34

Parker

By ten, it’s clear connecting with Randy is a bust. Every time I spot him, he disappears again, and I’m almost positive he’s already left. But the weirdest thing has happened—I’m enjoying myself.

Not because my brothers are playing private bouncers, and not because Knox is with me.

Okay, yes, some because Knox is with me. It’s impossible to not have fun when Knox is around. But connecting with Melly? And April and Simone and some of our other friends in the loser geek squad?

I wish I hadn’t lost touch.

They’re all good people, and none of them care—or ever cared—about my brief, not-actually-legal marriage to Randy, and they’re all working cool jobs, in committed relationships, most of them with kids.

They all got over high school a long time ago.

I should’ve too.

And hearing Melly talk about her kids, and Simone too—it’s making something painful spring to life deep in my belly.

Like maybe I’ve been looking at the world all wrong the last twenty years.

My old friends aren’t faking it. They love their lives, they love their jobs, they love their families. They have it all. And they’re actively working to do something beyond working and hanging at bars.

Yes, yes, juice bars are my thing, but it’s still a bar. Shut up.

The important part is, everything I thought I knew a month ago suddenly doesn’t fit. And even though I’m going to miss my chance to talk to Randy tonight, I’m not sorry I came.

I needed this.

I give Knox the be right back, then we can get out of here smile, escape the cafeteria to slip into the bathroom, and ohmygod.

Why is it always the bathroom?

“Parker,” Randy says. He’s washing his hands at the sink, his lettuce suit drooping, a row of urinals along one wall, and I spin and beat a retreat.

This is vaguely familiar.

“Wrong room. So sorry. I—”

Wait.

This isn’t embarrassing. This is opportunity. And I’m a fucking grown woman.

I bitchslap my pulse to get it back into normal range and turn back to face him, because I am officially the new Parker. Parker 2.0, who’s going to call Randy Monday morning and chat about his Pickle Hops.

He’s meticulously drying his hands with sixteen paper towels, which still physically pains me. I might be not as in-your-face about my love of organics as Sia is, but I’m a tree-hugger at heart, and being Parker 2.0 isn’t going to change that.

“You would not believe the issues I have with reading the signs on restrooms,” I say. “Congratulations. Again. Your wife seems lovely.”

Whatever crick in his neck had him staring down his nose at everyone seems to have subsided. Either that, or he’s really serious about drying the undersides of his fingernails. “She is.”

“How have you been?”

“You can save your breath.” He’s working on being a snot, but he’s not quite getting there. “I’m selling to Pure Green. Crunchy can’t have the Pickle Hops TM.”

It takes me a minute to realize he’s added the trademark to his Pickle Hops, and I manage to not roll my eyes at the mention of Crunchy’s biggest mid-level organic grocery competitor.

“You know where I work,” I say.

“I look into every company that tries to buy me out.” His ears are red, which was always a dead giveaway in high school that he’s lying. I wonder if his wife knows.

Yes, I confess, part of me still wonders if she’s actually his wife, but I’m not one to throw boulders at greenhouses.

“I hope Pure Green is giving you a good deal,” I say honestly, because what else am I going to say? Actually, I’m here to talk you out of your business deal in a bathroom that reminds me of the time I had to puke up the Chad-and-Brad mystery brownies?

Chase will be pissed, but he’ll deal.

I’m a person first. And really, so is Randy.

“Also, I’m really sorry about…taking advantage of you back in high school.” Was that exactly what it was? I don’t know. But it feels good to apologize.

He throws his massive wad of barely-used paper towels in the trash, and I try hard not to cringe. “We barely knew who we were back then.”

I smile at him. “We didn’t, did we?”

He goes stiff as a rock, his face drains of all color, and I suddenly sense that we’re no longer alone.

“Hey, faggot,” a sneery voice says. Chills go up my spine, because that voice says it belongs to over two hundred pounds of never-really-grew-up bully. “I thought I told you to leave your ugly ass at home. Money can’t buy friends, even if it can buy you a hot piece of ass. Get out, little darlin’.”

