Dangerous Curves

by Larkin Rose

  Keeping her alive was impossible. A horrible accident, one that wasn’t her fault, had taken her life. It was time to set Sarah free. To set herself free.

  “Wow. No one besides Lacy has ever been so direct.” Ralph chuckled.

  “Sorry. I guess she’s rubbing off on me.”

  “That’s never a bad thing.” Ralph patted her leg. “Lacy is one of a kind.”

  “Ralph, it’s been great talking to you. Thank you for sharing your story.” Sellars pushed off the bench and extended her hand. “It’s reminded me that I owe someone an apology for being a jerk.”

  Ralph took her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Good luck to you. I hope Lacy forgives you.”

  Sellars cocked her head. “I didn’t say Lacy.”

  He winked. “You didn’t have to. Go. Go make your amends.”

  Thirty minutes later, Sellars all but slid into Billy’s driveway.

  Her heart was hammering, but she was mentally lighter. No one had ever spoken to her the way Lacy had. No one had ever called her bluff.

  It was hot. If only she hadn’t been so mad. So hurt. So open and vulnerable.

  And stunned. She’d been stunned that someone had shoved back so hard. No one had ever been so blunt.

  She bolted out of the car and jogged down the sidewalk, determined to get to Lacy, to kiss her, to ask her forgiveness, and then to thank her. To thank her for being so right. She’d been keeping Sarah’s memory alive through mischief and bad behavior, by veering off the designated path, terrified she would truly be gone when she finally crossed that finish line.

  But right now, with the sun sinking behind the trees, with this weightless feeling engulfing her, with her heart full, she knew Sarah was already gone. She had Lacy to thank for that.

  From this day forward, she was going to live this damn life like a great one awaited her. She was going to cross that line. She was going to conquer every race. And she was going to do it for herself.

  She practically ran into the locked door and had to stall long enough to fumble for the keys.

  Finally, she found the right one and threw the door open. The sound of silence surrounded her.

  Total silence. No Lacy cussing at the kitchen counter. No Billy teasing Lacy to get a rise out of her. No Gabby tapping that swear jar every time Lacy opened her mouth. No Darlene smiling at all of them with love and devotion.

  She immediately missed the chatter. It was too quiet. She hated the quiet. Missed Lacy’s sharp tongue that was sure to put Gabby through college. She loved that about her even more. How much she loved this family.

  She wanted that. A family of her own. Exactly like this one. She wanted to hear Lacy cuss while she was cooking. Wanted to hear her kids’ footsteps racing down a flight of steps. She wanted to throw a football or paint fingernails. She wanted a freaking swear jar on her own kitchen counter.

  Did Lacy want those things as well? Did she want a family of her own? One to blend with this one?

  Why was it so damn quiet? Where the hell was everyone?

  Grandma’s. They’d decided to stay longer at Grandma’s.

  That meant that Lacy was here. Alone. In the basement. A place she’d been banished to because Sellars was too stubborn to give up a room that had Lacy written all over it, starting with a drawer full of thongs and other delicate feminine underwear.

  She bolted across the room with the knowledge that they were alone and threw open the man cave door. Unable to control her need to get to Lacy, she took the steps two at a time until she landed on the basement carpet.

  If only she’d stopped Lacy last night. If only she hadn’t been so angry that Lacy had been so cruel. She should have run after her like she’d wanted to. She should have stopped her, kissed her, exactly like she’d wanted. Instead, she’d watched her walk away with her own ego bruised from the truth.

  Right here, right now, she was finally free. No more guilt. No more trouble. No more resisting her own success.

  Except the room was empty.

  Sellars paced to the bathroom, praying Lacy was in there, naked.

  The door was ajar. No Lacy.

  She pushed open the bedroom door. No Lacy.

  When she looked back toward the open living area, she spotted a piece of paper propped up on the coffee table.

  She slowly walked to it, terrified it was meant for her, that it would say good-bye forever.

  With her breath caught in her throat, she reached down and picked up the note.

  Sellars,

  I do have a price tag. It’s called pride. You should find your own. Good luck at your finish line.

  Lacy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lacy curled up cross-legged on the ottoman, took another sip of wine, and fanned through the last of the photos Patrick had picked up from the homeless shelter and post office on his way to her apartment.

  This was it. The last of the disposable cameras before show time.

  Her heart quickened with the thought. They were so close to either making this dream come true or bombing altogether.

  “This is amazing.” Patrick tapped her arm with a picture from his perch on the floor. “These guys are getting more creative.”

  Lacy took the photo and held it out then took another sip of wine. She did that a lot. Sipped wine.

  It mellowed her. Why she wasn’t mellow without it was a mystery. She’d already handed over all of her contracts to another photographer. Most, she’d gleefully given away. It didn’t take a professional photographer to read some people. They were trouble in waiting. Another bridezilla she had no desire to work for.

  She’d never been happier to say that she was jobless. No career in the future. And no desire to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up. That she currently had nothing more than her savings account to pay her bills, and as of now, was possibly a year away from panic mode, and she was perfectly okay with that.

