to see someone else enjoy it like I do.

  “My day is ruined now,” Jordan says. “Nothing will beat that.”

  “Beat what?” I reply. “Getting doused in the rain?”

  “And playing in the mud.”

  I grin, shaking my head as I turn into my driveway. “That’s not playing in the mud.”

  She turns to me. “Oh, you mean mudding? Is that why your truck looks all nasty?”

  I scoff and turn off the car, shooting her a look. “Kid, if you can tell what color the paint is, then you’re not using your truck right. You got that?”

  She rolls her eyes and opens her car door. We both hop out and make our way to the porch.

  Come to think of it, if she didn’t mind getting wet and dirty today, she’d probably love mudding. I haven’t been in a long time. My truck only looks nasty because I never wash it. That’s not natural.

  “Have you ever taken Cole?” she asks, climbing the steps.

  “A few times while he was growing up, yeah.”

  I reach out before she gets to the door and open it, holding it wide for her to enter first.

  But she turns around, looking up at me before she goes in. “Maybe you can take both of us next time you go,” she suggests. “As long as I can drive. You’re not super possessive of your truck, are you?”

  “No. A truck is made to be abused. Go for it. I’ll just wear my seatbelt.”

  She smiles softly and stares at me for a moment, something I can’t decipher crossing her face. Did I say something?

  I stare back for a moment, noticing how her eyes look almost like a watercolor. Midnight blue but growing lighter the closer they get to the pupil. I look away, clearing my throat.

  “Jordan!” Cole suddenly bellows from upstairs. “Baby, you home? Come here!”

  I meet her gaze again, and she pulls away, flashing me an apologetic smile. “Gotta go get ready for work. Thanks for letting me help today.”

  I nod but stay in the doorway, watching her cross the living room and disappear up the stairs. A strange feeling comes over me as I stare after her. What is she like with Cole? What is he like with her? Is he good to her?

  I stand by the front door, hearing the bedroom door close upstairs and knowing she’s in the bedroom with him. The house suddenly feels heavy. Stuffy and thick, and I can’t breathe. I don’t want to go in, no matter if I need dry clothes or not.

  I dump my keys on the table to my left and see her VW key laying there. I grab it and step back outside, closing the door before I head back down the porch steps and to the garage on the right of the house.

  “Got some house guests, huh?” I hear someone call.

  I look over and see Kyle Cramer standing on his front porch with a coffee cup in his hand, covered from the rain which is now a light sprinkle.

  I jerk my chin, acknowledging him, but I don’t reply. I never liked the guy and never cared to be friendly. Which he must realize by now.

  I don’t care, though. Just looking at him irritates me. And it’s nothing specific that I hate. Just little things that added up over the years. How he treated his wife. How he cheated and was never home. How he kept the house for himself after the divorce and sent her and their kids off to an apartment to live. How he constantly hires babysitters when his kids are supposed to be spending time with him for the weekend.

  Eh, who knows? Maybe he tried to get custody and maybe she cheated on him first. You never really know what goes on in someone’s house. Look at me and how my kid was raised, after all. Who am I to judge?

  I just still don’t like the guy. He thinks his white-collar career and triathlons make him a hero.

  And now I sound fucking jealous. Great.

  Punching the code into the panel on the side of the garage door, I step back and let it open. I don’t keep any cars in here, so there’s room for it to serve as more of a shop and workroom.

  There are tools, an air compressor, an extra refrigerator, a couple work benches, and an entire table filled with car parts that just kind of got dumped here over the years. Jordan’s car is in the driveway, but I know I’ll need to get in here for a few things after I pop that hood. Cole isn’t bad with cars, but I know it’s going to take money to get that thing running again, and money they don’t have. I’ll at least take a look, so I can see how bad it is.

  “Hey, man.”

  I look over my shoulder and see Dutch walking up the driveway. He has dry clothes on and a beer in his hand. Not unusual. He keeps a cooler in the back of his truck.

  “Hey.” I pull my still-damp T-shirt over my head and toss it on a work bench. Pulling a jack out from under a table, I walk back out of the garage and toward the faded green VW. Dutch pulls a lawn chair out and carries it to the grass next to Jordan’s car.

  “Five tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Yep.”

  Since we lost time today, he knows I’ll want to start early tomorrow.

  “So the guys were thinking of hitting Grounders in a bit here. Grab some beers, listen to some music…” he tells me. “There’s nothing else to do in this weather.”

  I twist the wrench but glance over at him. “Grounders? Since when do you go there? Did Poor Red’s close down?”

  “No,” he answers, shrugging. “They just realized there was some fetching eye candy at Grounders now.”

  I look over at him, and he’s smiling and jerking his head toward the house and who’s inside it.

  “Yeah, shut up.” I squeeze the wrench. “That’s my kid’s girl. You guys leave her alone.”

  “I’m not going to do anything!” He holds up his hands in defense. “I’m married.”

  “I don’t even want y’all looking,” I state, standing up straight and tossing the tool down.

  Granted, I’ve been looking, but I didn’t know who she was when we first met.