A beefy hand lands on my shoulder, and I don’t think, I just act.

High school fucking sucked. Bullies suck. Strained friendships suck. Being called four-eyes and metal-mouth and loser sucked. Watching my friends being forced to eat mashed potatoes that had been doctored with we-didn’t-want-to-know-what and wondering when it would be my turn sucked.

And I’m.

Fucking.

Done.

My elbow flies behind me, right into his gut, with all the pent-up rage I’ve held in for years. “You fucking get out!” I screech.

I don’t know if he felt it or not, because I’m too busy yanking his meaty paw off my shoulder and wrenching his arm down. “Fuck you!”

I crash my stiletto into his foot, and a yowl of pain registers. “Eat shit and die!”

There are shouts. Screams.

My elbow flies again, and something crunches.

“You bitch, you broke my nose!”

That’s not all I’m going to break.

I finally get a look at the jockhole who called my former best friend an f-word I refuse to say, and without hesitation, I grip him by the ears, twist, and knee him in the nuts.

I’m pounding on his back and kicking him in the stomach when two iron vises clamp around my waist and lift me. At least three more hands grip my arms.

“Down girl,” Rhett says behind me. “We got him.”

“Quit kicking, Parker,” Brooks orders from my right side.

“Yeah, Mr. Baseball needs his nuts to play tomorrow,” Gavin adds from my left.

The bathroom slowly swims back into focus. Jack’s sitting on Brandon Matthias, former quarterback, bully, and dick supreme. Brandon’s nose is leaving a puddle of blood on the floor, he’s clutching his left side like his ribs are broken, and he’s dry-heaving.

Which can’t feel good. Especially with my brother sitting on his back.

Rhett yanks me back before I can kick the bastard again.

“You okay?” Jack asks Randy, who also seems to be in danger of dry-heaving.

Randy gives a jerky nod.

My cheeks are wet, my throat feels like someone took a scrub brush to it, and I can’t quite catch my breath. But it’s not shame, or embarrassment, or regret.

No, this is freedom.

These bullies will never take anything from me again.

I catch sight of Knox watching me from the doorway.

My nose suddenly burns, my cheeks ignite hot enough to scare the sun, and a lump the size of New Jersey clogs my throat. My knees wobble.

He saw that.

He saw all of that.

He quirks one of those classic Knox grins at me. “You are one hell of a woman, Parker Parker Elliott.”

Not remind me to never piss you off.

Not you’re fucking insane.

Not of course you only attract the crazies, because you are crazy.

And not even can we try some of those moves in bed?

Just pure affection. A mental I knew you had it in you, beautiful girl. You’re strong. You’re smart. No one can ever take that away.

And now I really am crying.

“You’re going to fucking jail, you bitch,” Brandon pants.

“Why don’t we call the cops?” My voice is wobbling, my throat is thick, but I’ll be fucking damned if I take one more word from this cretin. This isn’t weakness. It’s leashed fury. “I would love to talk to the police about your history. I’m betting this isn’t the first time you’ve threatened someone smaller than you. Is it?”

I stare that asshole down until he looks away.

I might’ve been weak in high school, but I have four kick-ass brothers who’ve taught me a few things since we all grew up. And I’ve learned a thing or two about myself as well.

Rhett, Gavin, and Brooks let me go, and Knox slips his coat around my shoulders. “Take you home?” he says.

I hold my head high when I walk out of that bathroom, and I don’t give two fucks who’s whispering, who’s eyeballing us, or what any of them will say later. I have to call Chase tomorrow and tell him he’s not getting his Pickle Hops TM deal, but I’ve reconnected with five old friends, my four brothers are undoubtedly going to spin this so I look like a fucking hero, and the most amazing man I’ve ever known is gripping my hand.

Going to my reunion might be the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.