  Right now, she just wanted to concentrate on getting this project off the ground. These men and women needed her help. And they were basically doing the hard work themselves.

  For example, the picture she was holding in her hand. An abandoned building dominated the photo. Something that resembled an old smokehouse. Maybe a shed. The roof was decayed and one section caved in, stripping the true nature of what the structure once was. Around the perimeter, vintage signs were scattered on the ground. She could make out Coca-Cola, Ford, and another that had the barbershop twirl post. Most were rusted and unreadable, giving an antique quality to the surrounding.

  There was no color to any of the photos, as she and Patrick had both declared that black and white gave more of a punch. And they were right. Each and every photo held a past while living in the present. It was their present. Their current lives.

  Black and white was the only color of choice for the people who fought to survive every day. Who knew more about these streets, had witnessed even more than any person could imagine. Like the hundreds before them. Even more before them. A pattern Lacy and Patrick hoped to destroy with this project.

  “This is insane,” Lacy said before she placed it in the pile that would be shipped to the Art Lounge in Pittsburgh.

  After returning from her vacation, early, thanks to Sellars, she’d hit the ground running. She’d sent emails, left voice mails, and shot texts to every art studio she could find in Pittsburgh. In the city as well as surrounding perimeter. Praying someone in the city—in her city—in the place that had wrapped her in love for years, would reach out. She couldn’t think of a more fitting area to debut these amazing photographs, starring the men and women who lived this life every day. Who begged for a little help.

  Once those photos went on display, she knew no one would pass those precious souls by again. No one would ever look at them the same again.

  Days had gone by after the last email went out, giving Lacy time to feel down on her luck, to believe that no one was going to help, and just when she was beginning to think this pet project was n
ever going to lift off the ground, Shelley, who owned a studio in the heart of the city, where the hometown crowd walked daily, where tourists visited weekly, was extremely interested in their project, and offered Lacy and Patrick the entire space, free of charge. To add to the excitement, she’d offered to provide all necessary equipment. She even called several days later with a caterer who would donate all food and drinks as long as they could display their own business name for advertisement.

  The single response had been the good luck they’d needed. The rest had fallen into place like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. A local beer distributor would provide the alcohol. Another would donate wine and glasses. The list continued growing with so many people who were willing to lend a helping hand in some form or another.

  It was happening. Their dream, a dream that had started out as a “what-if” conversation, was alive.

  Lacy hadn’t stopped running since. Wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t. When she stopped, images flooded.

  So she kept moving. Kept her mind occupied. And kept sipping that damn wine.

  Soon, every town, city, and state would hop on board. She had faith it would happen.

  And they would. She was confident of that. And it would all begin in Pittsburgh, where it had all started for her, where she’d met Ralph, heard his story, and felt the compassion to do more.

  Patrick sighed. “And this one. Would you just look at that waterfall?”

  Lacy took the photo. A lazy river winding through a forest dominated the picture with the waterfall in the distance.

  She immediately thought of Sellars. Dammit. She’d kissed her the first time while standing over water. While a fountain hissed nearby.

  Lacy thought of her often. It was hard not to think about her when the news continued to flash her face, her car, her achievements, all over the television. She couldn’t get away from her no matter how hard she tried. The magazines at the checkout. The radio. She was everywhere.

  And she’d finally crossed that finish line. Not as the winner, but as a finisher, and that was just as amazing.

  Lacy wondered if she’d left her memories on the track. If she’d conquered her demons with the wave of the flag.

  To be honest, Lacy was downright proud of her. She’d proven Lacy wrong. Proved everyone wrong. For sure, Lacy never dreamed she’d make it to the track, let alone a finish line. Not out of handcuffs, anyway.

  But she had, and she still looked just as sexy now as she had two months ago wearing that race suit, with Lacy digging the imaginary knife even deeper with her words, calling her story bullshit.

  Yes. She’d done that. She’d mentally punched someone who had finally cracked open the shell and allowed Lacy to see the dirty little secrets. She’d shown Lacy what made her tick. What had motivated her.

  Damn. She’d been such a jerk. Hopefully, some of her words, any of her words, had been the shove she needed to make it to the finish line. She could only hope.

  Lacy had been just as proud of herself. She’d actually watched a race without feeling the need to throw up. Without sweat running down her neck. Without holding her breath.

  That old saying was right. When it was your time, the grim reaper would find you no matter where you were.

  Nah. She still called bullshit on that one. Truth was, if you kept yourself out of harm’s way, the likelihood was slim.

  Patrick would laugh at her conclusion, as he often did when she mentioned Billy on the track, how terrified she was, how he was going to die in a curve. “If the grim reaper doesn’t get Billy on the racetrack, he’ll get him in a recliner, watching the weather report with little Gabby. He’s gonna get you. Any of us. All of us. Period and end of discussion. Down off soapbox.” He would always end with that little finger snap of conclusion, ending the discussion.

  Maybe he was right.

  Either way, Sellars had shaken herself out of trouble and she was going to climb higher in those rankings. She was going to be the storm they never saw coming. And soon, she was going to watch Brett in her rearview mirror.

