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Ivy
I wake up just before noon feeling pretty damn good. My talk with Stone last night cleared the air.
We finally got our shit together and decided to give our friendship another shot. As I stretch, a smile creeps onto my face. It’s the kind of happiness that’s been MIA for way too long.
I zombie-walk to the kitchen, following the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I’m glad I remembered to program it last night. As I pour myself a cup, I can’t stop thinking about how wild it is that so much has changed so fast.
Phone in hand, I flop onto the couch and start doom-scrolling through social media. At this hour, I’m lowkey curious about what’s up with everyone I used to know. It’s not like I’m thirsty for drama or anything—everyone I actually give a shit about is right here in Opey. But still, it’s a mindless way to pass the time while my brain boots up.
A pic catches my eye and makes me smile. It’s Sage, sandwiched between her fearless squad. They’re all flipping off the camera, tipsy grins plastered across their faces like they own the night.
It’s pure Sage energy, and I smile. She’s living her best life, throwing punches at the past without looking back. I love that for her.
My phone starts vibrating and ringing in my hand, and even though it startles me, I welcome the distraction. I recognize the number, so I pick it up with a smile. “Hey, Hazel.”
“Oh, Ivy! Thank God you answered. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “Nah. Just having coffee and doomscrolling. What’s up?”
“I’m at the club,” she sighs, and I can practically hear her rubbing her temples. “We’re unloading two shipments, but the third one’s MIA, and no one’s picking up the damn phone.”
I down the rest of my coffee, knowing my afternoon of bingeing Netflix is about to be canceled. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to head to Dallas and pick up the shipment. It’s too much for your car, but you can take one of the trucks. You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, Hazel. I’m happy to help.” I toss my phone on the bed and grab some jeans and a tee from my closet. “I’ll swing by for the truck as soon as I’m dressed. You can give me the details when I get there.”
“Thanks so much, Ivy. I knew I could count on you.”
I smile at the compliment. It feels good knowing the people I care about can hit me up when they need me. I lace up my black work boots, snag my bag and charger, and head to the Barn Door. Hazel’s waiting outside with a stack of papers, keys to a blue pickup, and some cash for gas and food. “I’ll call if there’s any drama.”
“Yep. But there won’t be. I hope. If so, channel your inner bitch because we need that shipment. Tonight.”
“I’m on it, Hazel. No sweat.” I hop in the truck, crank up my favorite country rock playlist, and hit the interstate, vibing with the solo drive.
My mind clears with each mile, and soon I’m feeling pretty damn good, belting out lyrics like I’m headlining my own show. Traffic’s not too bad, so I make it to the warehouse in no time, still riding the high of my imaginary concert.
I pull into the unloading zone, and a big bruiser approaches the cab. “What can I do for ya, sweetheart?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and offer the guy a smile as I climb down and head for the office. “I’m here to pick up a shipment you didn’t deliver to my boss for some reason.” He follows me inside as I give him the details and watch as his eyes light up. I like to establish the territory from the get-go.
“Oh, yeah. You work there?”
Here we go. “Look, man, I’m just here to pick up the boxes. Do you have them, or are you giving me a refund?” Hazel had no reason to worry about my inner boss bitch. She’s always ready to go. “Well?”
“Just give me a minute,” he grunts before typing something into the old computer on the desk. “It’s around back. Did you bring a dolly?”
I laugh. “No, because my boss paid for delivery, so the very least you can do is load it up for me and refund the delivery charge.” I cross my arms, ignoring the way his gaze settles on my tits, even though they’re covered up.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “Pull around to the service entrance and back into the middle bay.”
I flash a victorious grin even though he’s no longer paying attention to me. “Thanks so much.”
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m back on the road, blasting a full country playlist and belting out the lyrics even louder, maybe going a little too fast. The wind is whipping through my hair, and I grin with the sheer pleasure of the open road.
After a quick pit stop at burger joint too far from Opey to make it a regular, I’m feeling pretty damn good and heading home.
A couple of motorcycles zoom past me, followed by a few more. It reminds me of the group rides the Reckless Bastards, like Gray, take with the prospects when the sun is out and the roads are clear.
