Hold On

by Kristen Ashley

  I gave her time before I whispered back, “Okay, be happy. I’m happy. I’m scared, but I’m happy. Just be smart too, Mom, because I got a knack for fuckin’ shit up. Not gonna share, but I already almost blew it with Merry. So you wanna be happy, okay. Just do it bein’ cautiously happy.”

  She shook my hands and replied, “I’ll be cautiously happy, honey-sicle.”

  I nodded.

  Then I went about finishing up.

  “One more thing to tell you, and I’m sorry, Mom, but it isn’t a happy thing, cautious or not.”

  “Oh crap,” she muttered.

  “There’s a man in town, his name is Walter Jones. He’s writing a book on Dennis Lowe.” Her hands convulsed in mine so I held her tighter. “He stopped by, but he just happened to stop by when Merry was here, and Merry kinda…well…we’ll just say that didn’t make him happy.”

  Her eyes started to brighten with joy again.

  Shit.

  “Anyway,” I went on, “I’m thinkin’ he’s not gonna stop by again, but just in case he thinks he can get somethin’ from you, you gotta know. Don’t talk to him and call me if he tries to get in touch with you.”

  That happened. Mom had been targeted. It was far more rare for her because many accounts of what had happened were already out there, even TV shows made about it, and it was known Mom had never met Lowe.

  That didn’t stop them all, though, especially them trying to use her to get to me.

  I was not surprised when Mom skipped over all I’d said and honed in on one thing.

  “Garrett took care of him for you?”

  I sighed.

  “I bet that was good,” she muttered.

  It was scary as shit.

  And it was hot as fuck.

  “I need to go to work,” I told her.

  “But you don’t have to leave for half an hour,” she told me.

  Shit, fuck, shit.

  Should I tell her?

  I had to tell her. She was probably going to find out anyway.

  “Merry’s takin’ me to Swank’s and I don’t have anything to wear, so I’m goin’ in early to look through some stuff Feb and Vi are bringin’.”

  Her eyes got huge at the word “Swank’s,” and her face lit with so much glee, it was a wonder the dark didn’t flee the night.

  “Mom, cautiously happy,” I warned.

  “Right, right, cautiously happy about tall, handsome, last-good-one-standing Garrett Merrick takin’ my baby to Swank’s. I’ll be cautiously happy about that, Cheryl.”

  “Whatever,” I mumbled.

  She smiled.

  Huge.

  I pulled my hands from hers. “Gotta go.”

  “Have fun,” she called as I headed to my car and she headed to my door.

  “You too,” I called back.

  She went into my house.

  I got into my car and drove to the bar.

  Wednesday night, with most of the other businesses on Main Street closed, the bar might be busy but not packed. I found a parking spot on the street two doors down.

  I parked, hoofed it in, and saw the place was busy.

  Good news.

  Meaning good tips.

  I also knew I was in trouble because Morrie was behind the bar, Colt was on his stool, and Cal was standing at the bar next to Colt.

  This wasn’t the trouble.

  The trouble was, all their eyes came to me when I opened the door and Morrie grinned a my-girl’s-gonna-get-herself-some grin. Colt looked like he wanted someone to tear his own fingernails out by the roots. And Cal looked like he was having trouble not busting a gut laughing.

  Feb and Vi were nowhere to be seen, which meant they were in the office.

  And the men knew about my date and what was going to happen in the office.

  I made my way to that end of the bar and shoved aside the stool Cal was not sitting on so I could put my body there.

  I looked up to him.

  “How many shots do I need before I go in there?” I asked.

  Very slowly, he grinned.

  Staring up at him, those sky-blue eyes, the scars that perfectly marred what was once pure male beauty making a badass more badass, serious as shit, it was not the first time I wanted to walk direct from him to my girl Violet and high-five her for her score.

  But I didn’t do that because I heard a glass slam on the bar beside me and Morrie was there, pouring tequila.

