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“It’s true, yes. I do have eyes in the back of my head. But I want you to tell me.”
I force out a very audible exhale of frustration. “Yes. He knows.”
She eyes me gingerly, not pushing me farther than that. “Good. He better know how good of a woman he has.”
I narrow my eyes at her. It doesn't escape me that she completely evades asking directly if something is currently going on between Ringer and me. But I respect it. Once upon a time, she and Trigger’s relationship was completely behind closed doors. Not until she was kidnapped and Trigger went berserk did anyone truly know that they were an item. Sure we allsuspectedit. But no one knew for sure.
I clear my throat. “Thank you, Pebbles.”
“Anytime.” She reaches over and squeezes me in a hug. “I never thanked you for all your texts and lunches over the last few months. You’ll never know how much they truly meant to me.”
“You’d do the same for me,” I say, and at her smile, I chuckle. “That’s what you’re doing right now.”
I pull her into another hug and squeeze. “You’re like the sister I never got.”
“Ditto, kid.”
“Whatever, I’m literally two years younger than you.”
Pebbles cringes as she grabs her stomach.
“You alright?” I frown down at where she’s holding herself.
“Fucking braxton hicks. I’m good.” She smiles, the pain still showing in her eyes.
“Thanks for coming over today. Do you have to go to the studio?”
“Yeah, I’m heading there from here. You should come by soon.”
“No offense, but I think I have a little PTSD.”
Pebbles giggles. “None taken. I get it. I still can’t drive by the coffee shop.”
I cringe at the reminder of what happened to her a few months ago.
“Don’t feel bad,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “I’m getting over it. I’m healing.”
“When you have the twins and can start up your pole classes, I’ll be there.”
She giggles. “Fair enough. Alright, I have to go teach a group of 5-year-olds how to plié and relevé.”
“You lost me at 5-year-olds. Bye, Pebbles!” I let out a laugh as she heads for the door, and I head back to my closet.
twenty-one
Ringer
Just as Popsis handing me the wrench I need, phones throughout the garage begin to ping. A group text has just come in.
Church. 15.
“What do you think that’s about?” Dad asks after reading the text Ghost has sent to the entire club.
Tank tosses his tools on his bench and comes over to where we’re standing. “What’s going on?”
“No fucking clue,” Dad says. “Let’s get over there and find out.”
Dad turns to check in with the rest of the guys who work in the garage before heading out.
