Page 47 of Halfway to Hell
It took everything in her not to argue. Taking his money felt heavy, like it came with a weight she hadn’t earned. But she would pay him back somehow, someday for everything he’d done for her and everything he still was.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Then, without giving herself time to overthink it, Sunday grabbed him by the shirt collar and tugged him down into a kiss—one meant for the whole town to see.
Texas didn’t mind being kissed by Sunday—not one bit. He liked it. And he didn’t care who saw them together. He knew peoplewere watching too; it was Friday night downtown, and the sidewalks were full.
Families headed toward the park where a movie was playing under the stars, while others lined up at the food trucks parked along the street, the scent of fried dough and grilled meats hanging in the crisp fall air. Couples strolled hand in hand, kids darted between benches, and laughter floated on the breeze. But none of it mattered. Not when Sunday kissed him like that.
Texas held the door open for Sunday, letting her step inside first before following her in. He draped an arm around her shoulders, casually pulling her close as they wandered through the store. It didn’t take long to spot Cree and Kennedy near the back.
“Okay, ladies,” Texas said with a teasing smile, “please don’t disappear on us without a heads-up.”
“Same goes for you boys.” Sunday joked as Kennedy dragged her away from Texas.
They weaved through the crowd of locals browsing storefronts, the evening alive with chatter and footsteps. Kennedy suddenly squealed, clapping her hands like a kid on Christmas morning. Grabbing Sunday’s hand, she pulled her into a faster pace.
“Where are you dragging me now, Kennedy?” Sunday asked, struggling to keep up.
Kennedy swung the door open to a second-hand clothing store and grinned over her shoulder. “A second-hand store. Trust me.”
“Oh, this is perfect,” Sunday said, her excitement growing. A second-hand store meant her money would stretch a lot fartherthan at those other places. You’d think St. Tite was Rodeo Drive with the way some of those stores priced things.
“I need clothes more suitable for riding the bike. And some for work, too.” Sunday paused, trying to think of everything she needed. “Damn, I should’ve made a list.”
Kennedy laughed, caught up in Sunday’s excitement. She was right, they were going to be great friends. Kennedy could definitely use someone like Sunday.
“Just remember,” Kennedy said with a smile, “you can always come back.”
Sunday gave her new bestie a wide grin as they moved deeper into the shop.
Wandering through the aisles, Sunday dug through a rack of jeans, searching for her size or at least something that fit better than what she already owned. After a few moments, she pulled four pairs from the rack and headed toward the dressing rooms.
On her way, she spotted Kennedy deep in another rack, browsing through slacks. Sunday waved to get her attention and pointed toward the dressing rooms. Once Kennedy nodded back, Sunday continued toward the row of small fitting rooms.
She asked for a dressing room and slipped into the last one, closing the door behind her. It didn’t take long to try on all four pairs of jeans, but none fit right. Standing barefoot on a small pile of discarded denim, Sunday stared at her thin reflection in the mirror and felt a familiar sting of self-loathing.
A soft knock on the door startled her, pulling her out of the spiral.
“Sunday, how’s it going?” Kennedy called through the door.
“Not great. I need a smaller size.”
“Alright, give me those,” Kennedy said without hesitation. She didn’t ask for specifics, just grabbed two smaller pairs to try. Some girls didn’t like talking about their weight, she reminded herself.
A few minutes later, Kennedy returned and tossed the jeans over the door. Then she waited.
After about five minutes, the door opened. “How’d those fit?”
“They both fit,” Sunday said.
“Awesome. So, what else do you need for now?”
With the spring weather still on the cooler side, Sunday realized she needed something warmer. “Some long-sleeved shirts. Not blouses. Thermals, maybe. And a jacket.”
Kennedy glanced down at Sunday’s worn sneakers. “What about boots?”
“If we can find some that fit me.”
