I watched him leave, his boots thudding against the wooden floor, each step echoing like a warning bell in my head. My heart pounded as I stared at the drink in front of me, my mind swirling with his words.
Could he be right?
No. Trip wasn’t capable of something so cold, so calculated.
The bartender slid the fresh beer across the counter, and I caught it without looking up. “You all right there, C.C.?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.
I forced a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Yeah, just fine. People love stirrin’ the pot, that’s all.”
She gave me a skeptical glance but left it alone, moving on to another customer. I was grateful for her silence. My hands trembled as I wrapped them around the bottle, the cool glass grounding me for a moment. Taking a long sip of the beer, I hoped the cool liquid would ease the burn in my chest. Through the dim hum of the bar’s chatter, my mind reeled, replaying Crane’s accusations like a broken record.
I knew there was no way Trip sabotaged the very engine he designed. He was like me. Focused and driven. He wanted that checkered flag as much as I did, and I knew he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. No. Trip had nothing to do with his parents’ accident. I saw his face when he told me what had happened that night.
That night still haunted him.
Yet something Crane said bugged me.
It was right there, just out of reach in my head.
But Crane’s words lingered like stubborn smoke in a room with no windows. I clenched my fists around the bottle, the glass biting into my palms as I tried to ignore the seed of doubt he’d planted. I didn’t trust him—not with his sharp grin and sharper tongue—but his insinuations had a way of wriggling under my skin, feeding on my own fears.
Trip would never. I repeated it like a mantra, steadying myself against the storm raging in my chest. Yet, there was a part of me, a small, shameful part, that couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been blind. People always say you never really know someone, not entirely.
I pushed the thought away, disgusted with myself for even entertaining it. Instead, I pulled out my phone, scrolling mindlessly through messages until I landed on Trip’s name. My thumb hovered over the call button. What would I even say?“Hey, remember the guy you fired? Yeah, he thinks you’re a backstabber. Thoughts?”
Not exactly a conversation starter.
The bar’s door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air that cut through the smoky warmth of the room. I glanced up instinctively, my stomach twisting when I caught a glimpse of the newcomer. It wasn’t Trip, but the way they moved—calculated, deliberate—set me on edge. The figure scanned the bar before settling their gaze on me.
I pretended not to notice, lifting the beer to my lips and taking another swig. But my pulse quickened, and an uneasy chill crept up my spine. This wasn’t just a random passerby. They were here for a reason, and I had a sinking feeling that reason was me.
“You are one hard bitch to track down.”
“What can I do for you, Bailey?”
“I’m trying something new.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m going to listen to you explain that stick up your ass, before I kick it so fucking deep you’re gonna have splinters in your fucking throat.”
Chapter Eighteen
C.C.
“Let me get this straight,” I slurred as I leaned forward in my chair, waving my finger back and forth. “King lowjacked you?”
“Yep.” Bailey smirked, slowly nodding her head. “Didn’t even ask. Just had my bestie slap a bracelet on my wrist and sent me on my merry way.”
“What did you do?” I asked, pouring another shot of tequila into the shot glass for the both of us.
“Threw a goddamned hissy fit,” she hiccupped. “You see, they are these big badass men and we little women desperately need their help, and King had no problem leading the charge. Fucker thought he knew what was best and refused to listen to anyone.”
“Yeah. I get that,” I groaned. “Trip says he’s trying to protect me. I don’t need protection. Don’t they realize women are more than capable of taking care of themselves?”
Bailey chuckled, her laughter unsteady as she reached for another chip. “Oh, and let’s not forget the whole macho‘I’m the boss’thing. Like, excuse me? Last I checked, I didn’t need help to wipe my own ass!”
I clinked my glass against hers and sighed, feeling the tequila heating my insides. “Don’t even get me started. Trip is on some power trip because the men with dicks have decided it’s too dangerous for a fragile thing like me to drive. Who do they think we are, damsels in distress from some medieval fairy tale?”
