Chapter 14

Faye

The porch swing shakes, interrupting me for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. Maggie storms out of the front door with barely a glance at me, my keys hanging from her fingers. This particular set also happens to have a little tag embedded into the mirror ball keychain that tracks everywhere it goes. She’s spending an awful lot of time down by the racetracks, considering it’s the off season, but every time I ask her a question, she answers with, “Isn’t it about time you fucked off?” Or at least some version of the same sentiment.

“Where are you going, Maggie?” I shout after her. “You realize that’s my truck and not yours, right?”

She just flips me off and keeps walking, ignoring what I’ve just said.

I close my eyes and try not to let it get to me that she hates me so much and wants me gone. As the sun warms my face, it takes away that sting of cold that January in Fiasco brings. It's not until the engine of my truck fires up that my attention flicks to watch my sister peel out of the driveway. Asshole .

Even with plenty more to occupy my mind, my thoughts keep wandering back to that alleyway. Blackstone only heard the opening of all of it. I hung up on him the second Lincoln asked if my panties were still off.

I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I sure as hell wasn't focused on Blackstone. And now, once again, I’m replaying the finger-bang from the sexy, seemingly irresistible single dad I blackmailed years ago.

My cheeks heat, and it’s not from embarrassment. It’s satisfaction. It’s rather frustrating how hard I came from his fingers and the way he whispered dirty things to me. I suggest you keep quiet when you drench my fingers. I haven’t come like that in my entire life.

Maybe that was enough. The thirst was quenched. Action completed. And yet, I keep glancing at his house, hoping to see him hustle out with his hand moving through his dark hair and forgetting to take off his glasses. Jesus, what is it about a man like that in glasses?

I blow out a breath and slam my eyes shut, shaking off the thoughts, because that entire interaction was merely an unexpected consolation prize for having successfully uploaded a mirroring app that is now running in the background of his phone. I have full access to everything he has open. Lucky for me, that man hasn’t closed out a single app or web page for a single day since he bought this phone.

As I scroll through another folder of emails, I’m relieved I haven’t found anything glaringly ugly hiding on Lincoln’s phone. There’s no organization to his app folders, zero social media accounts, and plenty of open articles about the effects of seasonal highs on corn, along with periodic table element letters in formula formats that I don’t know the first thing about.

I swipe through an obscene number of photos. Lark and Lily like to steal his phone and use the photo burst feature often. There are thousands of unexpected, face-cropped selfies, pictures from softball games and horseback riding to first days of school and the randomness of a full life together. The ones that I can’t help but pause on are the selfies with the three of them crammed into the screen.

There’s no faking love like this—seeing it warms me in a way that had nothing to do with the morning sunshine. It either exists or it doesn’t. There isn't a gray area with kids. And I know that—feel it, because it isn’t something I ever had. With my mom, I did. But a dad who would smile on cue or sit and watch fashion shows or impromptu performances? That never existed for me.

The wind kicks up, and I pull the plush blanket over my lap. What I wouldn’t give to have a few minutes sitting on these porch steps with my mom. Tell her I’m mad at her or how I just wish I’d known how bad things had gotten before she thought she didn’t have another choice. Plucking out my headphones, I put on a winter hat I found stuffed into the closet of my old room, getting myself more comfortable to continue my search through Lincoln’s phone.

A high-pitched cry has me stopping just as I’m placing my headphones on. I sit quietly for a moment and wait to see if I’ll hear it again. The wind whips against the glass window panes of the farmhouse, making a familiar rattle that has a shiver running down the length of my arms and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Unnerved, I uncross my legs and stand. It could have easily been the wind bending along the house. Everything might look new inside, but the bones of this place are the same. The creak on the second step still groans, no matter where my foot falls. But if it wasn’t...

I watched Maggie leave, so it wasn’t her. Another faint yelp clips out, only this time I can pinpoint it’s coming from the newly constructed barn.

When I hear the sound again, I’m hoping it’s an animal and not someone . The hairs along my arms stand tall as I make my way down the porch stairs and along the gravel driveway.

