Heathens & Hold Ups (Book 2 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 6- Callie

The drive back to Gremory is long with Nicole and I both so hungover that no hotel breakfast was enough to cure it. While hers might be alcohol induced and mine emotional, our eye bags and pounding heads are the same. The music is a low background hum interrupted by the occasional robotic directions from the GPS.

She sucks down another hit of her iced coffee before she begins her interrogation. "Was it good at least?"

"You first. Pretty sure you didn't stumble back in till morning," I tease her with a gentle elbow.

She grins and sighs, lost in the memory. "What's the record for orgasms in a night? Because I think he was going for a world record. He better not be married, I swear," she moans.

I tune her out as she goes into detail about the ways this guy had her seeing stars. I checked her location and texts when I got back last night and didn't allow myself to fall into a deep sleep until she got back. Needless to say, I'm exhausted.

"And what about you? I saw how you and that guy were dancing." Nicole's eyebrows do this ridiculous dance that almost has me snort my coffee threw my nose. Although I don't die of embarrassment, I do spend a good few breaths choking down the rest of my drink before she continues with her questions. "How'd it go? Was it big? He looked like he knew what he was doing. Give me everything," she demands after a brief glance to make sure I'm good.

"He tried for two for one special, so I headed back alone. No story," I shrug.

Having to hide so much from my best friend just makes the anger that had reduced to embers while I slept flare right back to life. She knows so little of what I've dealt with this past year and I can never tell her. She wouldn't understand and at worst, she'd turn me in. Rachel only knows bits and pieces and not from me directly. She's always been perceptive; it's what makes her a menace at poker.

There's got to be some kind of PTSD from killing someone I've been dealing with. The anger, the wallowing. I'm either sinking into my blankets and ignoring the world or searching for anything and everything to throw myself in so that I don't have time to think about what happened. Even though he deserved it and more, I still see his face in my dreams. A mix of his last moments and all the ones before, he's still there, haunting me. I should have known that even death could never free me from Colton Barnes. My teeth scrape together and I try to stop it with my tongue, but the grind soothes something in me. I needed them, still do if I'm honest. To allow them back in my life, to help me fix all my broken little pieces would be so easy. How can I trust they won't smash me to bits when they inevitably leave again?

"You good babe? You've been spaced for a minute. We're almost home and you haven't said a word. I'm worried. Do you need me to stay? I can if you need me," she leans over until I look her in the eyes.

I hope my face conveys every bit of sincerity I should feel when I lie. "I'm good, I swear. A bit disappointed last night didn't work out for me, but I'm glad for you. Did you get his number? Have plans to meet again?" I ask while I gather my things. We pulled into my apartment's parking lot and I can't wait to throw myself on my bed and decompress. Maybe I'll call up the shelter and see if I can pick up a last-minute shift tomorrow. There's a new litter of fluffballs I can't wait to get some snuggle time in with.

Shuffling inside, I'm greeted by my sadly, empty apartment. I don't know why I expected any different. It's not as if I would have run squealing in excitement if one of the guys had been lying in wait. I would have thrown the first thing I could grab before apologizing for hurting them. At least the place is relatively clean, no more take out sprinkled around the counters. I'll have to thank Nicole when I'm in a better headspace.

I throw my clothes in the laundry and set about unpacking the rest of my stuff. If I don't do it now, I'll keep putting it off and it'll never get done. So focused on my task of getting my room, laundry, and bathroom together, I only realize how late it's gotten when my stomach starts yowling like a cat in heat. It's been a minute since I went grocery shopping, but there's got to be something I can just warm up. In the bottom of the freezer I find a pepperoni pizza that should be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes.

As I wait for the oven to preheat, I could kiss Nicole with how good it smells in here. She must've set up some kind of air freshener before we left. I'll have to text her later so I can get another one. I reach up into the cupboard for a wine glass and head to the sink to give it a quick rinse. It shatters all over the sink, counter, and floor when it slips from my hands as I stare at the culprit.

The smell in the kitchen isn't an air freshener, but a vase filled to the brim with flowers. Various hues of yellow, red, pink, and white in all different shapes and sizes. It's gorgeous and must have taken a while to put together. The water is as fresh as the flowers themselves and despite the fog I might have been in when we left yesterday, I know for a fact I would have noticed fresh flowers. Nicole would've grilled me about who sent them the whole drive.

There's a knife from the block in my hand before I give it a thought. Precaution over reaction always. I back out of the kitchen slowly, careful to avoid the glass littering the area like invisible pieces of pain glitter.

"Damn it," I hiss, hopping around the dining area. I must've missed a piece if the sharp, incessant sting in my foot is to be believed. That and the blood dripping on my floor. Still, I do a quick, hobbled search of my apartment and find it empty. No one hiding under the bed or in the closets.

I hop to the bathroom, pulling the offending sliver from my foot and washing it out. After patting it dry, I cover it in liquid bandage. After throwing on a pair of shoes and grabbing the broom from the hall closet, I clean up the glass scattered around the kitchen. The whole time, my eyes keep drifting toward the vase as if the sender will magically appear.

They don't. With the kitchen clear, I am able to give it my full attention thought. Nestled in the blooms is a note the size of a business card, easy to overlook in the sheer number of flowers. "Geez, Callie. Just grab it. It's not gonna bite," I tell myself. This is so silly. The note is simple, two words and I instantly know who it's from.

We're sorry.

I skip grabbing another glass and settle into my couch with the bottle.