Chapter Text
It’s no use. You can retrace every inch of all the places I’ve ever been.
Trust me. I’ve looked. We’re nowhere to be found.— Patrick Rosal, closing lines to “Crew Love Elegy”
It all starts with a birthday card.
It’s Nicole’s nineteenth so her father forwards it on from their little house in Purgatory to her dorm in Calgary.
It arrives in a pink envelope with delicate, purple, hand-drawn flowers inked around the edges.
Life’s good just now so she tucks it away in a drawer — she handles it carefully, like it might burn — and tries her best to pretend it doesn’t exist.
Her first year of university is frenetic and overwhelming, so that’s not so hard.
She aces her Intro to Crime, Correction and Community class and surprises herself by enjoying the English Lit unit she picks up as an interdisciplinary. She rooms with Wynonna so her social life is a blur of whiskey fueled wild nights. She works out at least ninety minutes every day on top of her regular basketball training, pushing herself to get harder, faster, stronger. It pays off. She breaks her school’s all-time record for most points scored by a rookie shooting guard.
But in those rare moments she’s alone and idle the envelope calls to her. Is the return address — a suburb in Dallas not far from the one she and her father had been abandoned in six years ago — included on purpose? Or is it an accident, a haphazard slip of the pen? There have been other cards over the years, some with smudged, illegible postmarks, but none that have given away a precise location.
Does her mother finally want to be found?
///
It’s July now, hot and sticky, and she’s back in Purgatory, washing breakfast plates in the kitchen sink while her father watches on.
“If you find her don’t expect too much Nicole,” he says. There’s caution in his voice and sadness in his eyes. “She might not be what you need her to be. Fact is she might not want to see you at all.”
Nicole’s hurting him, doing this. She’s making him feel like he isn’t enough and she hates it. “I know Dad,” she sighs. “I just have to find her. I need answers. I need…”
It’s a difficult thing to put into words.
“…closure?” he offers.
“Yeah, something like that.” She has so many questions; she’s battled long and hard to let them go, but it’s just not in her nature. Especially now that she has a definite lead. There’s a reason she’s pursuing a career in law enforcement.
“You and me both kiddo. You and me both.” He runs a hand across his stubbled jaw, his mind clearly on her runaway mother.
She’s grateful to him for not trying to stop this trip to Dallas. She knows he probably wants to, that he thinks he should. But he’s letting her spread her wings, even if it means she ends up hurting herself in the process. She loves him for it.
“Well whatever happens down there,” he says, blowing on his coffee, “the four of y’all have a hell of a time on the road. Make some good memories.”
“That’s the plan,” she promises.
“Good.” He reaches across and ruffles her hair in that way she asked him to stop doing years ago but he just doesn’t seem able to.
Three sharp blasts of a horn Nicole knows well cut into their Haught family moment.
Gus’s truck is already backing out of their drive by the time she makes it outside. She offers Nicole a friendly wave and a final honk as she pulls away. A freshly deposited Wynonna Earp — town pariah, delinquent extraordinaire and the truest friend she could ask for — is sitting on the hood of Nicole’s new car, bag at her feet, waiting.
“’Sup Haught.”
Nicole doesn’t go for the hug, that’s not their thing. Instead she settles for an affectionate shoulder bump. “Glad you could make it Earp.” She nods at the to-go coffee cup in Wynonna’s hand. “Over-caffeinated already I see.”
“Well in my defense I have this kinda bossy best friend who insisted I get up at the ass crack of dawn to stick to her get-the-fuck-out-of-Purgatory schedule.”
“It’s almost eleven Wy,” she observes dryly.
“Like I said, ass crack of dawn.”
Nicole laughs, Wynonna’s sass easing some of the tightness that has taken up residence in her chest lately. She always feels a hundred times lighter with her best friend by her side. They haven’t seen each other since college broke up six weeks ago. It feels too long.
Her father is Purgatory’s Fire Chief and this summer he’d hooked her up with a wildfire prevention job in north-western British Columbia. The pay was great; a good thing given the total isolation and shifts so long and physical that she swore even her bones ached at night. A military boot camp might have been less grueling.
Wynonna throws an arm around Nicole’s neck, ruffling her hair in a maddeningly similar way to her father a moment ago. “It’s been total dullsville here without you Haught. Crazy boring. I even volunteered to help Curtis hay bale yesterday. Can you believe that? Me volunteering for manual labor?”
