Page 151 of Nash
My vision blurs. My jaw locks. The pressure that's been building since the hotel room, since Naya's thumb on the groove, since the hallway where I closed the door on two sisters holdingeach other, all of it pushes against the back of my teeth and I can't hold it.
I wrap my arms around Ruby's waist and press my face into her stomach. Her hands go into my hair.
The sound that comes out of me doesn't have a name. It rises from somewhere I sealed years ago. From the parking lot, the shoe, the twenty-two minutes, every night I pressed my thumb against a faded red elastic and told myself that carrying it was the same as looking for her. It wasn't. It was penance. The penance is over. The girl is alive. She took the scrunchie back and told me to be happy. I am sitting in a kitchen in Willowridge with my face pressed into the stomach of a woman who loves me, crying for the first time in years.
Ruby doesn't speak. Her fingers move through my hair gently. Her other hand rests on the back of my neck. She holds me the way I hold her after the scenes that strip her bare, the way I held her on the couch at Vesper.
She stands still. I shake.
Chapter 34
Ruby
Thejukeboxhasbeenfixed.
I know this because Sloane told me Knox spent three hours reprogramming it last week. Three hours. The man hacks federal databases for fun but needed an entire afternoon to load a karaoke function onto a machine built in 1987.
"It works," Knox says from the corner, arms crossed. He exudes the particular satisfaction of a man who considers a jukebox his least impressive conquest.
"Does it play 'Barbie Girl?'" East asks from the couch. Declan is asleep on his chest, Rowan in Darla's arms beside him.
"Every third song," Knox says.
"That wasn't a feature request," East says.
"It wasn't optional."
The clubhouse is full. Karaoke-night full. The kind of full that happens when Candace texts "jukebox is fixed" to the group chat and every person connected to this club materializes within the hour. Because the last karaoke night was over a year ago; the night Candace opened her mouth and the entire room stopped breathing.
I have been waiting for this night for months.
Nash is beside me on the couch, his arm across the back behind my shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my upper arm. He's been doing this all night. His hand low on my hip when we walked in, fingers tucked close enough to make me lose track of what Kyle was saying about the playlist. His mouth was on my temple mid-sentence, his breath on my skin, and my words dissolved into a sound I had to cover with a cough. His palm slid across my lower back when I stood up to get a beer. It stayed there two beats longer than necessary, then his fingertips dipped just below my waistband. My stomach flipped so hard I grabbed the bar to steady myself.
Maggie and James are at their table. James has a beer, Maggie has a glass of wine. Victor and Olivia are at the far end of the bar, Olivia's gold necklace catching the overhead light. Frankie is near the back with a beer, Arden a few feet away, his stillness a permanent installation. Amelia is at the bar with a drink, watching Kyle talk to the goat about song selection.
"The goat does not get a vote," Kyle says. "The goat does not have musical opinions. It has opinions about boots and nothing else."
The goat chews Kyle's bootlace.
"That is not a rebuttal."
Candace is behind the bar, her hair piled up, her fingers tapping the wood in a rhythm only she hears. Malachi sits in his chair at the head of the room, his arm draped across the back,watching her the way he always watches her. The way a man watches something he still can't believe he gets to keep.
"Who's first?" Candace says.
Silence. It's the particular silence of a room full of motorcycle club members who would rather fight a man than sing a song in front of their partners.
"I'll go," Darla says. She hands Rowan to East, stands, smooths her shirt, and walks to the jukebox with the focused energy of a woman who has been planning this moment since the group chat text.
"What are you singing?" East asks.
"'Cool Rider.'"
"What?"
"'Cool Rider.' From Grease 2. The greatest musical sequel ever made, which you would know if you had any taste. But you don't, which is why your name is Greg."
"My name is NOT—"
