Page 12 of The Ones We Fight For

“I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna go get my burger and maybe a milkshake because I deserve it, and on the way back, if I see that your car is still here, I’m going to come back in here and pull you out by your ear.”

“Geez. Remind me to call you if I ever need backup in a fight.”

“Girl, it’d probably be me starting the fight on your behalf.” Amala grinned.

Laughing, Talia promptly closed her laptop, well aware that if she didn’t comply immediately, she would forget herself and work even later. The consequences would be worse than the gains from having balanced bank accounts.

"Sometimes I feel like you are managing me even though I own this store.” Getting up from her seat, Talia slung her purse over her shoulder and followed Amala to the door.

“I manage everyone in my life.” Amala lifted her chin. “My husband pretends he doesn’t like it either, but who else is gonna throw out his holey underwear? If you can sit on the toilet without having to take your underwear off, they have got to go. This man’s out here wearing undergarments that look like they’ve gone through a cheese grater, and I’m supposed to not manage him?”

“I promise you my underwear aren’t holey—well, they’re lace. Does that count as holey?” Talia reached for the door and pushed it open, shoving her key into the lock after Amala had followed her out.

“No, that just counts as uncomfortable. I only wear those when I’m expecting someone to take them off.” Amala winked.

Talia snapped her fingers together and pointed at Amala. “And that’s how baby number two was created.”

“You got a hot date I don’t know about waiting at home?” Amala shouted over her shoulder, making her way to her own car.

The word “hot” conjured up an image of Walker in Talia’s head that she quickly batted away like a pesky fly. When she and Amala had discussed Talia’s many unpleasant encounters with the man, Amala had been more than happy to talk shit about him, as any good friend would do. She’d also called Talia’s bluff when Talia had attempted to back out of a line of questioning that involved descriptions of Walker’s tousled dark hair, deep brown eyes, and rugged features. Any mention of Walker now—even jokingly—would ignite another conversation about his supposed sex appeal. Talia carefully sidestepped the dating conversation entirely.

“I’ve been here for two weeks. What do you think?” Talia unlocked the door to her rental car—the Lexus was still in the shop—and grimaced when she felt the dirt on the underside of the handle coat her fingertips. She liked things to be neat and orderly, and the old sedan was an ugly bright yellow color, faded from sun exposure. Unlike the Lexus, though, when you hit the brakes, it stopped on a dime.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Amala singsonged.

Talia snorted. “Nope, I’m going home alone. I’ll probably try to finish the book I’m reading, because if I’m going to be awake at all hours of the night with insomnia, I might as well spend it with a fictional man.”

“You know what also occupies time in the middle of the night? Copious amounts of great sex.” Amala smirked as she opened her car door.

Talia let an easy smile bloom across her face. That bluntness was why she and Amala had immediately hit it off. Amala was unapologetically herself: loud, funny, and sincere. Meanwhile, Talia had tried her entire life to be perfect for everyone else. She loved the way that Amala could peel back layers of vulnerability without even trying. There was something freeing about having someone to bounce ideas off of again.

“You’re relentless.” Talia dramatically threw herself behind the wheel, feigning the incapability to sex anyone up due to pure exhaustion. “See you on Monday. If you show up for work in the morning, I will kick your ass out!”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m going to catch up on the latest trashy TV show and sit in my pajamas all day,” Amala shouted back. “See ya!”

While Talia pulled out of the parking lot, Amala’s commentary about impractical underwear echoed in her head. She became intensely aware of the lace riding up and scratching against her skin. Wiggling in her seat to try to dislodge the fabric from its position, she groaned in annoyance when she failed, leaving both hands on the steering wheel.

Damn. These things really are uncomfortable.

Truth be told, Talia didn’t have much in the way of normal clothes other than workout gear and pajamas. She had dressed as a New Yorker for so long—that is, she was expected to dress up for work—that throwing on her pencil skirts and button-down blouses had become second nature. She didn’t enjoy dressing that way, but it was a fact of life when you were on retainer for high-paying clients and taking meetings all day with men dressed in Armani suits.

If Talia didn’t dress to the nines every day at her previous job, the men wouldn’t take her seriously. Even with her professional outfits, she still had to prove over and over that she wasn’t just assigned cases so the partners or clients would have “something attractive” to look at. That was the exact phrasing one of her colleagues had used when she had gotten a case over him once. It was one of the many reasons Talia had left New York City and why, on her last day of work, she had left a cactus that looked like a middle finger on her co-worker’s desk. The attached card that said “You don’t have to water this a lot. I know how much you love to put zero effort into everything you do.” was just an added touch. Was it petty? Sure. Would she cherish the look on his face till the day she died? Absolutely.

There were only a few cars out on the road that late at night. The quietness that loomed over everything at that hour was peaceful—New York was never that silent. Talia didn’t miss the nightlife of The City That Never Sleeps at all. She loved staying in and taking hot bubble baths while devouring her latest romance novel. She liked quiet coffee shops, even if they were accompanied by irritating men named after medical devices with tennis balls attached to the legs.

Five minutes out from her house, Talia spotted a dark figure along the side of the road. She slowed her car and narrowed her eyes warily on the spot. Deer wandered around town like they owned it, and she would be convinced the universe was out to get her if she got into another car accident. As she crawled closer, ready to slam on the brakes if necessary, the picture became clearer. It wasn’t a deer at all. It was a girl, hunched over with her hands on her knees and vomiting profusely. Quickly maneuvering to the shoulder of the road, Talia threw her vehicle in park and took off in a hurried jog toward the girl.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Talia asked, approaching who she now realized had to be a teenager. The girl couldn’t have been over twenty, if Talia had to bet.

“I’m okay, jusss… really drunk,” the girl slurred and rose to her full height, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand and stumbling a little. Her blonde hair, with its tips dyed black, swayed with her unsteady footing, and her blue eyes were glossed over. Talia stepped forward and set her hands on the girl’s shoulders to steady her.

“I can see that.” Talia nodded. “Why are you out here by yourself?”

“It’s a bit of a long story.” The girl giggled, looking a little worse for wear. “It’s not actually funny. I don’t know why I’m laughing.”

Carefully pulling the teenager away from the vomit puddle pooling in the gravel, Talia directed her toward the car without questioning it. It was far too late for someone to be wandering around drunk on the streets, and she doubted the girl was sober enough to care about stranger danger.

“Can you get in the car, or do you need help?” Talia shuffled her feet along the dirt, bearing most of the weight for the two of them.

---