With my taser tucked into my waistband at my back, I pick up a small hand shovel that sits along the planting bench outside of the barn. There’s so much more here now. This time, it’s a yelping bark that sounds as I slide open the barn door. Its well-greased track makes it the quiet entrance I was hoping for, but that doesn’t stop the two small bodies huddled right in the center of the room from turning their heads at the same time to look at me, both letting out a clipped scream.

“Shits and glitter, Faye,” Lily says, holding her hand to her chest.

Lark breathes out a relieved laugh. “You’re lucky Dad didn’t hear you just say that, Lil.”

“We’re lucky this isn’t Dad, you mean,” she snaps back.

The smell of hay and mud permeates the space. When I left, Mom had three horses. It smells like that’s still the case, but I know there aren’t any here anymore. One of the many things that Maggie changed about the place.

“Why would your dad be mad?” I follow it up with the obvious that they probably don’t even know. “Aside from hanging out with me?”

The question turns rhetorical when I step closer and look at what they’re huddled over.

“Can we keep her here?” Lily asks, lifting the puppy in her arms. Its light brown color is splashed with patches of black on her head, making her look like a little masked bandit. “Please, please, Faye?” Her words tumble over as she continues. “She was the last dog at the adoption drive. They were going to bring her back after all her friends had been taken. They shouldn’t have pet adoption drives on cold days. She’s going to associate the cold weather with being left behind. It was a form of animal cruelty if we didn’t take her home.”

What the actual hell am I supposed to say to that? “Um, well...I don’t think—” But my words cut out as I glance at Lark’s hopeful expression first, then at her little sister’s.

Lily’s eyes water as she says, “I was supposed to find her. I just know it.” She kisses her head as the puppy tries to squirm out of her hold. Her body wiggles and thrashes, and she escapes, flopping over and hustling toward my feet. Whatever kind of dog it is, she’ll be big. “She has her shots. We have food and water. She needs a little extra, so she gets a dropper of something. I already have mama instincts, see?” She pets the dog’s head as it leans into her body, knocking her off balance with a giggle.

I look at Lark, and she must know what I’m thinking, because she crosses her arms and lets out an annoyed sigh before I’ve even asked, “Why do you want to keep her here?”

“Dad says it’s a phase,” Lark says. “That we’ll move onto something else, but—” Her eyes water this time, but she catches the tears before they can trail down her cheeks.

The dog flops onto her belly and starts chewing on the laces of my boots.

“But that’s not true. She’s here now, right?” I say as she wipes the corner of her eyes.

They both look at me and wait for what I’m going to say next. And while I must be out of my mind to agree to this for a roster of reasons, I ask, “What’s her name?”

Lily stares at her sister for a beat before she says, “Kit.”

Two days later and nearly two hundred dollars’ worth of dog supplies, I clip the leash to Kit’s harness. With trying to puppy train to the best of my ability, planning for my next performance at Midnight Proof, and continuing surveillance on Blackstone, I’m happy to get out of the house for a bit. It feels like a reward to stretch my legs and enjoy what’s left of daylight as we walk down the sidewalk of Main Street. The wind from this morning has eased up, and the sun has been bright, keeping it warm even in the late winter afternoon.

We hadn’t worked out the details about how long I’d look after Kit. My time in Fiasco would eventually end, and then the girls would take over. If not sooner. While I hadn’t planned on staying for more than a month or so, I also hadn’t thought about where I was going. I should feel anxious about it, not knowing. I always know my next steps. But I’m not thinking past Fiasco; I can’t for some reason.

Kit lets out a bark and slows her steps, like she already knows where we’re headed.

“My roots are looking a little dark, aren’t they?” I say to her as we come to a stop in front of Teasers. I peer through the big picture window. The name of the place sounds more like a strip club than a beauty parlor, but it’s the only spot in the county where people come to get everything done from a blowout to a manicure.

The bowl of water and small bucket of treats next to the front double doors has me tying Kit’s leash to the iron loop connected to the building.