  “Feb isn’t a big fan of drinkin’ on the job,” he stated. “You know I don’t give a shit. But, officially, you aren’t on the job yet, so I’m thinkin’ what’s in that office, you need about three a’ those.”

  I didn’t hesitate and slammed the shot.

  I heard Cal chuckle.

  I didn’t look at Cal.

  I looked at Colt.

  “You gonna give me shit about goin’ out with your brother in blue?”

  “Gave Merry shit already,” Colt returned, and my stomach clutched. “He shoved it back.” My stomach unclutched and I beat back a smile. “Not sure which one a’ you is more fucked in the head, him for takin’ on your shit or you for takin’ on his. Just know I’ll kick either of your asses, you fuck the other over.”

  “You do know I’m a big girl, Uncle Colt,” I shot back.

  Cal chuckled again. Morrie joined him.

  Colt started to look testy.

  Or testier.

  “Lotta people love you both, Cher,” he said quietly. “Pleased as fuck you’re takin’ a chance on life and doin’ it with the only guy on the planet I don’t have to do an extensive background check on. But want you both happy. You give that to each other, I’ll be over the moon. The opposite happens…” he trailed off.

  Goddamned Colt, being his version of sweet.

  Shit.

  “Message received,” I muttered.

  “I see good things,” Cal announced, and I turned surprised eyes up to him to see him already looking down at me. “He’s a catch. You’re a catch. That shit works, both of you are smart enough to know you scored and scored huge, and neither of you are stupid enough to forget it.”

  Joe Callahan thought I was a catch?

  Morrie poured another shot. “Babe, hit that, then hit the office. Fortification, then you get the shit job done and you can look forward to eight hours on your heels, which’ll be the best part of your night.”

  Morrie totally knew me.

  One could say I didn’t like shopping.

  One could also say, unless there was a good deal of food to be consumed, the same with beverages, these being alcoholic, I didn’t do your normal girlie-type things.

  I didn’t have money for manis and pedis and facials. I didn’t have patience with crowds in order to hang out at coffee houses and shoot the shit or go to the mall and ask my bestie if my butt looked big in things.

  No, I wasn’t about that.

  But I was the girl for you if you needed a wingman to go on the prowl, were happy to belly up to a bar and throw a few back while righting the worlds wrongs, if you liked to kick back and catch a game on TV, and I always had a dry shoulder to cry on.

  Pawing through dresses with my girls around, giving their opinions about what would be just perfect for a date with Garrett Merrick, was not in the top two hundred things I would want to do.

  And these men, who spent their free time bellied up to the bar or kicked back watching a game, knew my pain.

  Fuck.

  I looked to the office door.

  I looked to the shot.

  I grabbed the shot and slammed it.

  Then I slammed the glass on the bar, looked through the men who were now all grinning at me, glad they were at the bar and not heading to the office with me, and I trudged to the office.

  I opened the door and shut it behind me, thinking that Morrie knew what he was saying when he’d said I needed three shots.

  He should have given me all three.

  He also should have warned me.

  This was becau
se the office looked like the dressing room of a drag show and Feb and Vi weren’t the only ones there. Mimi, Jessie, and fucking Josie Judd (who was more of a nut than Jessie, and that was nearly impossible) were there too.

  “Please, God, tell me Raquel Layne is not about to walk through that door, ’cause I know my bitches wouldn’t invite Merry’s sister to come and offer me a dress to borrow to go on a date with him, a date where, at the end, it’s a foregone conclusion I’m gonna get lucky.”

  They all laughed.

  I didn’t because not one of them assured me Rocky wasn’t showing.

  Finally, Mimi reached to nab my hand and dragged me further into the small space, saying, “Of course we didn’t invite Rocky.”

  “How many shots did Morrie pour you before lettin’ you in here?” Feb asked.

  “Two,” I answered.

  “I thought he’d go for three,” she muttered.

  “Right, we got precious little time,” Jessie snapped, glaring at me. “Only you would organize shit like this and give it fifteen minutes. That’s insanity.”