  I wipe my hands with the shop cloth. “You got that? Leave the kid alone.”

  He just scoffs, slouching in his seat and laying his head back. “The kid, I’m sure, has dealt with lots of male attention already, working at that bar. And I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a little extra business tonight.”

  He makes her sound like a prostitute. But I guess he’s right. Fending off unwanted attention has to be a skill by now, especially working at a dive like that.

  I still can’t see it, though. The girl has a mouth on her, but she’s pretty innocent and sweet, too. Picturing her in that environment is impossible.

  “Hi,” a female voice chirps.

  I lean over and look around the hood, seeing the same young woman who was here last night. What was her name again?

  “Pike, right?” she says, putting a hand on her chest. “Cam, remember? I’m Jordan’s sister.”

  Dutch is staring at her, his mouth hanging open just slightly.

  “I’m just here to give her a ride to work,” Cam tells me and then her eyes fall down my torso and arms. “And nice ink, man.”

  Her eyes light up as she nods her approval. I notice she has some, too, down her upper arm, and a phoenix on the side of her torso. Which I can only see, because she’s wearing almost no clothes, dressed in a black mini skirt and a black tank top cut off just under her breasts.

  Where the fuck is your father? Seriously…

  Behind her, a new-ish white Mustang convertible sits parked at the curb, the car filled with two other women, all looking
similarly dressed from what I can tell. They have big hair, and I can feel the breeze from their eyelashes when they blink all the way from here.

  But then something occurs to me, and I look around the hood again. “You all work together? With Jordan?”

  “No, we work at The Hook.”

  Dutch makes a gargled sound, and I realize he’s choking on his beer. He coughs and laughs at the same time as he clears his throat.

  Cam nods and teases, “Yeah, you know The Hook.”

  He chuckles, and I swear I see him blush. “I may have been familiar with the place back in the day.”

  The Hook is a strip club downtown, not far from Grounders where Jordan works.

  “Jordan doesn’t work there, too, does she?” I ask. I mean, she could have two jobs, I suppose, but if I can’t picture her behind the bar at Grounders, I really don’t want the mental image of her at The Hook.

  But thankfully, Cam rushes to respond. “Oh, no, but my boss did offer her a job bartending, though,” she says. “He’s been trying to wear her down for a year now. She’s shy, though.”

  She says the last with a little wink, and I’m not sure what that means. Shy about what? Would she have to wear something similar to the dancers to work behind the bar there?

  Yeah, no. Picturing her at The Hook, dealing with the guys who come in wanting one thing will stress me out. Does Cole know about the job offer? I can’t imagine he’d want her working there.

  I don’t have time to think about it more, though, because Jordan comes down the front porch and walks across the lawn to her sister.

  “Stop talking about me,” she warns her, clutching the strap of her bag over her chest, but Cam just shoots her a playful look.

  Jordan responds with an eye roll, but I barely notice it. My heart is pounding painfully, taking in her attire.

  I look away.

  For some reason, the judgement I dealt Cam for her clothes doesn’t transfer to Jordan, even though she’s a few years younger. Dressed in dark blue jeans shorts, low on the hip and high on the thigh, they’re not cut off but rolled up, and her loose, black T-shirt shows off her stomach and hangs off one shoulder. Her hair hangs down her back in big, loose curls, and her eyes are rimmed in dark liner and dark eye shadow, making the midnight blue in her eyes pop like a stream of moonligt on a night sea.

  I wonder if she’s wearing her Chucks again, but that would mean getting past her legs, and I’m having a hard time doing that, so I keep my gaze averted and continue working on the car.

  Guilt rips through me. She’s Cole’s. He kisses her. He holds her. He makes her smile. It’s not my place to have any opinions about her, especially territorial ones like where she bartends or how she dresses. I just still keep feeling like I did in the theater. She’s a young woman I met and had fun talking to, and no one else had anything to do with it. Part of me keeps feeling like I knew her first, even though I know I didn’t.

  “I have a double shift today,” she says, and I guess she’s talking to me, “so I’ll get off late, but I have my key.”

  I nod and refit the cap, not looking at anyone.

  There’s a short silence before she starts to move away. “Okay, see you both later,” she says.

  “Thanks for the help today, sugar,” Dutch calls out to her.

  He raises his arm high and waves at the girls, and I hear some giggles before the car takes off. I keep going with what I’m doing, not thinking about how unsafe that area of town is at night or the perk of working behind a bar is that customers can’t get their hands on her, which is nice. Her job is great, actually. It’s better money than she’ll make at Burger King or being a telemarketer. She and Cole will be out of the house in no time.

  But no wonder that asshole Mick is trying to get her to work at The Hook. For Christ’s sake. Done all up like she is tonight? Men pay a lot of money for young and hot, but even more for young and hot farmer’s daughter.

  I’m unscrewing, cleaning, and refastening the caps when I realize my hand is aching, and the muscles are tired. I stop and stand up straight, cracking my knuckles.

  But then I see Dutch watching me out of the corner of my eye, and I look over at him, meeting his stare.

  “What?” I ask.

  Why is he staring at me?