“Stay here, pretty girl.” I give her a stern look. “And behave yourself. I’ll let you have one of those yummy bones we bought if you take a nap for me.” The sidewalk is dry, and the sunshine must have warmed it, because the moment I step away, she lies down and rolls onto her back, making me chuckle.

The twangy echo of Dolly Parton laying down her laws, along with blow dryers whirring, overpower the bell on the door when I walk into Teasers. The smells of burning hair and acetone are faint, but the environment knocks me right back to plenty of haircuts and one horrific perm from when I was eleven.

“Holy fiddle shits, Romey, are you seeing what I’m seein’?

I smile at the familiar face adorned with a thick cat-eye and a front bump that would put any 1950’s pin-up to shame. I couldn’t tell you how old Maeve was, just that she’s looked the same as the day I met her.

Romey’s mouth opens mid-bite of something that looks like ambrosia.

“Maeve, hi—” I barely get the words out when she holds my hands, arms extended, and twirls me around like a damn show pony.

“Ladies!” she squeals, and the busy shop quiets. “Look at what the winter winds dragged in...”

I give a tight-lipped smile at her quirked eyebrow. If that face doesn’t say it all— where the fuck have you been? So nice of you to grace us with your presence , and all of that. I knew I’d surprise a few people and that the welcome was going to be dicey, so I might as well lean into it now that I’m getting some more positive reception. Stepping inside Teasers was like ripping off the band-aid.

“Hi, it’s nice to see all of you.” I take a deep breath. All eyes on me and working a crowd is my strong suit. However, I usually have music, feathers, and sequins to help.

“I would ask what you’re doing in here, but those roots are looking a bit longer than what I would consider natural,” Maeve says as she fingers through my hair. “I’m thinking some thick highlights, a glaze, maybe help out with that little bit of fuzz above your lip. Unless you’re only here to ask if we’ve seen Maggie.” She raises her eyebrows and puts her hands on her hips in the best Wonder Woman stance I’ve seen in a long time. Only this one’s wearing Carhartt pants, cowgirl boots, and a crop top that reads: Kentucky’s Finest across the chest. She’s tiny, but her attitude makes up for it.

“The shop looks really great, Maeve. And if you have time, I’d love a refresh,” I say with a warm smile.

I look around the place as it busies up again after the screeching-record stop from when I came in.

“Alright, Faye, would you like a mimosa, bloody, or just some sparkling water?”

I blink at Romey, who’s nudging me to follow her to the back of the shop, where a nice little bar setup awaits next to four wingback floral chairs. A couple of younger hairdressers ignore the little show and keep working, but I take note of the other people here.

Some familiar faces—a smiling and waving Prue, Fiasco’s librarian, Tonya and Darla, both secretaries to the town council, and Mary, who worked as a lunch aide at Fiasco Elementary. All semi-retired by now, I would imagine, and not too far from how old my mom would be. They were her friends.

The salon has been upgraded with plenty of new equipment since the last time I was here. Modern with a country flair. Whitewash with some pretty florals and black wrought-iron worked in where necessary—the mirrors, sconces on walls, and around the coffee and bar station. It’s a far cry from the small town salon I remember.

“No bourbon?” I tsk. “Breaking the cardinal rule of Fiasco, Romey.”

She smiles at me. “What do you know about Fiasco anymore, darlin’?” The jab isn’t unexpected. She eyes the leather straps that wrap around my shoulders and torso, a typical place that someone would hold a gun, but I like it for the pure contrast of something edgy paired with a simple white thermal shirt and well-fitted jeans. She doesn’t need to know that I have a small blade stuffed into the side of my boot, pepper spray with marker ink, and a small stun-gun in the secret pocket of my bag.

Romey clears her throat after she looks at something over my shoulder—likely her sister telling her to quit the shit. “The mimosa can also be dirty with a little shot of bourbon, a splash of orange, and topped with prosecco.” She winks as she pulls a mason jar glass.

The best way to get people to answer questions is to get them to start talking about themselves or gossip. It’s not a tactic, rather a little piece of common sense I had picked up long before I ever left Fiasco.

