Page 8 of Rowdy Hearts

The women surrounding the booth all looked like models. Perfect hair and makeup, silk blouses and jeans that looked like they’d been painted on. But tastefully. And some of these women wore Louboutins. Maybe my bias was showing, but I didn’t realize that women in middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania dressed in designer clothes to go to a roadside bar.

Then again, maybe I just felt like a half-dead cat left by the side of the road, even if I was wearing my own designer gown and Louboutin heels.

Just thinking about my feet made them throb even more than they already were. I didn’t know how far I’d had to walk carrying Krista, but I wouldn’t have stopped until I got her out of the cold.

I couldn’t believe my car had blown a tire. It was like the moststupid plot twist of a bad horror movie. And I should know because I’d been in a few pretty damn bad horror movies in another life.

But, of course, it had to be so damn cold I could see my breath. Why the hell was it so cold? It was mid-October. It wasn’t supposed to be freezing. At least, it hadn’t been in New York when I’d buckled Krista into her booster seat, and we’d driven out of the city as fast as I could, headed for…wherever we’d ended up.

I hadn’t been thinking of anything more than getting away. From my mom, my sister, my ex. From everyone who wanted something from me.

Damn my mom for guilting me into doing that damn concert. I never would’ve agreed to it if I’d known what she’d been planning.

And now I was stuck in…

I focused my attention on the nearest woman, a blonde who looked like she’d just stepped off a film set. Maybe there were hidden cameras somewhere. Or maybe I’d just lived in New York City too long because when I’d first seen this place, I’d figured everyone here would be wearing overalls and shitkickers.

Well, the joke was on me, in more ways than one tonight.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry, but where exactly are we?”

The blonde, whose name was Romy or Ronny or something that started with an R. “Well, we’re not quite within the city limits, but we consider anything within twenty miles part of St. David.”

“Is this…Pennsylvania?”

The look the woman gave me made me think I’d guessed wrong. “Honey, how long were you driving?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

The women went quiet, and I felt the gaze of every single one of them in the semicircle around me. I wanted to squirm but forced myself to be still. I wasn’t used to being in the spotlightanymore. I’d spent most of my teenage years in it and the last eight trying to avoid it at all costs. It’d kept me and Krista safe from prying eyes. Sure, every now and then some member of the press would want to do one of those “Where are they now” interviews, but I always turned them down. I didn’t want to talk about my past.

The brunette in the booth across from me—I thought her name was Crystal—reached across the table and put her hand over mine.

“Is someone chasing you? Someone you don’t want to find you? Trust me, some of us have been there. We know what to do. We can help. If you want.”

I blinked, pretty sure Crystal had just asked if I wanted to disappear. First of all, no one had ever offered to help me before. I’d always been the one people came to for help. Well, for money, anyway.

These women were offering to help with seemingly no ulterior motive. But everyone had an ulterior motive. No one offered anything for free. There was always a catch.

“No, no one’s chasing me.” At least, I hoped that was true. I didn’t think my mom would actually send someone after me. Even with this much money on the line, Bebe Meyers wouldn’t want a public scandal. Unless it earned her more money, then she’d be all for it.

Crystal didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push.

“Okay. Then how can we help you tonight?”

Reflexively, I looked around the room, but I didn’t see the man who’d caught me in his arms. I did see Krista smiling at Mitzi, who held Krista’s hand as she talked an older couple.

“Oh, don’t worry about your daughter.” Crystal’s voice soothed. “She’s perfectly safe. You’re with the Devils now. They may look like a bunch of heathens, but they won’t let anyone hurt you.”

I blinked up at Crystal. “Devils?”

Crystal grinned and nodded toward the other side of the room, where the “heathens” were gathered. “The St. David Devils. Otherwise known as the ST Double-Ds.”

I could not have heard that correctly. “Excuse me.”

Crystal’s grin widened. “The Devils are the worst team in the Northeast Professional Hockey League and the most fun you’ll ever have at an ice rink.”

Should those words mean something? My brain must’ve been addled by the cold, because nothing was making sense.

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