Alex:
There’s something about the sound of laughter in a garage that feels like getting cut on an old scar.
Sharp. Familiar. Dangerous.
The girls were cackling near the workbench, fingers stained with grease and cheap nail polish. Kandi had an open beer in one hand and was using the other to threaten Trixie with a socket wrench because she refused to pack her leather corset.
“It’s gonna be a hundred and ten degrees,” Trixie shot back, “I’m not dying in the desert just to make my n*****s feel seen.”
“Your dead soul needs the lift,” Kandi said with a grin, taking a long drink. “Don’t be jealous mine still have an audience.”
They were chaos.
They were home.
And I needed every ounce of that energy like a shot of adrenaline to the vein.
Because under the laughter—under the jokes and th