I clear my throat. “I’m guessing you heard about Maggie?”

“Oh, honey, your sister has been playing with the wrong crowds for a while now. That’s nothing new.” I hate hearing this again from someone else.

Everything’s unsettled when it comes to my sister. If I hadn’t left ...

Maeve comes up behind me and loops her arm around mine. “You’ve been gone a while, sweetheart.” Taking a pause, she hands me the thin black wrap to drape around me as I take a seat in her chair. “Maggie is not—” She sniffs out a breath. “Your sister has a gambling problem. And the company she keeps...well, I’m not surprised...”

Maggie is dead set on me knowing I’m not welcome, but it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme. She’s been hurt and I won’t let something like that happen again.

I brace myself when I ask, “Who?”

Prue cuts in, “Waz King, for starters. Saw them having an argument a couple weeks ago.” Hearing his name soured my stomach. I didn’t trust anyone with the last name King, never mind when it was associated with my sister.

Why would she be involved with him in any way? I buried his brother Tullis in a cornfield five years ago. There should be no reason why my sister is hanging around with, never mind arguing with, Waz King.

Dammit, Maggie.

Romey adds, “Your sister doesn’t go anywhere without that damn laptop of hers. And it’s surprising, considering I thought she wanted to be a trainer just like Shelby...”

Maeve mixes up the purple-tinted cream with the painting brush and gets to work as she starts sectioning off my hair. “I don’t think she’s been on a real date in years. Your sister is a beauty, but holy hell, she doesn’t pick any winners. There was one from the rodeo a few years back. I think he did a number on her. I know that Jimmy Duggan has asked her out a few times, but he’s too good for her and what she’s up to. Even though that boy?—”

Romey cuts her sister off, “He’s a man, Maeve. He’s in his twenties now.”

She cocks her hip and gives her sister a glare. “Anyone who isn’t well into their forties, in my opinion, is still a kid.”

Romey grins at me. “Enough about Maggie. I’m more interested in the chatter I’ve been hearing about this burlesque woman. Rosie Gold, is it?”

I smile, not meeting her attention in the mirror.

“Might need to take in a performance at Midnight Proof. See what all the buzz is about,” she says with a teasing tone.

A while later, my hair is refreshed, looking even better than it has in a long time. “Maeve, it looks incredible. Thank you for squeezing me in.”

She sprays an overly excessive amount of hairspray over the top of my head just as an echo of loud barks sound from outside, pulling all our attention.

“Your dog is basking in some lovin’ out there,” Romeo says.

The shop carries on a quiet buzz, the sound of hair dryers and “Jolene” mingled with gossip about the latest plans for next month’s Valentine’s Day celebrations and who had been rumored to be cheating on whom. But the chatter stops abruptly, and my guess is that they’re watching exactly who I am. Through the front main window, Lincoln Foxx, with his dark wool coat and perfect smile, casually stands with his hands slung into his pockets as he watches his girls being licked by a very over-eager puppy.

I have no say in it, but my body remembers everything his fingers are capable of doing as if he’s touching me again. My face and neck feel hot. Taking a breath, I stand from the chair, trying to mentally gather myself.

“I swear that man gets better looking every year,” Romey tuts next to me.

Maeve swats at her hand. “He isn’t even forty yet.” She leans in close to me. “A lot of rumors about that one. And it’s nothing bad, in my opinion. A shame he’s doing life on his own right now.”

I give her a tight-lipped smile.

“He’s single,” Romey says, popping a Modjeska in her mouth. “But he’s not alone. He’s got those sweet girls.”

“Widowed,” Maeve corrects.

Romey looks at her with annoyance, and then to me, “One doesn’t make the other one untrue.” She tilts her head to the side with a shrug.

“I’m not—” Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “That’s not on the agenda.”

“They usually never are, dear,” Romey says.

