Page 33 of Trailer Trash

I kept my glass up and gave him a half-shrug. “This and that.”

“Where’d you take off to when you left?”

“Tulsa,” I lied.

“Working in the industry?”

“I got out.”

“You leave with Branson? He took off around the same time, from what I hear.”

“Nope.” I took a drink, hoping my hand didn’t shake. Branson. I wasn’t surprised Stan had asked. “Once I found out he was cheating, I took off.”

Stan snorted. “That’s a lie.”

Jed’s hand curled into a fist, but Stan didn’t seem to notice.

I gave Stan a look so cold I was sure his testicles shrank to the size of acorns. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just that he cheated before that . . .” he stammered, caught off guard. “And you didn’t do anything about it then.”

“The last time was different. He was cheating with my best friend.”

I took another drink and looked up on the stage. Nothing much had changed. Same sad décor. Same damn poles—I could tell by the chip at the top of the one on the left, although the indentation was bigger now. Even a few of the same damn customers. I felt dirty being here, not necessarily from what I’d done on that stage—the money I’d made here had helped me survive—but everything else. Being here was like toweling off from a shower with an oily rag.

Branson. Beasley. Stella.

They were in my past, yet I still hadn’t lost the stink of them. Maybe I didn’t deserve to.

I downed the glass and set it on the counter. “Get me another.”

“Only the first one’s free,” Stan said.

“She’s covered,” Jed growled. “Now get her drink.”

I finally glanced back at him. He seemed like a firework about to go off at any moment. Why was he pissed? Did he want to leave? It seemed unlikely, since he’d insisted Stan get me another drink.

Stan refilled my glass, and I took a generous sip. I felt both hollow inside and full of regret, kind of like when you have a stomach virus and you can’t tell if you’re hungry or need to vomit. It was a familiar feeling even if it had dulled over the last few years. I had yet to find a cure, but at least I had a crutch. I took another sip, needing to drown it all out.

What was I doing here? I needed to accept that I’d done terrible things. I should be running to the farthest corners of the earth and praying I was never found.

The things I’d done . . .

They were locked up tight in my vault of secrets, but the liquor burning through my blood made it feel like someone was loosening the handle.

Jed leaned over to my ear. “Neely Kate, is there anyone else you want to talk to here?”

I glanced back at him, surprised by the softness in his eyes.

“No.” I needed to talk to Carla, but I didn’t want to give her a heads-up either. I turned to Stan. “I want to surprise Carla, so don’t tell her I came in, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” he said, wiping the bar again. He was nervous. Why?

Jed looked torn, but he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and tossed it on the counter before he stood.

“Hey! Drinks are fifteen!” Stan protested.

“Please,” Jed sneered. “It’s watered down and a knockoff at that, poured into a top-shelf bottle. You’re lucky I’m payin’ you at all.”

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