Virginia found Tourmaline in her empty kitchen, crying as she scrubbed gravel out of long, angry-looking scrapes on her legs and arms. Her phone lay on the floor across the room with a cracked screen, as if she’d thrown it.
There was no need to say that everything had changed and the world had gone to shit. They both knew it without talking, somehow. Virginia sank beside her on the kitchen floor and began organizing the first aid scattered on the linoleum. “You’re falling apart on me, Harris.”
“My mom was high.” Tourmaline’s chin quivered. “She called me and I could just tell.”
Virginia didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. The only thing she could offer was to exist in the same world and look it all in the face beside her.
Tourmaline scrubbed her arm harder, sobbing.
“You’re going to rip off any skin that’s left,” Virginia said, swatting Tourmaline’s hand away.
Tourmaline dropped the rag and looked at it. Tears still streaming down her face. “I’m not banned.”
“I thought they banned you for the socks?”
“I called because I hadn’t gotten any paperwork. They didn’t have any record of it. When I asked, my mom said she hadn’t gotten anything, either. She said Hayes just told her I’d forgotten something and had to leave. That’d I’d be back soon.” She sobbed again. “Hayes didn’t file anything on it. She was nice to me. I can try again, with your help.”
Virginia looked at her hands. “We’ll make a plan.”
The seconds ticked by loudly in the thick silence of the warm kitchen.
“How’s the landscaping business?” Virginia asked quietly.
Tourmaline dipped her rag back into the iodine water and her eyes flickered over the length of Virginia, as if looking for Virginia’s wounds. But she didn’t ask why or what had happened; she just sniffed and wrung out the rag. “You have to mow in a straight line, Campbell.”
Virginia held up the box of Band-Aids. “You’re going to have to use like one hundred and thirty-five of these, you know that, right?”
Tourmaline hiccuped a laugh and threw the Neosporin at Virginia’s forehead. “Fuck you.”
They clung to each other like cats stuffed into one skin. Virginia pulled weeds and pushed a mower in brutal sunshine, crisscrossing her lines with Tourmaline’s. They fell into an easy rhythm—Tourmaline as much adrift as Virginia, keeping her own trajectory, parallel, and hardly intersecting with her dad’s life. After a few days, Virginia stopped worrying about running into Jason, though she wasn’t dumb enough to assume he didn’t know she was working with Tourmaline.
A week into it, she stopped going home—afraid she’d just find one of Hazard’s guys waiting and her mom subdued with a fresh bottle of tequila. Or worse. She slept in her truck deep in the woods and spent the days wandering around finishing deals she’d already had set up. Along the way, the whispers started churning. A low rumble in the ground, warning of an oncoming disaster.
Hazard was looking for her.
The threat hung in the heat. Lurid in the shimmering waves on blacktop at full sun. Grim in the darkness as she fell asleep listening for the sounds of sticks breaking outside her truck.
A week turned into two. Two stretched toward three. One day of mowing turned into a few more days. She hung on, caught in a world made of hazy, droning summer afternoons and nothing else. Virginia kept telling herself that she was going to be fine. She could just walk away. She didn’t really owe Hazard anything. He didn’t need her; she was just a girl. He could find those anywhere. But deep down she waited for whatever had begun to just hurry up and finish with her. It didn’t matter that she escape her fate; it mattered that she had a say in it.
A languid haze settled over the mountains for the Fourth of July. Even the shade was so thick with humidity it created its own atmosphere, brewing purple thunderstorms deep in the malachite forest. Virginia parked at Tourmaline’s, relieved to have arrived safely for another day, and headed for the open garage door.
As usual, there was no sign of anyone else. Just Tourmaline sitting inside the garage, her back to the driveway as if she had no need to be looking behind her.
Virginia put her sunglasses on her head and stepped inside. “’Sup, Girl Scout?”
Tourmaline didn’t look up from the video playing on her lap. Her white sundress was tucked around her thighs, wedges hung up in the rungs of the shop stool, and she had her chin inside her hand, staring. “Trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.”
“With what?”
Tourmaline held up the screen. An old guy with a giant mustache held up a piece of something—a car part or something—and said things Virginia didn’t understand. “Um.”
Tourmaline paused the video and swished her long ponytail over her shoulder. “I was looking for how to fix the start on this bike.”
Virginia climbed into the seat of a mower and put her legs up. They were supposed to be heading to some Fourth of July thing the Wardens were doing. Family Day, Tourmaline had said. Virginia hadn’t known it would be as fancy as Tourmaline’s white dress implied; and Virginia now frowned at her shorts and airy blue tank top.
