“I’m sure,” I say, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”
Relief flashes across his face, quickly replaced by a gentle smile. “I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Find me if you need anything.” And with that, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd as he makes his way toward his brothers.
Taking another drink of my beer, I scan the room looking for a friendly or at least not hostile face. Food tables line the back wall, loaded with burgers, ribs, and various meat-heavy side dishes. I don’t even bother checking them out. At the first club barbecue Roman took me to, I’d politely asked if there were any vegetarian options. The silence that followed was deafening, followed by Atlas’s booming laughter as he asked if I was “one of those tree-huggers.” Roman had laughed too, albeit uncomfortably, before steering me away and quietly suggesting I just eat the potato salad.
I learned quickly that my dietary choices are just one more thing that marks me as someone who doesn’t belong. So now I eat before these gatherings and stick to beer while I’m here.
I could find a corner and hide until Roman’s ready to leave. I did that last time, nursing a single beer for three hours while scrolling through my phone. Roman was furious on the ride home, told me these people were his family and I wasn’t even trying to fit in. The argument that followed was ugly, ending with me sleeping on the couch and him leaving before dawn for a multi-day run with the club.
“It would be nice if his world met me at least halfway,” I mutter into my beer bottle before taking another long swig for courage. There’s no time like the present to make an effort, I suppose.
I push away from the bar, beer in hand, and walk toward a group of old ladies standing near the pool tables. I recognize most of them — there’s Brittany, who belongs to Reaper, and Avery, who’s been with Hammer for years. They’re laughing about something as I approach, their conversation halting when they notice me.
“Hi,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. “Great party, huh?”
Diesel’s old lady, Shelby, gives me a once-over, her eyes lingering on my floral sundress with obvious disdain. “Sure is.”
An awkward silence follows. I scramble to fill it. “The uh music’s good.” I feel my face heating up even as I say it. Not my finest conversational moment.
Brittany nods but doesn’t speak. Another woman I don’t know whispers something to her companion, and they both smirk.
“So,” I try again, “how’s everyone been?”
“Fine,” one answers curtly.
I attempt to join their conversation for another excruciating few minutes. Each time I speak, they respond with minimal words before turning slightly away, closing their circle tighter until I’m clearly on the outside. Eventually, I give up and walk away, their whispers following me like little daggers in my back.
I return to the bar, wondering what it is about this particular group of women that makes them so awful. Maybe it’s something in the water. I make a mental note to stick to beer while I’m here.
“Another?” the prospect asks, nodding at my nearly empty bottle.
“Please.”
As he slides a fresh beer toward me, a familiar face catches my eye across the room. Glynnis, one of my regular customers at the garden center, is standing near the dartboard. She comesin at least once a week, always chatty and kind, asking detailed questions about different plants and sharing stories about her garden successes and failures.
“Glynnis!” I call as I approach. “Hi!”
She turns, startled, her eyes widening in recognition. After a moment’s hesitation, she smiles. “Kayla! Hi! What a surprise. We don’t usually see you at club parties.”
“Yeah, I find them to be a little overwhelming, to be honest. Roman asked me to come with him tonight.” I explain, gesturing vaguely toward where Roman stands deep in conversation with Atlas.
“Ah,” she replies with a smile, although something about it seems off. “Well…it’s so good to see you outside of work.”
“Yeah,” I reply, trying to pretend this is a normal conversation and not at all uncomfortable. “So…”
“Was your garden successful this year?” She asks in a rush, tucking a strand of her caramel-colored hair behind her ear. “I’m thinking about expanding mine next spring.”
“They were. I’m always a little sad when the season ends.” I relax a bit, finally feeling slightly more at ease. Plants I know how to talk about. “It’s going to be even better next year. Viper finally finished the raised beds I told you about.”
“That sounds lovely, I wish I could get Carbon to —” Glynnis’s gaze suddenly darts over my shoulder, and the warmth in her face cools several degrees.
“I’m sorry,” she says abruptly. “I just remembered I need to… I have to go.”
Before I can respond, she’s walking away so quickly she’s practically running. I turn, confused, watching as Diesel’s old lady, Shelby, intercepts her. They huddle together, whispering urgently, Glynnis casting nervous glances back in my direction.
What the hell just happened?
I follow Glynnis’s earlier line of sight and feel my stomach drop. Naomi Wallace is staring directly at me from across the room, her red curls framing her face like flames. Atlas’s daughter has always made my skin crawl, though I’ve never shared this with Roman. There’s something predatory in her eyes, something calculating and cold that belies her friendly smiles.