The funny part is, I want to believe my own words. Since I left Fiasco, each decision I’ve made has had a purpose—a well thought-out plan and path to either complete a job or preserve a sliver of calculated enjoyment in my life. But a handful of days back here and plans suddenly feel incomplete and riddled with detours. One very specific one stands a few feet away, with glasses and a devious smile that makes my insides melt and renders me stereotypically stupid. A quiet, buried part of me kicks alive when I’m around him. And the worst part is, I like that feeling.

Maeve smiles at Lark and Lily as they come into the salon. Lark with her EarPods in, wearing a vintage NSYNC t-shirt, which I’m pretty sure I got at a concert on the original tour. Lily’s behind her with a crossbody bag that reads: Hufflepuff State of Mind. It’s hard not to smile at them.

Maeve says, “Girls, I’m going to have you wait just a few minutes. I have to wrap something up over here, and then we can get those manicures started. Maybe Romey can make you both a little mocktail while you’re waitin’.” She smiles at Lincoln and, holy hell, they’re right. That man can steal the oxygen out of just about any room he wants. He’s not even smiling, and almost every face in this room is grinning in his direction.

Lincoln asks, “Maeve, it might be a painted toes kind of day too. Do you have time for it?”

She taps his arm and says, “For my favorite Foxxes? Absolutely.”

A smile starts to take over his face as Maeve leaves him. He glances at me and that smile gets wider, like he just caught me doing something I’m not supposed to be doing—which, to be clear, I was. I was checking out his ass. My face heats thinking about his confident stride in those damn Wranglers that make him even more delicious, but instead of looking away, I blatantly look down his body and back up again.

“Ohmygosh,” Lily rushes out. “Faye, I love her harness.”

I smile, feeling good about picking one she approves of.

My eyes dart toward Lincoln, who’s watching the exchange. Shit, he’s going to see right through this.

Lark notices and tries to cover it by adding, “Faye asked us what color harness we should—I mean, she should...What harness she should get for Kit.”

Lincoln glances at me and stays quiet. When he steps closer, watching his girls ask Maeve about new nail colors, he quietly says one small word. “Peach.”

Maybe it’s because that’s what he’s called me a few times now for no good reason, or it’s just the proximity of his arrogance, but I ignore the way his jacket brushes along my back and the sound of his voice—quiet and just for me—makes my body tingle. “Forget my name already?”

I step up to the counter and settle the bill with Romey. Her eyes track him as he moves closer to me again. What the hell is he doing?

He leans in, his hand ghosting around me and touching my hip as he whispers, “Believe me when I say that I’ve tried to forget. But those sounds you made...The way you came so beautifully for me...” He lets out a small laugh, and my stomach swoops. “That’s not something a man forgets.” When he moves a few inches closer, I have to suppress a shiver. “So no, I didn’t forget your name. You’re making that really fucking hard for me.”

I turn to look at him, his blue eyes searching for a reaction. If he could see underneath my clothes, he’d see the response—goosebumps seeking a soothing hand, nipples hard and ready to be plucked, my pussy tingling and leaving a wet spot right in the center of my panties.

I glance back at Maeve and Romey, who are watching the entire exchange with delighted smiles. Jesus .

“Thanks, ladies,” I tell them both, acting like Lincoln didn’t just throw me off balance once again. “Rosie Gold puts on a helluva show. You should try to catch her while she’s in town,” I say, smiling and giving them a wink.

Lily waves. “Bye, Faye,” she calls out after me.

Lark gives me a wary smile as she looks between her father and me. She saw all of that too. This is getting too messy. He has kids. Kids I actually like being around. The idea of them not hating me is something I care about a lot more than I should. And caring about what they think makes whatever Lincoln and I are doing feel more important. I can dissect that another time . I hustle to get my coat on without looking like I’m fleeing the scene.

When I step out of the salon, wind whips at my face, messing up my hair and making it a struggle to unwrap Kit’s leash, but the door swings open before I can yank it free.

“You got a dog?” Lincoln asks from behind me. I should have known he’d follow me out.

“I’m fostering her. Just for a little bit, while I’m here.”

“Fostering?” he says, brow furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what would possess me to do this, considering he knows I’m not a permanent fixture in Fiasco.