“Anyway. I couldn’t find how to do that, so that was pointless. But then I got distracted by videos about other shit I didn’t know about. Like, I’m watching this one about taking off the header—”
“What’s a header?”
“Uhhh . . .” Tourmaline lifted her head, a chagrined expression on her face. “I don’t know.”
She was, as usual, in way over her head. Virginia slid down on the seat. “Girl, I don’t know how to tell you this but . . .”
“No. Okay. I sort of know. I know this . . . Look.” Tourmaline clambered over another mower to the bike in the back of the garage, carefully keeping her dress out of reach of any of the equipment. “This part here.” She waved her hands in demonstration over the exhaust pipes shooting out along the side toward the back, looking more like a showroom model than someone talking about fixing up the bike. “These are the pipes, but they don’t always say pipes so I think it’s, like, the whole exhaust system? Maybe?” She sighed and stepped back, hands on her hips. “Or maybe where the pipes meet the muffler? Do they meet? And, like, that’s maybe more up into the engine. Here? More?” She pointed to where the exhaust pipes disappeared into the side of the bike. “Maybe?”
Virginia shook her head and took a deep breath of the smell of the heat on the tar paper under the metal roof.
“Honestly, though, how does anyone learn this shit? I mean . . . ,” Tourmaline muttered, sitting back down on the stool and pushing start on the video again.
“Where is everyone?” Virginia asked casually.
“Oh, they’re at the dealership already. I’m dragging my feet. Can’t do this stuff when my dad’s around.”
“You don’t want the old man knowing you’re fixing his bike?”
“Not until I can make it my bike.”
“Aren’t you going away to school?”
“UVA is close enough for weekends. I could come home.” Her cheeks pinked and she tucked her head to study the screen.
Virginia frowned, feeling something was off. “So, you’re going to rebuild it?”
Setting the screen on the workbench, Tourmaline picked up her purse and stood, looking at the bike stuffed into a dark corner. “I don’t know.” She looked to Virginia, smoothing down her ponytail. “I’m scared to say yes.”
“Scared of what?” Virginia glanced at the bike. It looked dusty.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it. That if I say I’m going to do it, I’ll just face-plant in front of fifty men waiting to laugh.”
“What are you going to school for, again?”
“Early childhood education.”
Virginia barked a laugh. That did not dovetail into motorcycles. “That’s right. You want to be a kindergarten teacher.”
“I never said kindergarten. I’d really like third grade. Third grade is perfect. You’re young enough to do crafts and old enough to really get into cool books and science.”
And suddenly, Virginia felt like she could see Tourmaline’s whole life ahead of her—this easy, interesting little life tucked into southern summers and back to school in the warm fall and her little collection of motorcycles and motorcycle babies. “God, I can see that. Like. Yeah. You’ve got your sweet little teacher job and then you come home and are, like, Oh I need a bigger head.” Virginia laughed and moved her legs out of the way of Tourmaline’s swatting. But inside, her chest ached so much she had to put her fist into her breastbone to try and ease off the pressure.
“Let’s go. I made us late.” Tourmaline huffed. “You want to drive?”
Virginia rubbed the bone harder, but it didn’t erase the ache. She swung off the tractor. “Sounds good.”
Apparently the broiling heat was just the sort of weather in which a large percentage of men wore leather vests, revved hot engines over hotter asphalt, and ate barbecued pit beef.
Sighing, Virginia put her hands on her waist and spread her elbows wide. The grass cowered dead and shimmering pale in the stretch between the edge of the asphalt and the fenced ribbon of interstate concrete. A semi blasted past, but the grass barely moved. Each car that passed made her feel more exposed. More certain that Hazard would spot her. But she pressed her lips tighter and refused to falter.
“That’s a Screaming Eagle mod kit thing,” Tourmaline said beside her as if Virginia were listening.
Tourmaline managed to look like unmelted margarine in her aviators and swinging ponytail. She ate pit beef on a sweet roll while talking about the difference in busting out the baffle in your pipes versus different custom pipes versus made-in-your-genius-cousin’s-garage pipes—apparently one thing she did know about.
Jason probably did have some secret deep love for her. Any one of these men might, with her talking that shit in between big bites of her sandwich in that white dress. She could be as dumb as a box of rocks with a wrench trying to fix up that old bike and they’d all forgive her and kiss her on the forehead when they tucked her into bed.
Where were the drinks? Virginia needed to be drunk. Instead, she swallowed and eyed the bike Tourmaline pointed out behind her sunglasses.
It wasn’t chrome, but flat black. Low-slung and thick. Mean. It made her think of Jason, but Jason was standing next to some blindingly shiny thing she assumed was his.
Tourmaline didn’t say anything right away, and when Virginia glanced at her, she was just standing there with this shit-eating grin plastered on her face.