  “Just pointin’ out, I didn’t organize anything,” I returned. “I asked Feb and Vi to bring a couple of dresses. I didn’t ask you at all.”

  She swung her torso back, eyes getting huge. “Well pardon me that I’d haul half my wardrobe here to make sure you gave Merry good on your first date.”

  “Bitch, you and I aren’t even the same size,” I shot back. “I like tight, but days where I let it all hang out are long gone and I only did that shit for money.”

  Josie, Mimi, and Vi laughed, Feb grinned, but Jessie narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Okay, well, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, Queen Attitude, but I didn’t bring half my wardrobe. Feb called and I went shoppin’. We girls are all buyin’ you a new dress to go on your first date with Merry because that’s the way it should be. A girl should feel special when she’s out with a good man who’s into her, first shot she’s takin’ at gettin’ somethin’ good in a long time, first shot he’s takin’ at findin’ somethin’ good. We were just gonna say that you could keep whatever you picked ’cause we don’t wear it anymore. But I got all the tags off everything in here so I can return what you don’t pick and you in a knock-his-socks-off dress is on your bitches.”

  “Jessie!” Feb snapped.

  But I stared, my eyes expanding in their sockets, so dry, they started burning.

  “It isn’t a big deal,” Vi said quickly. “With all of us chipping in, it doesn’t cost hardly anything.”

  I looked to the wall.

  I looked to the floor.

  They knew I had it bad for Merry.

  All of them.

  Of course they did. They were my bitches. From your bitches, your true bitches, you couldn’t hide anything.

  Even if you tried.

  “Don’t be mad,” Josie urged. “We don’t want you to be mad.” I looked at her to catch her eyes slicing to Jessie when she finished, “That was why you weren’t supposed to know.”

  “Coolest thing anyone’s done for me.”

  After these words came out, five pairs of startled eyes shot to me.

  “I mean, coolest girlie-shit-type thing anyone’s done for me,” I amended.

  Mimi grinned at Josie.

  Feb smiled at the floor.

  Jessie sent an “I knew it” smile at me.

  Vi just sent a sweet Violet smile at me.

  I moved toward a jumble of clothes on the desk.

  “Right, let’s get this done. I got tips to make and some of this might require tryin’ on, so we don’t got a lotta time.”

  “Start with this one,” Jessie commanded, throwing a green swatch of fabric at me. “It’s perfect for your coloring.”

  “No, the red,” Meems contradicted. “That’s hot.”

  “Green. Her hair, her eyes, it’s gotta be the green,” Josie put in.

  I looked to Vi, then I looked to Feb.

  None of us said anything.

  But I had a feeling they knew exactly how bad my eyes were burning.

  And they knew it hurt.

  But they also knew that for a girl like me—a girl whose life turned to shit, but I made it through to stand in a small office in a small bar in a small town with women who had golden souls—that hurt felt good.

  Chapter Eleven

  No Pressure

  Garrett

  The next night, Garrett walked up Cher’s walk and he did it with his eyes to her front door, the lights inside illuminating the diamond window and coming muted through her front curtains.

  He felt something and looked to his left to see a man two houses over, moving down his walk.

  His head was turned.

  His eyes were on Garrett.

  It was dark, the man didn’t have his front light on, and there was distance so Garrett couldn’t see him well. But he was also a cop, so what he saw didn’t sit good in his gut.

  It wasn’t the way he was dressed. It wasn’t the beat-up, rusted-out old Chevy truck he was moving toward at the curb.

  It wasn’t anything.

  But it was something.

  He looked forward to jog up the steps of Cher’s stoop, glad that he knew Cher was a woman who would also feel that something vibe from her neighbor and keep herself and her kid well away.

  He knocked.

  She didn’t make him wait.

  She opened the door, and light behind her, front light on, he saw her top to toe.

  And he went still.

  “I’m ready,” she said, opening the storm door and swinging it his way. His body jerked and he caught it before it hit him in the face. “Just gotta finish switching out purses.”

