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The woman walked toward us, and it was like looking at the future Gianna Jones. Exact same sexy walk. While Gigi had her father’s eye color and chin cleft, this woman had Gigi’s body, the hair Gigi had before she chopped it off for her aunt, and she had a similar fashion sense, coming toward us in a mini skirt and leather tank top.
“Hey, baby girl,” she greeted with a big smile. “I’m Candace,” she said to me, “Gianna’s momma. Though you can pretend I’m her big sister. I know I don’t look old enough.” She flashed a bleached smile at me.
I said nothing.
Gigi got off my bike, passed me her helmet, then crossed her arms over her chest.
“What are you doing here? As if I need to ask.”
The woman reared back and asked, “Whoa. Attitude much? Filled out an application for a waitress job in that biker bar there. Fancy meeting you here.”
“You’re so transparent,” Gigi accused.
“What’s that mean?”
“You know what it means, Momma. You didn’t want nothing to do with me and now you’re here in the town I live in applying for a job at the bar owned by my boyfriend’s MC? Well, now I don’t want you in my life and I’ll make damn sure you don’t get hired here.”
“What’s your problem?” she asked, aghast.
“For a change, I don’t have any problems. And that’s not because of the money Aunt Francie left me either. It’s because I have a life. A man who loves me. A job I like, making a difference to people who deserve it.”
“And you’re gonna have a record contract soon, too, I heard,” Candace stated.
“Guess the Jones and Becker family phone trees are buzzing and everyone is suddenly looking to have a relationship with me, huh?”
“It’s got nothin’ to do with money, Gianna. I don’t need your money. I was lookin’ for new digs and thought I’d give this town a whirl, see if we could build a bridge.”
“You burnt that bridge years ago, Momma. You were never there when I needed you and I have no desire to build bridges over the charred ash of my relationship with you. I’ll talk to Deke and ask him to put that application in the shredder.”
She stomped toward the compound gate, pressed in her code, and the gate opened.
Candace looked at me. “I’m gonna give you my number. If she changes her mind, I want her to have the ability to get ahold of me.”
“Don’t bother,” I said.
“Even still…” She reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. “Got somethin’ to write on?”
“Nope,” I said, getting off my bike and walking away.
***
The day we moved into our new place, Grant sent his daughter a message saying he had a job offer in the nearby town of Webster, working for a roofing company. She laughed at this as she read the message aloud. He was also asking for a loan to get a used truck since the engine blew in his. She deleted the message and didn’t bother to answer.
“You’ve come a long way, baby,” I told her, cracking open the bottle of champagne I’d grabbed to celebrate having our own apartment. “A few months ago, you’d be goin’ out of your way to help the both of them even though they don’t deserve it. Proud of you.”
“Got another text message here from Chase. He wants to fly us out to LA next week for the weekend. This is really gonna happen, isn’t it? I mean, maybe it won’t, maybe it’ll fall apart at the last second, but even if it does, I feel like… like wow.”
I smiled. “It’s not gonna fall apart. Now take your clothes off. I’m gonna sip champagne from your belly button.”
“But wait,” she said. “I thought it was your job to take my clothes off.”
Epilogue
Gianna
I scrawled this in my journal at Deke’s forest hideaway between sexual escapades that happened on nearly every surface of the place, before I found out Kailey was murdered.
The first touch spoke straight to my soul. It told me to shore up my defenses. Keep myself whole.
Because I’ve fallen for that first touch, fallen for those first lies, now I do my best to avoid their eyes.
That touch was such… I thought it might soothe the pain, dry the rain, make me believe in love again.
I’m screwed.
So screwed.
Trying to keep it casual,
Trying to stay logical,
But his midnight eyes lock me in, in a way that’s visceral, and I’m unable to keep my wits about me. It’s like he sees inside, sees every ugly thing about me.
It’s magical the way he knows what to say, how he knows what I need before asking, winding what feels like love around me.
Screwed.
So screwed.
I could fall so fast. I could fall so hard. But how bad will it hurt when I crash land and figure out I wasn’t wrong. How long before you’re gone?
