“You’re a fool,” she spat.
“Just give me my goddamned key.”
She walked to her purse which was on the kitchen counter. “You don’t get it from her you’ll come back to me.”
This, Colt thought, was doubtful. There wasn’t a lot of choice in their small town, not any which wasn’t already taken. Not that some of them didn’t get in his space more often than not; just that he wouldn’t f**k another man’s woman. Still, even the rare times Susie could be sweet, which was whenever he ended it and she came crawling back, it wasn’t worth this.
And it always ended like this even though she swore that it wouldn’t. It wasn’t always about Feb, but it was always ugly.
“You’re right,” he told her, wrapping his fist around his key which was dangling from her fingers, “I’ve been fool enough with you.” He looked her in the eyes. “That’s over.”
He saw her face bleach of color and she flinched. Whatever he sounded like she must have took his meaning because he could even see the blow he’d struck to Daddy’s Little Girl, who always got everything she wanted and who’d been working hard on getting him for three years and not succeeding. Instead, he’d been taking what he wanted from her and handing the rest back.
“She’s welcome to you,” Susie hissed, her eyes again slits, her pretty face gone bad.
She was full of shit. She’d call him the next day and apologize. She always did.
Colt wondered if he had time the next day to buy a new phone.
On that thought his phone rang and he turned away from Susie, put his beer on the counter, shoved his key into his front pocket and pulled his phone out of the back.
Susie was gone by the time he looked at the display, flipped it open and put it to his ear.
“Morrie.”
“Dude, get over here, right now.”
Colt’s blood turned to ice. Morrie sounded freaked.
“What?”
“I just opened the mail. Dude, just,” Morrie blew out a breath, “Colt, man, just get over here.”
“You at the bar?”
“Yep.”
“Feb there?”
“Yep.”
“She okay?”
“Far’s I know.”
“She see whatever you’re talkin’ about?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
* * * * *
Colt walked into J&J’s.
It was late, it was a weeknight, but the place was packed.
Murder had a way of drawing people, Colt knew. Most everyone had that sick place in their head that was fascinated by violence. But he also knew this was more a show of support for Morrie and Feb and, in small part, Angie.
A town could get ripped apart by tragedy, people turning on each other.
But not his town.
Or, at least, he’d do what he could to stop it.
When he came in, Feb, behind the bar, slid her eyes to him and tilted her head in that delicate way she had before she looked away. The movement was tiny, just her jaw jutting out to the side, but the way she did it made a huge impact.
That’s what she’d do for last two years every time he’d come into the bar. It was the only thing she did anymore that reminded him of the way it used to be. When they were at high school and he’d walk by her class or she’d walk by his locker, her eyes would meet his, she always sought his gaze, and she’d tilt her head, lifting her jaw to the side, the movement spare, fluid, graceful.
There was nothing to it and everything to it. The other guys at school saw it and wanted it, but she only gave it to Colt.
Outside of Morrie, Jack and Jackie, back then February was the only good thing in his life.
And those jaw tilts, back then, were the best thing in it.
He used to smile at her and he’d barely catch it when she’d smile back because she always looked away while she smiled.
She was the best flirt he’d ever met, just with that f**king jaw tilt, and he’d never met better.
Now she didn’t wait for his smile. Before he could do it, not that he would, she’d long since looked away.
Like she was doing now, nodding her head at a customer, again the movement was slight and appealing and he felt his jaw grow hard at the sight.
He looked away but he couldn’t stop himself from wishing she wouldn’t dress like that. She didn’t dress like Angie, not by a long shot, but Feb always had a way with clothes. Tonight she was in a light pink, Harley Davidson tee; a three-tiered Indian, choker wrapped around her throat made of long, oblong, black beads with a silver medallion at the front, a signature piece she wore and she had several in different colors; more silver necklaces tangling under the choker; long, silver hoops at her ears; her smoothed out hair had enough time that night to grow a bit wild; and even though he couldn’t see them he knew she wore faded jeans that weren’t tight but they fit her too well and, probably, black motorcycle boots.
Since she’d been home, to his knowledge, she hadn’t had a man. Not for lack of offers. J&J’s was the only bar within the city limits, right on Main Street. There were a few bars outside the limits, mostly hunters’, fishers’ or golfers’ havens. There were restaurants that had bars. And there were several bars closer to the raceway, their clientele transient, mostly rough folk, drag, NASCAR and midget race groupies, going to those places because they were close and convenient to the campgrounds. Over the years others bars had opened in the city limits and failed because everyone went to J&J’s. The men went there more now that Feb was back. He knew the boys at work jacked off regularly thinking about her even (and especially) the married ones. He’d unfortunately heard all about it.
The chokers were the problem and the silver dangling around her neck. You could almost hear those necklaces jingling while you imagined f**king her or as she rolled in her sleep in your bed.
But mostly, it was the chokers. Something about them said something he suspected Feb didn’t want them to say, maybe didn’t even know they were saying, but they spoke to men all the same.
It was good she was home. No one would mess with Morrie and, if they were stupid enough, most had heard what Colt had done for her and absolutely no one would go there. Colt couldn’t imagine, since he knew while she was away she’d lived the nomad’s life tending bars in small towns all over the place, how she lived her life those fifteen years, beat the men back without Morrie and Colt having her back. Maybe she didn’t and she just wasn’t going to shit where she lived. Then again, maybe she’d learned her lesson.