I let out a huff. “Yes, fostering. Why are you—Go back inside, Foxx.”

He smiles at me, but it’s taunting. “Are you flustered? Peach, am I flustering you?”

I brush the hair out of my face again. I can’t get the leash unclipped. Looking up at him with a pinched brow, I bark out a laugh. “Oh please, Foxx.”

He hums, “Yeah, I remember you saying that with a little less sass last time. I liked you sounding so eager and needy.”

Just as my thighs clench, the triple beeping of a horn snags both of our attention. Kit barks out wildly too, just as Griz pulls up at an alarming pace in his golf cart.

“Are you able to drive golf carts around town like this?” I say through a laugh, as he comes to a stop.

“I’d love to see Fiasco PD try to tell me otherwise,” he says. “Faye, I’m glad I caught you. One of my book club girls said you were down here. What do you say to dinner at my place on Friday night.” His eyes shift to Lincoln, who’s standing next to me now. “My great grandbabies in there right now? Or are you hanging around looking for women?”

Lincoln squints at him like that last question was ridiculous. “Post-therapy manicure day,” he says to his grandfather.

“Rough one today?” Griz asks him.

“Depends on what they talked about,” Lincoln says. I feel like I shouldn’t be here for this discussion, but he looks at me and says, “We’re a pro-therapy crew.”

“It’s a good idea. I’m part of that crew too.” I realize how that sounds and try to backtrack, stumbling over my words. “I mean, pro-therapy. Not in your crew. I like your crew.”

He licks his lower lip and then smiles at me. “It’s alright, Peach, I know what you meant.” He clears his throat and realizes Griz heard that too.

“That your dog?” Griz asks as he nods down to the puppy sitting as if I trained her to do it.

I glance back up at him with a smile. “Yes, she is. For now, at least.”

The golf cart whirls to life again as he tuts, “Huh, Lily drew me something with a dog that looked just like it. What a coincidence. Alright, I’ll see you Friday, Faye.” And then he’s gone as fast as he arrived, without even getting my answer to if I could make it to dinner.

While it would be smart to make the same kind of escape, I can’t stop myself from lingering for a few more seconds. Watching as Griz drives off, I smile as I ask, “Is he always like that?”

Without missing a beat, Lincoln says, “Always.”

I feel like I knew the answer already. Griz is adored by his family. My sister too, apparently. He reminds me of Lincoln—the arrogant charm with a sense of protectiveness that emanates when it comes to their family. I understand that. It might be the most glaringly obvious thing we have in common.

In the late afternoon light, Lincoln Foxx, with his black-rimmed glasses and nearly perfect features, looks like he’s in disguise. A different version of the man I met on the edge of a cornfield and in a dark alley. I clear my throat trying to knock myself out of this. A little breathing room from this man would be smart. I make a smooching sound to get Kit moving. But as we take a few steps away, I can’t help but instigate.

“I know you’re watching me walk away,” I call out as I turn my head to the side.

“Hard not to when you consider how much I liked watching you come,” he says, far too loudly. Before it even registers what he said, I turn around, and he’s opening the door, smiling at me as he walks back inside Teasers.

I realize I’m smiling too as I focus back on the sidewalk and toward my truck, but it’s the lingering feeling of still being watched that has me looking around and sliding my hand inside my pocket. I feel for my pepper spray and hold it in my palm as a low whistle rings out from across the street.

It’s the familiar sound of a race beginning, that recognizable sound that’s typically a trumpet or bugle, but right now, it was a slower whistle. The hairs along my arms stand on end, Kit growling just as I catch the tall, thin stature leaning against the lamppost. Waz King. My heart picks up pace as he watches while I move to my truck door. When Kit barks, Waz lets out a laugh that makes my skin crawl. She keeps barking as he turns away and walks down the street.

I don’t scare easily. My knee-jerk reaction to intimidation is to get angry, but Waz, he’s the kind of man any woman should be concerned about. And my mind immediately goes to my sister. Whatever Maggie is doing for Wheeler Finch and Waz King needs to stop.