“A couple of hundred for tonight.”
“On my way, Erica. Be safe.”
“Bro—” She’s cut off by an officer in the background telling her time’s up. And the phone goes silent in my hand.
Motherfucker. What the hell happened? What was she doing that got her arrested? I search my brain but come up empty. Erica doesn’t drink too much, which is my first thought, of course. She has a mouth on her, but not enough to go around getting in fights, and her military background probably helps her stay cool and collected if someone else is fucking off. Wrong place, wrong time?
Or maybe . . . wrong person? What if Emily did something and Erica’s taking the fall? I could see that because Erica would do anything for her sister. But if that were the case, why wouldn’t Emily be the one bailing her out?
Erica told me not to tell anyone, and that really can only mean Emily and Reed since I’ve only met her mom the one time.
Confusion whirls though my mind, but my body’s in action. I grab my wallet and keys, step over Brutal’s old dog, Murphy, who’s lying by the front door, and fly down the grassy drive in my truck going a bit too fast. As I wait for the automatic gate to open, my phone buzzes.
Brutal: Where you going so damned fast?
Me: Erica’s.
Brutal: Guess I’ll plan to feed the goats in the morning. <winky face>
Me: <middle finger emoji>
I want to say thanks, but that’d be suspicious, and he already knows I appreciate it. Plus, it’s not like I can tell him where I’m going or what I’m doing since Erica asked me not to, so letting him think I’m just running out hellbent for pussy is the right thing to do. Better he thinks I’m a manwhore than that Erica’s in trouble.
The drive over the mountain is quick this time of evening with zero traffic, so I get to the police station before I’ve come up with any reasonable answer to what in the hell Erica might’ve done. But I pray to fuck-all that she’s okay and safe. Jail isn’t exactly an easy place to be.
I tell the desk cop, a thick-chested man with a huge gray handlebar mustache, “Erica Cole.”
He lazily looks up from the paperwork on his desk, giving me a once-over. “Nice to meet you, Erica.”
I swallow the growl, knowing that it won’t do Erica any good for me to piss off the people holding her. “I’m here to bail out Erica Cole.”
His eyes drift back to his paperwork, seemingly dismissing me, but after a moment, he sighs. “Three fifty. Cash or charge?”
“Cash,” I say, glad I went ahead and grabbed everything I had at home. Three fifty is a lot more than a couple of hundred, but I can float it and I trust Erica to pay me back.
Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do.
“What are the charges?”
He shrugs, not giving me any information, but he sure takes my money damn fast. I sign a bunch of paperwork and then the guy directs me to a bank of waiting room chairs. I can’t sit, but I move to the far side of the room to pace worriedly.
After a few minutes, he calls out. “Son, you’re a big guy, and pacing around like a caged tiger is making me nervous.” He fidgets with his mustache, the perfect picture of calm no matter what he says. “Sit down and wait. We’ll get your girl out lickity split.”
My girl.
She’s not. But I’m the one she called.
Does that mean something? Other than that she didn’t want her family to find out about whatever this is? More questions and still no answers.
A door opens with a creak and Erica walks through. She’s got on those baggy navy coveralls, her steel-toed boots, and her hands are dirty. She’s been working, so how did that go from the garage to jail?
“Let’s go.” Her voice is clipped, her stride purposeful, and her posture military precise. I open the front door of the police station for her and she struts right through without a word.
I glance back, and Mustache Man raises one brow. I don’t have time for him and his judgements when Erica’s little steps are eating up the ground.
She climbs into my truck, not letting me help her as usual, but I close the door with a slam. I do the same with my own door and then look at her.
The sun has set, and it’s dark, but I can see the hard set of her jaw.
“You okay?” I ask. I have so many questions, but that’s the most important one.
It breaks something in her though. “Fuuuuck!” Her shout is full of anger and tinged with regret. When she runs out of air and tapers off, she inhales forcefully and turns her head to look at me. “I’m fine. Fucked, but fine.”
That’s enough for now, so I leave her be and start up the truck. She disappears behind a tough, hard shell, silence wrapped around her protectively as she stares out the window.
At the garage, I park and don’t wait for an invitation but rather follow her toward the door. She’ll tell me to fuck off if she doesn’t want me to come up, I have no doubt about that, and when she stays quiet, allowing me inside before locking up, I know she’s okay with my presence. Once in her apartment, she pulls two beers from the fridge and holds one out to me.
I take it, popping the tab. Before I swallow a sip, Erica has chugged the whole can. “Ahh . . . shit, I needed that after tonight.”
My sip is small in comparison, and I look at her openly, no judgement and no demands.
“Aren’t you gonna ask what I was arrested for?”
“Nope.”
Her eyes go wide as saucers and then narrow suspiciously. “No?”
I take another sip, feeling the minefield all around me and wanting to tread carefully. “Erica, I like you. A lot. And I want to spend time with you. But we’ve already established . . . you’ve got shit, I’ve got shit. If you want to talk about what happened, I’ll sit here all night and let you rage, cry, whine, or whatever you need to do. If you want to pretend it never happened, we can do that too. Your call. I’m not here to make things hard for you.” I mean that honestly, even though I’m curious as fuck about what happened tonight. But it’s not my place unless she wants it to be. That’s the agreement we made.
She thinks on that for a long moment while I await my fate. Finally, a small smile takes her face. “You want something to eat?”
I knew she wouldn’t get rid of me. Well, I hoped she wouldn’t.
“I think you’ve had a rougher night than me. If it’s all right, let me feed you?”
Her smirk grows. “Let me guess . . . pancakes?”
“Fuck yeah, Lil Bit.”
Pancakes and beer are a weird combination, but carbs and alcohol are probably exactly what she needs.
She sits down at the small table, leaving me to have at her kitchen. I can feel her eyes following me to the fridge and back to the counter. I know where the mixing bowls and skillet are, so I make myself at home. Within minutes, I’m setting a plate down in front of her.
After a few bites and with an eye roll, she gives in. “Fine, twist my arm already, Cowboy. I got arrested for excessive speed. Officer Miles probably would’ve let me off with a warning, but he was training a new rookie tonight so he had to go by the books.”
I swallow the last bite I took, giving myself a moment to process, because her confessing to me is a big trust. Even more than the fact that she called me, not Emily, her parents, or Reed. That was a necessity for some reason, but this? Her openly and willingly sharing is something I think Erica Cole doesn’t do easily or often, and I’m gonna wallow like a happy pig in slop that she chose to do it with me.