“That’s bad Wy. Real bad. Hey, wait a second…did you just admit you missed me?”
“Ew, no…that’d be lame.”
Nicole shoots her best friend a knowing smile and a look that’s all soft, brown puppy-dog eyes.
Wynonna sighs, beaten. ”Okay, fine. Maybe I got a little too used to having your scrawny, wannabe-flatfoot ass around all the time this year—”
“—I missed you too,” Nicole cuts in gently, sparing Wynonna the torture of having to do anymore pesky emoting.
“Of course you did you goofball,” Wynonna says. She pushes off the hood, sidestepping the awkward moment between the two. “So this,” she makes a slow, deliberate lap of the car, reaching out to run her hand over it reverently here and there, “is our sweet new ride? Seriously?”
“You better believe it,” Nicole says, her voice thick with pride. “Pretty sexy, right?”
She’s a little in love with her new car. Okay maybe a lot in love. Like she could marry it, maybe?
It’s not her first. That honor belongs to a piece-of-shit Honda Accord that gave up the ghost five months into her senior year of high school. She should’ve known Champ Hardy’s Uncle Leroy would sell her a lemon.
But this car…this car is something else entirely. It’s a white Mustang, and it’s not even ten years old. A GT convertible, with black leather seats and midnight blue striping. Its mileage is a little higher than she’d like and the AC is temperamental, but that’s okay because it’s the car she’s always wanted and it’s beautiful. Truly beautiful.
“Hell yes, it’s sexy as fuck.” Wynonna opens a door and flops into the front passenger seat, settling herself deep into the leather. Nicole slides into the driver’s seat next to her. There’s a touch of awe in Wynonna’s eyes as she checks out the interior and she’s not an easy person to impress. She’s surveying the cabin with the sort of rapt attention she typically reserves for vintage Harley-Davidson's and powdered sugar donuts.
“Dude. Level with me now. Did you rob a bank up in B.C. to afford this thing? Or maybe engage in a spot of hot wiring? We all know you’re good with your hands after all…” She waggles her eyebrows lewdly and Nicole rolls her eyes at the innuendo. “‘Cos this car is way out of your league.”
“You got me Wy. I’ve turned to a life of crime to fund my taste in fast cars and even faster women,” she deadpans.
“Smartass…although…just sayin’…that’s a version of you I could totally get on board with.”
“I bet,” Nicole huffs and rolls her eyes again. “The B.C. job paid really well,” she explains with a small shrug. “I made over half of it just from that.” There’s a sweet satisfaction in knowing that between the fire prevention gig and her other part time jobs this year she’s earned every inch of this car herself.
Once Wynonna’s done drooling over the Mustang they get down to business loading it up for the long trip ahead. Her father ambles out to say his goodbyes just as they’re finishing up and ready to hit the road.
“Wynonna,” he greets. He eyes her warily. Things haven’t been the same between them since two Christmases ago, when Wynonna and Mercedes Gardner had gotten high and “accidentally” set fire to the town nativity scene, a fire he’d had to put out.
“Chief Haught,” Wynonna replies with a two finger mini-salute.
“Where’s Waverly?” he asks, looking around for the other Earp sister. “I thought Gus was dropping the both of you off here this morning?”
“Late change of plans Dad. Waves stayed at Chrissy’s last night to help her pack,” Nicole tells him, stowing the last of their bags in the trunk. “We’re swinging by the Nedley’s on the way out to pick them up.”
“Right,” he nods. He scratches the back of his neck and stands there looking awkward and at a loss. Like Nicole he’s never been good with goodbyes. ”Well…I guess this is it then. You girls stay safe out there you hear me? I mean that in all possible senses of the word.”
Beside her Wynonna chokes on her coffee. Oh no. Nicole has a bad feeling she knows what’s coming next.
“Spoiler alert Papa Haughtstuff: it’s a little late for the safe sex talk. That ship sailed a long time ago.” Wynonna grins wolfishly and elbows Nicole in the ribs. ”Even for this nerd.”
Father and daughter groan in unison.
“That’s not what I—” her father starts.
“Just get in the car Wy,” Nicole says, none to gently.
“So bossy,” she grumbles. But she complies. A moment later the moody, synthey sound of The Cure is belting out of the Mustang’s open windows.
“Good luck keeping that one out of trouble for three weeks on the road.”