  She left him to open the door fully and disappeared inside.

  Garrett stepped in, the door whispering then banging behind him, his eyes to Cher bending over the coffee table, ass pointed his way, switching shit out of a big slouchy purse into a small sleek one.

  He barely noticed what she was doing.

  His attention was focused on her ass.

  Then it was on her legs.

  After that, her shoes.

  She straightened and turned to him.

  That was when he got hit with all of her again, full-on.

  Her dress was green. Not a bright green—kelly, emerald, shit like that. Not forest green either. It was dark, though, and the color looked great on her.

  It was also skintight, from just above her knees all the way to the little sleeves that capped at the top of her arms. High neckline, a kind of gather or pleat at the side of her tits that gave them room to be there but held them up, somehow disguising them at the same time pronouncing them.

  The dress gave nothing away while showing every-fucking-thing, every curve, line, swell, and angle, all the goodness that was Cher, subdued yet highlighted to extremes.

  And he’d seen the back. The front was high, but the back dipped low to her bra strap.

  So the dress had to be tight to hold her all in, especially her breasts.

  Tight in good ways.

  Her makeup was more than what she usually wore to the bar, deeper in a sexy way that would make her seem mysterious if he didn’t know her and just clapped eyes on her.

  Her hair wasn’t the same as how she did it to go to work either, but he couldn’t put his finger on how. It was down as usual. It was full as usual. But it looked like she’d done more with it.

  Big gold earrings, lots of bangles on her wrists, a huge-ass ring on her middle right finger, her feet in sandals with a shit-ton of straps so thin, he had no idea how she could walk without them snapping. They were green but covered in tiny rhinestones that didn’t sparkle, they just embellished, so they looked class not trash. The heel was tall and lethal, Garrett never meeting a woman who could go as high as Cher did and make it look like she was in flip-flops. But those she had on now were even higher.

  He made the instant decision they’d stay on later when he fucked her.

  Christ.


  “Merry?”

  He looked from her shoes to her face.

  “You look phenomenal, baby.”

  Her body jolted so badly, that shit was visible, her head going with it, her hair swaying with the movement.

  Then she seemed stuck, frozen, staring at him like she’d never seen him or any breathing male in her life.

  When she stayed like that, it was his turn to call, “Cher?”

  She seemed to force herself out of her stupor, and the instant she did, she was on the move.

  Snatching up some wrap from her chair, she marched woodenly to the door, announcing tersely, “We gotta go.”

  She was out the door before he could say a word, and when he made it to that space, he saw her standing on the stoop, holding her storm door open for him, looking like she was fighting against tapping her toe.

  He moved out, closing the front door behind him, and she charged in, shoving up against him to get in the space, key up to lock it.

  Fuck, she also smelled good.

  Real good.

  “Cher,” he said quietly.

  “Let’s go,” she demanded, turning, skirting him, and hauling her ass down the walk before he could grab her hand, seeing as he had to use it to catch the storm door she’d moved out of because it was about to knock him off the stoop.

  She made it to his truck well before him and Garrett decided to wait to unlock it until he was close.

  He wasn’t real big on how she stared at the door, not looking to him, as he stopped at her.

  He hit the locks and she immediately went for the door.

  His hand shot out to cover hers.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Her gaze didn’t leave his hand.

  “Everything okay, Cher?” he repeated.

  She looked up at him. “It’s cold. You gonna let me inside?”

  It was cold and he had a dick, so it was utterly impossible not to let his eyes fall to her tits to see that evidence straining her dress.

  Fuck.

  “Garrett,” she prompted testily.

  His hand over hers, he jerked open the door.

  She pulled her hand away and climbed up.

  After he closed the door on her, he drew in a heavy breath, rounded the hood, and angled in beside her, not a big fan of how this date was starting.

  He’d clearly done something to piss her off. He had no clue what it was, but he reckoned she’d make it up if it didn’t exist.