Page 89 of Windlass

AR:Yes, Stevie. So? You still with that Bridget girl?

Poor, dumb, pretty Bridget. Lana had described her as the base model for blonde jokes. Gorgeous, though. Angie had seen pictures of her on Lana’s socials, gazing at Lana in adoration.

Adoration made Lana shut down. Angie knew this, and it struck her, as she sat there staring at her phone, that there was a possibility she knew Lana better than any of the other women Lana dated, at least in some regards. And maybe Lana knew Angie, too. Bodies revealed certain truths under pressure. Lana fucked like someone trying to murder their ghosts. Angie had been willing to stand in for one, hoping Lana could kill some of hers, too. That wasn’t nothing. This was an ending. Angie should feel something besides emptiness.

LP:Let me know when she gets tired of your bullshit.

LP:Think she’ll stick around when you step out on her?

AR:Like you step out on Bridget?

LP:No.

LP:Like how you fucking hit and run

Angie blocked her.

God, she wanted to hit something. Biting her lip until the skin tasted faintly of copper, as it did right before it split, she stared at the walls of her room until her vision buzzed with the effort of keeping her temper in check.

It wasn’t that she had a temper, exactly. It was that on the rare occasions when she did get angry, it erupted, and everything she’d tamped down since the last time she’d lit up came with it.

Lighting up. That would help. She fumbled around her desk until she found her pipe and a jar of weed grown by Stormy’s brewer, and she curled up in the chair by her window.

It took off the edge. She listened to the wind in the evening sky and traced the patterns of the barn swallows against the fading blue. Then she texted Stevie.

AR:Morgan can’t keep you out of my bed forever

She took another hit while she waited for Stevie to reply. Her hands shook. If she narrowed her world to this, weed and Stevie, she could handle it.

SW:Should I tell Morgan you’re threatening her?

AR:Any more cases?

SW:Why, want something?

AR:Presumptuous much?

Yes. She did. Desperately. Not in the way she usually wanted Lana, but— She fumbled the bowl and set it down before she dropped it.Wasit in the way she usually used Lana? Pressure beat at her temples.

SW:Always making an ass of you and me. Or maybe just your ass. Can I assume your ass?

Stevie’s lame joke cracked a smile on her face, breaking the rising flood of panic. This was Stevie. Angie always wanted Stevie. If occasionally it was for the wrong reasons was that really such a problem?

AR:You tell me

SW:You show me

Easy enough. She scrolled through the photos on her phone and sent one she knew would crack Stevie up: a shot of some baby donkeys Stevie had sent her a few months ago.

SW:I can’t even be mad, look how cute they are

Slowly, her face relaxed and then her shoulders relaxed until the feeling of spinning dangerously out of control diminished.

If she told Stevie about what had happened at Stormy’s, would she freak out? Angie wouldn’t blame her after the bullshit with the picture Lana had shown Stevie. Honestly, she really needed to stop sending compromising pictures to people who wouldn’t hesitate to use them against her. Or would Stevie understand even if it hurt?

What would she say? “I ran into Lana at Stormy’s and had a bit of a meltdown” didn’t quite sum up events. It wasn’t like she’d sought out Lana. Lana had found her.

Lana wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Angie had reached for Lana in that moment of blind panic, and if Lana hadn’t turned her down out of disgust, Angie would have betrayed the one real thing Stevie had asked of her.

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