  But he just gives me a small smile and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  Jordan

  “Can I have a Fuzzy Navel?”

  I glance over and see April Lester standing at the bar between Grady Jones and Rich Hensburg and staring at me expectantly. I nod and finish stacking the rocks glasses I’d just washed, then reach over and grab the bottle of Schnapps.

  “So, you coming home with me yet?” Rich asks April, giving her a skeptical little scowl.

  Grady chuckles softly, while I smile to myself. April just turns away, looking annoyed.

  All these people are regulars. April usually doesn’t go home alone, and everyone knows it. Rich only half jokes to save face when she constantly refuses him, though. Old, it seems, is her only hard limit. Anyone else is fair game. It doesn’t hurt for him to keep trying, I guess. Might get lucky one of these nights.

  Not that I begrudge her. What do I know? She’s a good customer, and she tips well, after all. I just can’t help but keep an eye on her when Cole is around. I’ve seen her go after married men, so someone’s boyfriend certainly won’t faze her.

  I finish pouring the orange juice and set out a napkin before placing the drink on top of it. She grabs a straw and takes her glass. “Thank you,” she sing-songs and immediately turns around, taking a sip as she walks back to her booth.

  I watch her go and see her slide in with two other men I’ve seen around before.

  Sometimes she makes me think of my mom. I’m not sure why, they look nothing alike. My mom was a blonde—is a blonde—and April is a brunette. Hair so dark brown it almost looks black.

  But they’d be around the same age. April has to be pushing forty and dresses like I remember my mom dressing. Short skirts, billowy, silk tank tops, jewelry, and six-inch heels.

  Like Cam. My sister inherited my mom’s sexy style.

  I wonder if my mom has settled down with someone or if she still needs that freedom she craved so much when I was seven. I don’t miss her. I barely remember her. But I do still wonder about her.

  Reaching behind me, I mark a tally on April’s tab for her drink and grab a towel to finish drying the glasses.

  But then the front door swings open and a voice booms, “Shit, it’s dead in here.”

  I look up, the hair on my arms instantly standing on end. My boyfriend enters with a few of his friends in tow, but it’s the all-too-familiar voice leading the pack that makes my skin crawl.

  Jay McCabe, my ex-boyfriend, walks in, slowly and taking his time, entering a room like the star quarterback he was in high school and still waiting for a fucking applause. It’s funny how he got less good looking the more I got to know him. My spine goes steel-rod straight, and awareness makes heat spread up my neck.

  Cole strolls in behind with a couple guys, and Elena Barros trailing them, and I see his arched brow and the slight snarl on his face as he glances at Jay and then looks over to me.

  They don’t hang out, but they will find themselves at the same parties sometimes. My guess is Jay headed here with his pack and Cole followed to make sure I’m okay.

  Jay scans the room and then his eyes lock on me, a little smile curling the corner of his mouth. I immediately avert my gaze, my stomach rolling.

  I try to pretend he’s of no consequence anymore, but I think he knows he won. He should be in fucking jail after what he did to me, and he’s not, because two years ago, I was scared and pathetic.

  I wish someone would hurt him.

  And even better if that someone turns out to be me.

  Cole strolls over while his friends walk around, chatting up people they know. He swings up the partition and comes behind the bar, an apologetic look on his face as he comes up
behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my fist wrapped in a towel and wiping the inside of a glass.

  I feel him shrug. “Haven’t seen you. Just missed you.”

  I breathe out a laugh, trying to relax my stiff body. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me at work.”

  He nuzzles my neck, and we both know he’s just worried about Jay being here.

  I put my hand over his, feeling the small scar on his thumb, and inhale his clean scent. He looks fresh and good-looking, a lot better than he did this morning. No one can shake off a hangover like him.

  “You know, it’s bad for business if her boyfriend is hanging around,” Shel warns, walking by in front of the bar and setting down a tray of glasses.

  Shel fancies herself like the bar owner in the Coyote Ugly movie. ‘You are to appear available but never be available’ type thing. The problem is this is a dirt bar in a small town, so either way, the tips won’t set any records. Whether or not my boyfriend is here.

  Cole snuggles my neck, and I smile, feeling safe against the wall of his body. His friends’ voices carry as the level of noise heightens in the room, and I glance up at the clock, seeing it’s nearly midnight.

  And it’s Wednesday night. Cole has work in the morning.

  I draw in a breath, turning my head to look up at him. “You know, we couldn’t really afford for you to lose those hours today,” I tell him.

  And if he’s out tonight, chances are he’ll call in tomorrow and lose more pay.

  We still have bills from the old apartment that need to be paid, and I’ll do my fair share, but he’s damn-well helping. If he misses another day, I’m going to get loud.

  But he just gazes down at me thoughtfully. “I’m not stupid, babe,” he assures me. “I already know everything you want to say to me, okay?”

  “And you know you’re damn lucky to still have your license, right?” I jab at him some more. A DUI on his record is the last thing we need, and he tempts fate constantly.

  Especially after everything that’s happened. How can he be so careless?

  I glance down at our scars again, remembering.