Page 15 of Stray

“I don’t need to know about you and your… ladies. I used to change your diapers.”

“Did you get–” I jump at the sound of Ozzy’s voice behind me. I turn around and see her standing with a basket of items. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She gives me an uncomfortable smile while eyeing Theo. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Well, that’s a tone I haven’t heard from her before. I have to fight the smirk pulling at my lips. I watch her shake her head and look away from me.

“My god,” Theo whistles. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Theo, pleased to meet you.” She grins and sticks out her tanned, rough hand. Ozzy places her paler, soft, and tattooed one in Theo’s. Hmm… interesting. I’m suddenly annoyed that Ozzy is willing to shake Theo’s hand but won’t touch mine.

“Ozzy, I’m a nurse for the Rowe’s.” Theo smacks my chest.

“Oh shit! This’n here is the one Derek’s girl called out?” Theo grins brightly. “Well, I’ll look forward to seeing you at the ranch when I get back to work.” Ozzy looks from Theo to me, then back.

“Oh, you work at the Ranch?”

“Yes, ma’am, all my life. Those boys and Mama Dorothy have been caring for me since my mother popped me out and said, ‘See you later.’ Jackson and them are my brothers.” Did Tink just relax? No. I must’ve been imagining things. We talk for a few more minutes before Theo says her goodbyes, and we grab Pop’s medication. We walk over to the checkout, where I suddenly become very aware of the other shoppers and how they are staring at Ozzy. She doesn’t seem to pay them any mind as she scrolls on her phone, that is until the sound of a phone camera goes off. I look up to see Dean Hickerson with his phone pointed directly at Ozzy. Dean is the town’s gossip. He started a neighborhood social media page and uses it basically to upload pictures of people double parking, loitering, or whatever else he deems a nuisance. Ozzy will not be the next photo he posts.

“Jackson, don’t.” I hear Ozzy say as I storm over to the snickering man. Dean is about sixty, beer gut, red-faced, and balding. His wife left him ten years ago because he loves his stupid motorcycle club more than he did her. All this to say, I understand he doesn’t have much going for him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow him to hurt Tink.

He’s laughing with the store manager when I walk up and snatch his phone out of his meaty hand. “What the hell, Rowe!” He booms as I thumb through the photos. I hold him back as I find several of Ozzy. What the fuck, was he following her through the store? I scroll up, ignoring the pictures of naked women he has saved, and then freeze. I recognize the outfit Ozzy had on in the photo.

“Dean, I swear to Christ,” I growl as I grip the man by the collar of his shirt. “Keep reaching for the phone, and I’m gonna embarrass the fuck outta you.” I look back at the photo. It was taken the night Ozzy went to town for Mom. The next day, she asked where the nearest city was, and I…

“No, I was going to say if you didn’t want them to stare, maybe don’t walk around covered in metal and tattoos. You obviously enjoy the attention, so don’t feign being offended because they are giving you what you’re asking for.”

I fucking hate myself when it dawns on me. She was asking because this stupid fuck must’ve been following her then too, and she was uncomfortable, and I was a fucking prick. Shaking the memory and guilt off, I select all the photos from the oldest of Ozzy to the current and delete them from his phone and cloud before shoving him back, taking his cell phone and smacking it on the conveyor belt, cracking the camera in the process.

“New rule,” I state firmly. “I find you or any of your hillbilly biker buddies snapping pictures or even so much as glancing at that sweet girl. I’m gonna do that to your fucking face. Understood?” I glare down at the man as he nods and scurries off. I see Ozzy standing by the entrance, her cheeks stained pink. Walking over, I take the bags from her, shocked she doesn’t put up a fight, and we walk out the door.

Once we are in the truck and she starts the ignition, Ozzy lets out a shaky breath before speaking. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know,” I say casually. “In fact, I am pretty sure you told me not to.”

“Right,” she whispers. “I just… I don’t know what to do with that.”

“With what? He was being an asshole, I stopped him. Say thanks, or don’t, it doesn’t really matter, and move on.” Oh my god, is she about to cry? I watch her fading black-stained bottom lip begin to tremble. I’m about to say something when I watch her flinch and realize what she’s doing... She’s shutting down. I’ve only seen it happen once before, my brother, Derek, when he was married and found his now ex-wife getting fucked by his best friend, and he beat that man nearly to death. When it was over, and he walked away, he shut off the same way.

“Tink?”

“You ready to go?” She asks, and without waiting for my response, she pulls out of the space to head back to the ranch.

Ozzy

“What in the fuck did you do to your shirt?” Morris asks as I walk into his room carrying the bags from the store. Setting the bags down on his dresser, I turn to stare at him. “And your pants. I know you’re getting paid enough to have pants without holes in them.”

“Now, Morris, if I were to cover up, how would the world know I’m in desperate need of attention?” I try to tease him while setting up his pills. Honestly, that trip wore me out emotionally. Between the crowd, that jerk taking pictures, and Jackson… goddamn it, I need to stop with him. I keep having these moments where, I don’t know, it’s almost like I can feel myself lower my guard with him, which is a fucking terrible idea.

“I heard Jackson let you drive his truck.” I look over my shoulder, raising a brow.

“Oh, and where did you hear that?”

“Theo called to say there had been quite a scene in the store.” I wince before I regain my composure. God, that was humiliating. That fucking asshole would not stop pestering me while I was in the store. The constant snickers and shutter sounds fueled my anxiety, just like the last time I had gone to the store. People see me with all my tattoos, piercings, strange hair, and clothes and think I’m weird. I get that, and usually, I can just let it go, but Jackson took me by surprise when he got so angry and called me a sweet girl. I know for a fact no one has ever used that phrase when talking about me. But he did, and… I liked it.

Fucking knock it off!

“Yeah, well,” I give him a slight chuckle, ridding myself of the preposterous thoughts. “You should know better than to send my ass out there. The villagers might grab their pitchforks or throw their bibles and holy water at me. And that’ll ruin my very expensive makeup.” I force a grin that I don’t feel, and Morris stares at me, no laugh, no smile. I feel uncomfortable for the first time with him, and it’s for no reason other than he is seeing through my bullshit. Like he knows what happened bothered me, and I can’t have that. I won’t. I can’t allow these people to lower a guard I’ve spent five years perfecting. Unable to handle the silence anymore, I continue grabbing items out of the bags as I speak. “I am sorry if Jackson got into trouble, though he should’ve kept his big mouth shut like I said.”

Morris waves me off, “I didn’t raise my kids to keep their heads down when someone is being hurt.”

Rolling my eyes, I go to check his monitors. “I wasn’t being hurt,” I mutter before sitting in my chair and propping my feet up.

“Really?” he says, his voice unamused. “Because you look kind of like a kicked puppy.”

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