Page 6 of Wolf.e

I down the other half of the glass and that’s when it fully hits me. I’m sick of all of it. Sick of bosses who think they can push me around for three years, a selfish boyfriend who thinks I’m going to just wait around while he lives his dream and I get better at ‘being better’ for him. Because who Brinley Rose Beaumont is, apparently isn’t good enough for Evan Radcliffe the second.

I stand and look down at him, every fiber of my being telling me to be strong and that this isn’t absolutely crazy. For once in my life, I don’t take the time to overthink. I follow my gut.

“I’m not willing to wait around while you decide if I’m good enough for you or not.” I shrug, saying the words barely above a whisper. “So, I guess what I’m saying is… good luck in New York…” One fat tear slides down my cheek as I watch the years between us evaporate.

“Come on, Brinley, babe,” Evan says, leaning back in his chair, but there’s no real fight in him. He doesn’t even stand.

I turn on my heel using every bit of confidence I have to keep walking. I hope he’ll follow, I hope he’ll tell me he’s ready to give me a future, but by the time I’ve made it to the lobby and onto Atlanta’s streets, it’s obvious he isn’t. I pull my phone out to get myself an Uber.

While I wait, fighting back more tears, I realize four things. I have no job, I’m about to have no place to live, I wasted a completely good piece of cheesecake, and this entire day officially sucks.

Two Weeks Later

I use the tiny umbrella in my drink to stir the sugary liquid around in slow circles, while I stifle back my tears. I cried the whole way here. I’m the blubbery mess in the corner even though the air in this club is happy. My mother would be appalled I’m even out in public looking like I just rolled out of bed. The night is alive in Savannah. It’s only 9:30 p.m. and I needed to take a break from driving, plus I really had to pee. It was then I realized I’m in no hurry, I don’t owe anything to anyone, and a drink after the two weeks I’ve had sure sounded good.

The rooftop patio at The Crystal Cave is bustling for a Thursday night—music plays, and twinkle lights mixed with greenery dance against the rustic wood pergolas overhead. Lanterns and flameless candles give the outdoor deck a moody ambience as they flicker throughout the space. It’s dark and the beat of the song playing courses through my chest as I contemplate my next steps.

I still have a thirty-minute drive ahead of me to my hometown of Harmony, Georgia, the small-ish ,southern town I grew up in. Population 9,000, until today. After today it will be 9,001.

My parents vacant house is the only place on Earth I have left to go after I spent the last two weeks packing up my life and all my belongings that were in Evan’s apartment in Atlanta. Almost everything was his. I was just an add on. Our life wasn’t unpleasant, so I guess I stayed because it was expected… easy. I realize now that easy isn’t always right, and that hit me when I hugged him goodbye and we promised to remain friends. I wasn’t even sad, just a little angry that I didn’t see it sooner.

I swallow down my piña colada. I wish I could have another but anymore and I’ll be too tipsy to drive because, truthfully, I don’t ever drink more than one.

I log into my banking app to view my dismal savings and severance, calculating how long that will last me. I’ll need to get a job right away. And if design jobs aren’t available, I could always pick up some shifts at the diner, if Mrs. Palmer still owns it—

“Jelly!?”

My childhood nickname is called from behind me. Yelled rather, with a squeal at a deafening level even over the thump of the music. I turn to meet the owner and my eyes instantly start to tear up. I stand, because she’s coming toward me, fast.

“Oh my god, PB!” I don’t even get the words out before I’m pulled into a crushing hug with my childhood best friend, Layla, the peanut butter to my jelly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks as I take in her appearance. Layla looks different than the last time I was in town two years ago, and vastly different from our senior year in high school, but she’s stunning.

Layla and I were inseparable when we were young, best friends since we were eight. Now, she’s ultra sexy, her long, naturally dark hair is almost fire engine red, and her entire arm is covered in tattoos. On top of her head is a makeshift sparkly wedding veil. She wears a sash across her chest that says Property of Ax and a massive pear-shaped diamond on her ring finger.

We look strikingly different, I imagine. Layla is small, only five-foot-two and tiny all around. I have a good four or five inches on her and my body is curvy—I could never fit my ass in her jeans. I’m not complaining, I’m proud of my curves and work hard to maintain them with daily yoga.

Where Layla is shiny and nightclub ready, I’m rocking my tights and my oversized Nirvana t shirt, no makeup, my long, dark hair in a big messy bun.

“I’m not sure why I’m here, prolonging going to an empty house maybe,” I answer as three other women come to join us, chattering away.

They all look the same as Layla does, for the most part, and are all strikingly beautiful.

“I don’t understand. You’re going home?” she asks as I glance past her to the three ominous men behind Layla’s shoulder. My stomach drops into my feet when I realize they’re all together. It’s impossible not to notice them. They’re all leather-clad, tall, muscular, and they’re gruff, with beards of various growth. One has a bandana covering his head and they all wear leather vests that tell me which motorcycle club they belong to—Hounds of Hell. They’re a good fifteen feet away from me but I can smell their leather and smoke. As if on cue, one of them pulls a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth and lights it.

“Only you could be out in glorified pajamas and still look this beautiful,” she observes, pulling me from my stare as she takes in my outfit.

I half listen to Layla as I eye the men behind her again and look back to her in question, why are they here?

She giggles. “Ignore them, they’re harmless, just making sure we stay safe. This is my bachelorette party! My wedding is in nine days!” She smiles wide.

It’s like a sucker punch to the gut to remember this after the couple weeks I’ve just had. I think of her wedding invite I turned down two months ago because Evan and I were supposed to be away with friends.

“Layla, what have you gotten yourself into?” I whisper with wide eyes so the other girls can’t hear. They’re talking to each other and have no concern for the dangerous men behind them either.

Layla can say whatever she wants but these men? Harmless? My ass.

“Brin, you know me, I wouldn’t give my life to a man I didn’t feel safe with, you’re doing the thing the whole town does. Don’t judge,” she scolds me.

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