“Thanks,” Nicole half sighs, half laughs. “I think I’m gonna need it.”
He pulls her into one last crushing bear hug. When they part she swears his eyes are wet. Her heart aches a little at that. He’s a taciturn man. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him cry, even the day after her mother left.
“Remember, whatever happens I’m here for you Nicole. Always.”
“I know Dad.”
She spares her father one last, lingering look in the rear-view mirror as they pull away. He cuts a forlorn figure: hands in his pockets, dark smudges under his eyes and rumpled Purgatory fire department t-shirt.
She feels a sharp stab of regret. She’s barely been in town for twenty-four hours and she’s leaving again.
Leaving behind the parent who stayed to chase the one who didn’t.
///
It’s only a short drive across town to the Nedley’s but it’s still plenty long enough for Nicole to get all stuck in her head about seeing Waverly again.
Waverly.
Nicole hasn’t seen her in four months. It’s the longest they’ve been apart since she and her Dad moved to Purgatory from Dallas back when she was thirteen.
A year ago that sort of time apart would have been unthinkable.
“You’re nervous,” Wynonna’s amused voice cuts into her thoughts. She’s eyeballing Nicole from the passenger seat, a faint smirk on her lips.
“W-what?”
“You’ve got your super serious face on. And you’re doing that thing you only do when you’re crazy stressed,” she waves a hand vaguely in the direction of Nicole’s throat. “Fussing with your collar.”
Wynonna’s right. She removes the offending, jittery hand from the collar of her navy button-down. Because most of the time Wynonna’s so crazy oblivious she sometimes forgets how sharply observant she can be when she’s sober and not caught up in her usual boy drama. And of course by now she knows all of Nicole’s tells.
“I mean I get it dude,” Wynonna continues, “Waves is a firecracker when she’s mad at someone. But she’s not mad at you, trust me. She knows you haven’t been ghosting her on purpose. Being all focused on exams, then the job in B.C.? That type A stuff is gold with her.”
“Maybe,” she murmurs, unconvinced.
There are things Wynonna doesn’t know about Waverly and Nicole. Things that make them complicated.
She doesn’t know that her best friend has had a thing for her baby sister basically since the day they met; she doesn’t know that they’d almost kissed a year ago, getting ready for Nicole’s senior prom; she doesn’t know that ever since then they’ve been doing an awkward dance where absence can so easily be mistaken for avoidance.
Waverly’s texts over the past months have been cheery and understanding, but Nicole knows her well enough to read between the lines. She hates disappointing Waverly. More than anything in the world, maybe.
“Holy shit, that reminds me. When you called last night I got so caught up in hearing all about your girl drama that I forgot to tell you the big news: Waves finally dumped the Chump.”
“Wait…what? When?” She’s so shocked by Wynonna’s words she takes her eyes off the road for more than a beat, and she never does that. The car comes perilously close to mounting the sidewalk and she has to steer sharply to correct it.
“Last Friday night,” Wynonna continues, unfazed by Nicole’s poor driving. “The dumbass placed second in some lame rodeo comp over in High River and went on a bender. He drank a shit ton of rum at Shorty’s and made out with Stephanie Jones in front of half of Purgatory. Waves found out via social media, Perry sent her a link to an Instagram pic of Champ with his tongue down Steph’s throat.”
Jesus. Poor Waves. There’d been rumors Champ Hardy screwed around on her but he’d never been this blatant about it before. To humiliate her publicly like that…
“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” she says roughly, her knuckles white as she grips the Mustang’s steering wheel like a vise.
Violence isn’t Nicole’s thing, usually, but she feels it surge through her now, a white hot wave of feral yearning to do damage to that little shit; that stupid, careless boy who’d never deserved Waverly in the first place.
“Easy there tiger. It’s already taken care of.”
She side-eyes Wynonna, who’s now looking worryingly pleased with herself. Her anger morphs into fear.
“Oh no Wy…please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid?”
Nicole feels a familiar kick of anxiety. With two stints in juvie already under her belt, her best friend can’t afford any more brushes with the law. Especially now that she’s nineteen and legally triable as an adult. Her slate’s been clean for the last couple of years, but there’ve been some close calls. Very close calls.
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot Haughtsauce,” Wynonna bristles. “Champ Hardy’s still with the living, more’s the pity. All I did was call in a favor with a couple of my Banditos pals to help me scare the bejesus out of the twerp. Peacemaker may’ve also come out to play. I tell ya that boy is dumb as snake mittens, he actually thought I’d shoot him in the crotch.”