  He deserved nothing less after unloading such a bombshell. Only insecure nimrods went below the belt.

  Then again, Sellars had jacked his wife up against a brick wall in an alley, with cell phones to capture the blissful moment.

  Patrick tapped another picture against her leg, and Lacy blinked out of her oncoming heated thoughts, as well as the green-eyed monster that always followed closely behind when another woman was in those thoughts with Sellars. Without someone else intruding, those thoughts of Sellars always led to heat. Usually led to her masturbating. Too often.

  Honestly, if she was forced to be honest with herself, she missed Sellars. Missed what, she wasn’t sure. Sellars had been a broken mess. Lacy didn’t do broken messes. If anything, she created them. Not deliberately. But with brutal honesty.

  The same kind of honesty she’d shot at Sellars.

  She regretted that the most. That she hadn’t hugged Sellars when she possibly needed a hug after her uncovering. That she hadn’t told Sellars that Sarah’s death wasn’t her fault. She’d possibly never heard those words before. Not from her grandfather. Not from her parents. Maybe not at all. Ever. That sucked the most.

  But it was too late now. And she’d meant every word. Every cutting syllable, she’d meant. Every. Single. One.

  Maybe she could have delivered them differently. With less of a punch.

  She almost snorted as she took the photo from Patrick.

  Since when had she ever regretted telling people off? Since when did she wonder if her words had left a scar? Since when?

  Since she’d fallen for someone who couldn’t even love herself. That’s when.

  Yes. Dammit. She’d done that. Fallen for someone who carried her demons around like a prized possession. Who had created chaos and destruction just to keep her guilt alive. Because she thought she deserved nothing less than horrible things.

  “You like it?” Patrick looked up.

  Lacy ripped the thoughts out of her head and focused on the picture. “Yes. I love all of them. We’re going to need more frames.”

  Patrick looked back down at the thinning stack in his lap. “Done. I snuck a peek of them at the photo lab before I left and knew you’d love them just as much as I did. Got a whole case of frames in the car.”

  Lacy smiled. “This show is going to be spectacular.”

  “Explosive,” Patrick added. “We’re going to rock their worlds.”

  She prayed.

  They only had one shot to do this right. Even with the studio handout and all the other freebies offered out of the hearts of many, there was so much more involved. So much more to take care of. So much more to worry about.

  The radio station, the very one where Lacy had bared it all to save Sellars from a meltdown, was announcing the event several times a day. They owed her one as far as she was concerned.

  She’d given the DJ a freebie flash, after all.

  The newspaper was running articles thanks to Billy and his connections.

  Everything was falling into place. Her dream was coming true. She was going to do something huge for Ralph and everyone just like him. For Pittsburgh, hopefully reaching farther, to more states, possibly global if the fates were with them.

  So why did her heart catch every time she thought about their opening night?

  Because she might run into Sellars. That’s why.

  She wasn’t afraid of failing. She wasn’t worried that people might think the project was a joke. She couldn’t care less if people thought they had wasted their time. Nor did she give a shit if no one showed.

  What choked her with fear was looking into Sellars’s eyes once again. Those green eyes. The ones that sucked her in like a magical vortex.

  She could do anything, but she wasn’t sure she could do that.

  Or inhale the scent of her. That unique scent.

  Not to mention, what would she say?

  “Hi, sexy. How have you been? Sha
ke any demons lately?”

  No. Of course not.

  But simply saying hello, after so much unforgettable sex, after the images that had heated her thoughts daily, endlessly since she’d boarded that flight back home, seemed hilarious.

  What were people supposed to say to someone they’d fucked, who was now part of your family? Sellars was part of Billy’s family. Which made her part of Lacy’s world.

  How could she possibly act normal knowing that Billy had all but adopted her, that she would eventually be at Thanksgiving dinner, trading and stealing gifts over Christmas games, no doubt with a hot chick on her arm?

  How could she possibly act normal when she knew she would have violent acts of death dancing in her mind while Sellars smooched her new fuck toy?

  She didn’t know how. But she damn well better figure it out fast.

  Gabby thought Sellars was cool. She’d made a pal. Which meant Sellars wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

  Lacy was trying to prepare herself for that upcoming encounter. It surely would happen. Anyone who was anyone would have heard about the event. Sellars would have heard Lacy’s name dropped. She would know Lacy was coming.

  And if by chance she had her head in the sand, or up some bitch’s skirt, Billy would surely have made the announcement. He’d already put the pieces together. Already concluded that Lacy had left without saying good-bye because, once again, she’d been running. And that more than babysitting had occurred.

  She hated that about him. That he could read her without her opening her mouth. Actually, it was all the things she hadn’t said that gave her away. Like, when he asked if she’d slept with Sellars and she’d changed the subject.

  Yeah. That was smooth.

  Bottom line was, Sellars would be there. Out of respect to the cause, to Billy, she would show up.

  Dammit. She would.

  Patrick tossed the last of the pictures onto the ottoman in front of her and pushed off the floor. “I love them all. It’s impossible to choose just a few from that stack.” He pushed his feet into a pair of flip-flops. “I’m going to buy more frames.”