Oh. Cash’s bike. “Cash got your tongue?”
“Stop,” Tourmaline hissed.
“Someone’s got a crush,” Virginia sang teasingly.
“This isn’t—it’d be . . .” Tourmaline stopped her huffing and stepped close to Virginia’s ear, suddenly sharp and cold. “No one can know; otherwise he’ll be kicked out. So quit your little teasing-Tourmaline game and shut the hell up.”
Virginia adjusted her sunglasses as she scanned the crowd, smiling despite herself, because she did so like to be reminded that Tourmaline wasn’t as butter on bread as she seemed. “Fiiine. But I’m offended you haven’t told me about this.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Just let me go at my own pace.”
“I didn’t know you even had a pace.” Another semi blasted a puff of hot air. Virginia scanned the crowd, watching so it wouldn’t take her by surprise. “Come on,” she said, hooking her arm into Tourmaline’s. “While you’re pining away for a full-course meal in secret, let’s go find me something that comes in a to-go box.”
“Are you talking food or guys?”
“Both, honey,” Virginia said.
Tourmaline smiled as Virginia pulled her along, all effervescent and girlish giddiness in her step. She was thinking of Cash. Dreaming. Her day stretched ahead hot and damp in all the right ways. In that pretty white dress and the dreamy sense of distraction. Virginia hated her and envied her and loved her all in one terrible crush of annoying aching, while she couldn’t stop herself from scanning the crowd for anyone who might be waiting with ready hands.
“Oh, here, you have to see Jason’s bike,” Tourmaline said, making a hard right and tugging Virginia along.
No, she did not. Pulling out of Tourmaline’s grip, Virginia stopped.
But Tourmaline was already there.
Virginia followed, slowly.
With Jason having his vest and T-shirt on, it was easy to forget the horrible scars and just see the pretty face. Frowning, she glanced his way, curious to finally see the patches Tourmaline had talked about.
On the front of Jason’s leather vest, the array of patches came into focus. Colorful, small birds in flight. An ace of spades right over his heart. Skull and crossbones on the side of his scars. But at the top, two small rectangles in black and white caught her eye.
DISABLED VETERAN on the left. COMBAT VETERAN on the right.
Virginia froze. If that wasn’t clear enough, there was a crimson-and-orange globe and eagle on the hem. Beside it, a round, tan patch with a blocky country map circled in words: BEEN TO IRAQ, AIN’T GOING BACK.
Jason smiled at Tourmaline. “Staying out of trouble?”
“For the moment,” Tourmaline said loftily. “Virginia wanted to see your bike.”
“No, I—” What an asshole she was. Virginia’s face burned—the first time she’d blushed in years. She swallowed and shook her head, taking another step back. The blush deepened. God. She put her hands to her cheeks.
Tourmaline gaped. “What’s—?”
“What kind of bike is it?” Virginia cut in over her, dropping her hands and trying hard to ignore the burn still in her face.
“Fully customized Softail Springer.”
The bike dripped in chrome—it would glow in the moonlight, a slipstream winding around the mountains. Virginia wondered whether it felt like everything she imagined. Gripping the waist of the shadow, her chin on his shoulder as the night swallowed them. No one could touch her inside that darkness.
Behind the glare, she noticed the whitewall tires and the slick cerulean-and-sapphire-painted gas tank—which color it was depending on the tilt of her head. She stepped closer and crouched to look at the engine. Her warped reflection peered back at her. “Are these custom, too?” Virginia asked, pointing to the pipes in an effort to ask any question that sounded even a little like she knew what she was talking about.
“Yes, ma’am.” He sounded actually nice.
She sat back on her heels. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Sounds even better.”
She glanced at him, and he almost seemed to smile. It caught her off guard. Made her insides open up and rush awake with no mind to the fact that she knew he wasn’t truly smiling. Standing, Virginia stuffed her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “I’d need a ride to make a full determination.”
He barked a laugh. “Keep dreaming, little girl.”
Just like that, she felt less like an asshole. But with his sparkling eyes held tight to hers, she found herself smiling sweet sugar, cocking her hip, and vomiting out whatever sprawl of words came into her head first. “Didn’t we cover this ‘little girl’ thing already? Don’t pretend you don’t like them young.”
His face tightened immediately.
She wanted to grab after her words in a desperate attempt to stuff them back inside. He’d probably not meant to hurt her. Not really. And where he’d thrown a jab, even she knew she’d returned with a grenade.