“Just give me my goddamned key.”
She walked to her purse which was on the kitchen counter. “You don’t get it from her you’ll come back to me.”
This, Colt thought, was doubtful. There wasn’t a lot of choice in their small town, not any which wasn’t already taken. Not that some of them didn’t get in his space more often than not; just that he wouldn’t f**k another man’s woman. Still, even the rare times Susie could be sweet, which was whenever he ended it and she came crawling back, it wasn’t worth this.
And it always ended like this even though she swore that it wouldn’t. It wasn’t always about Feb, but it was always ugly.
“You’re right,” he told her, wrapping his fist around his key which was dangling from her fingers, “I’ve been fool enough with you.” He looked her in the eyes. “That’s over.”
He saw her face bleach of color and she flinched. Whatever he sounded like she must have took his meaning because he could even see the blow he’d struck to Daddy’s Little Girl, who always got everything she wanted and who’d been working hard on getting him for three years and not succeeding. Instead, he’d been taking what he wanted from her and handing the rest back.
“She’s welcome to you,” Susie hissed, her eyes again slits, her pretty face gone bad.
She was full of shit. She’d call him the next day and apologize. She always did.
Colt wondered if he had time the next day to buy a new phone.
On that thought his phone rang and he turned away from Susie, put his beer on the counter, shoved his key into his front pocket and pulled his phone out of the back.
Susie was gone by the time he looked at the display, flipped it open and put it to his ear.
“Morrie.”
“Dude, get over here, right now.”
Colt’s blood turned to ice. Morrie sounded freaked.
“What?”
“I just opened the mail. Dude, just,” Morrie blew out a breath, “Colt, man, just get over here.”
“You at the bar?”
“Yep.”
“Feb there?”
“Yep.”
“She okay?”
“Far’s I know.”
“She see whatever you’re talkin’ about?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
* * * * *
Colt walked into J&J’s.
It was late, it was a weeknight, but the place was packed.
Murder had a way of drawing people, Colt knew. Most everyone had that sick place in their head that was fascinated by violence. But he also knew this was more a show of support for Morrie and Feb and, in small part, Angie.
A town could get ripped apart by tragedy, people turning on each other.
But not his town.
Or, at least, he’d do what he could to stop it.
When he came in, Feb, behind the bar, slid her eyes to him and tilted her head in that delicate way she had before she looked away. The movement was tiny, just her jaw jutting out to the side, but the way she did it made a huge impact.
That’s what she’d do for last two years every time he’d come into the bar. It was the only thing she did anymore that reminded him of the way it used to be. When they were at high school and he’d walk by her class or she’d walk by his locker, her eyes would meet his, she always sought his gaze, and she’d tilt her head, lifting her jaw to the side, the movement spare, fluid, graceful.
There was nothing to it and everything to it. The other guys at school saw it and wanted it, but she only gave it to Colt.
Outside of Morrie, Jack and Jackie, back then February was the only good thing in his life.
And those jaw tilts, back then, were the best thing in it.
He used to smile at her and he’d barely catch it when she’d smile back because she always looked away while she smiled.
She was the best flirt he’d ever met, just with that f**king jaw tilt, and he’d never met better.
Now she didn’t wait for his smile. Before he could do it, not that he would, she’d long since looked away.
Like she was doing now, nodding her head at a customer, again the movement was slight and appealing and he felt his jaw grow hard at the sight.
He looked away but he couldn’t stop himself from wishing she wouldn’t dress like that. She didn’t dress like Angie, not by a long shot, but Feb always had a way with clothes. Tonight she was in a light pink, Harley Davidson tee; a three-tiered Indian, choker wrapped around her throat made of long, oblong, black beads with a silver medallion at the front, a signature piece she wore and she had several in different colors; more silver necklaces tangling under the choker; long, silver hoops at her ears; her smoothed out hair had enough time that night to grow a bit wild; and even though he couldn’t see them he knew she wore faded jeans that weren’t tight but they fit her too well and, probably, black motorcycle boots.
Since she’d been home, to his knowledge, she hadn’t had a man. Not for lack of offers. J&J’s was the only bar within the city limits, right on Main Street. There were a few bars outside the limits, mostly hunters’, fishers’ or golfers’ havens. There were restaurants that had bars. And there were several bars closer to the raceway, their clientele transient, mostly rough folk, drag, NASCAR and midget race groupies, going to those places because they were close and convenient to the campgrounds. Over the years others bars had opened in the city limits and failed because everyone went to J&J’s. The men went there more now that Feb was back. He knew the boys at work jacked off regularly thinking about her even (and especially) the married ones. He’d unfortunately heard all about it.
The chokers were the problem and the silver dangling around her neck. You could almost hear those necklaces jingling while you imagined f**king her or as she rolled in her sleep in your bed.
But mostly, it was the chokers. Something about them said something he suspected Feb didn’t want them to say, maybe didn’t even know they were saying, but they spoke to men all the same.
It was good she was home. No one would mess with Morrie and, if they were stupid enough, most had heard what Colt had done for her and absolutely no one would go there. Colt couldn’t imagine, since he knew while she was away she’d lived the nomad’s life tending bars in small towns all over the place, how she lived her life those fifteen years, beat the men back without Morrie and Colt having her back. Maybe she didn’t and she just wasn’t going to shit where she lived. Then again, maybe she’d learned her lesson.