Jason looked away, and it was hard to keep breathing, so—dummy her—Virginia kept on talking. “I mean. I guess I’m young. But not inexperienced. It’s hard to tell which is more valuable.” She cringed as the words left; hearing them sounded so horrible. “A full life in a short amount of time is what I mean. Not the other . . .” She gulped, awkward. God, when had she ever been awkward? “How much of a mess do I have to be right now before you shut me up with a ride?” She laughed, but it fell flat.
Jason still ignored her.
Virginia would have gladly been buried under the asphalt at that moment.
“A hot mess?” another Warden asked, coming up behind Jason. “Are we talking about a girlfriend of yours, Jason?” He wore a vest and boots, the same as the others. About as old—though Virginia would probably remember his age instead of forgetting it the way she did with Jason. Sharp, beady eyes echoed a narrow, pointed beard. His bald head made him look a little satanic, echoing the undercurrent of danger present in all the others.
“I like a hot Southern mess,” Jason said to the man with a grin.
“He does like pageant girls,” Virginia replied, half horrified to hear herself talking again.
Jason was still ignoring her. He smacked the man on the chest. “Have you seen Aubrey?”
“Naw, brother,” the man said, sharp eyes looking Virginia up and down in appreciation. “Why you looking for her?” He offered Virginia his hand. “Flying Ace, but friends call me Ace. And you are?”
Virginia smiled. Finally, something familiar. “Virginia. I’m Tourmaline’s friend.”
“She’s eighteen,” Jason said, as if she were ten.
Ace smiled. “Perfect.”
Virginia laughed. “See, you know.” She winked. It seemed silly, standing there, to think she’d avoided this direction. Making friends, as Hazard put it, could have been easy. A close-her-eyes-and-gotten-it-over with sort of thing. She was much less valuable than she’d considered herself, in the end. But now there was no point.
Ace jerked his thumb at Jason. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a lost cause.”
“Conscript. What could you possibly have to say to her?” Jason said.
Cash looked up, mid-word it seemed, as he stood next to Tourmaline.
Virginia hoped Jason wasn’t watching Tourmaline’s cheeks, because they turned dead-giveaway red.
“Oh, nothing. I just came over to listen to you tell the girls how you picked out the paint to match the shade of blue in their eyes.”
“Oh, but it does match,” Virginia cut in, pulling Jason’s chin back toward her and away from blushing Tourmaline. She bent and put her sunglasses on her head, opening her eyes wide along the gas tank. “Look,” she said, meeting Jason’s eyes.
“Gorgeous,” Ace said.
Jason grunted and looked away.
“It is pretty damn close. Look,” Cash said, his arm brushing Tourmaline’s as he spoke.
Tourmaline blushed harder—like the pretty young thing Jason guarded. If only they could’ve seen her five minutes ago, telling Virginia to shut up about how she was going behind everybody’s back with Cash.
“Tourmaline, here, take my picture,” Virginia said, digging her phone out of her pocket and holding it out.
Tourmaline held up the phone, and Virginia smiled.
Jason frowned.
“Thanks,” Virginia said, straightening. “So when you going to take me for a ride?” she asked Jason.
“Never,” he said.
Virginia laughed. “We’ll see.”
“You’re going to be waiting a long time.”
Ace cleared his throat. “Uh. Jason.”
“I bet you I won’t wait that long,” Virginia purred, finally feeling that she was on steady ground and determined to keep his hazel eyes right on hers, even if they were bright with irritation.
“I wouldn’t be betting on those odds if I were—”
“Jason,” a woman squealed, bounding through the semicircle and into his chest, arms around his neck.
He staggered back a step, looking surprised, and his gaze flickered from Ace to Virginia to the woman at his chest. Then his hand went to her waist, and he smiled. “Hey, I was looking for you.”
“Well, here I am!” She pulled away and settled under his arm.
Virginia snorted. “You weren’t kidding,” she said to Ace. “He does like them crazy.”
Because, of course, the bouncing blonde was Miss Teen Virginia from four years ago, Aubrey Winthrop.
“Virginia,” Aubrey said, smiling. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Thanks, Aubrey. Good to see you.” The polite words and smile came out of habit, but then she wondered why she’d bothered.
“We competed for Miss Teen together the year I won,” Aubrey said, flashing her dimples at Jason. “Virginia was just a little thing then.”
“I wasn’t that little.” Saying it made her feel like she was in middle school. But it had been her first year working for Hazard, and she could have snapped Aubrey’s neck and taken the crown without a peep if she’d been told to.
Virginia’s stomach churned, and she felt all out of breath. This was all such bullshit anyhow. Bullshit, when she had Hazard trawling for her. Did she really want to say she’d spent her last days standing on sticky asphalt bickering with a man she didn’t give two shits about?
“You want to go for a ride, Aubrey?” Jason asked.
Virginia spun and walked away.