“Damn it Wy, you’re lucky that relic didn’t explode in your face,” she hisses. “And what do you mean that’s all you did? You promised Waves and me no more guns, no more Banditos, remember?”
“Hello? You were the one threatening to go all The Godfather on his ass two seconds ago — not that I don’t appreciate that, by the way, you know it means a lot to me that you look out for Waves too — you can’t honestly expect me to sit back and do nothing when that shithead humiliated her like that.”
Nicole sighs. Because no, she doesn’t. Part of her still wants to find Champ and give him a beat down herself.
Wynonna is not for taming, deep down she knows this and has always known this. She has a good heart, maybe the best heart out of all of them. But there’s also a wildness to her, a reckless abandon and impulsiveness that’s taken her down many a wrong road in her short life so far.
“Just be careful, okay? It’d break Waverly’s heart if you ended up in trouble with the law again because of her. You’ve been doing so well lately.”
“I know,” Wynonna replies in a small voice. Nicole recognizes it as her please-don’t-remind-me-I’m-a-screwup voice.
They make the rest of the drive in a tense sort of silence.
When they reach the Nedley’s Nicole pulls in behind the Sheriff’s Crown Vic cruiser. She eyes it wistfully. One day.
The Nedley ranch is a sprawling, ramshackle sort of place. Whilst the main building has a slightly neglected air to it, the front yard is a blaze of carefully tended roses; a riot of vibrant reds, yellows, and pinks under the noonday sun. Town gossip holds that Sheriff Nedley’s dedication to his rose garden in summer is rivaled only by his devotion to the Purgatory Poachers curling team.
She cuts the engine and the silence between them suddenly feels oppressive. Wynonna refuses to meet her eye, preferring to pick at the fringe of her leather jacket.
“Look, I’m sorry for being all judgy.” Nicole reaches across the center console to give Wynonna’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “You’re a good person Wynonna. And an amazing sister. Just…I dunno, maybe you could save the vigilante stuff for when I’m around too, so I can have your back?”
So I can keep you safe. Keep you out of a jail cell.
Wynonna’s gaze cuts up to meet hers and she offers one of her rare, crooked smiles. “Okay Nicole. No more vengeance missions without my wing-woman.” She arches a brow. “Shake on it?”
Nicole nods. Their hands meet in an intricate series of side fives, low fives, fist bumps and hooked thumbs; their secret handshake, carefully choreographed over time, a ritual almost as old as their friendship.
Peace made, her attention wanders to the space beside the Nedley’s front door, where an alarmingly tall pile of luggage is stacked.
“Holy crap how much stuff do those girls want to bring?!”
“Cheerleaders,” Wynonna cackles, as if that explains everything. “The only way that lot is all fitting in this car is if we strap Waves or Nedley Junior to the hood.”
///
Waverly Earp is used to being left behind.
Her Momma ran away when she was four; her Daddy sought solace in the bottom of a bottle of Jack one too many times and ran his truck off of the Ghost River bridge when she was just twelve; two years later her oldest sister Willa eloped to Vancouver with Purgatory’s most notorious delinquent, Bobo Del Ray, and hasn’t even bothered to as much as call since.
And then there’s Wynonna, a thunderstorm in human form. The badass, fiercely loyal sister she loves more than air itself. But Wynonna’s itchy feet and knack for finding trouble mean that even she’s been far from a constant in Waverly’s life. Sometimes for the good, like attending university this year in Calgary; sometimes for the bad, like last summer when she rode with the Banditos, and sometimes because of run-ins with the law, like her two stints in juvie.
Waverly isn’t gonna be left behind this summer, though. Nuh uh. When Wynonna’d told her she and Nicole were spending July road tripping to Dallas to track down Nicole’s long-lost mom Waverly’d bossed her way into an invite and scored one for Chrissy too.
Splitting gas money and motel rooms as many ways as possible only makes sense, after all.
Waverly’s good at denial, heck if it was a country she’d be its queen. So she’s avoided dwelling too hard on the real reason she so desperately wanted to tag along on this trip: her burning desire to spend some quality time with a certain redhead.
Still, right now she can’t help but take her time drinking in the sight of Nicole Haught stepping out of something that looks a helluva lot like a Mustang convertible. Her breath catches as Nicole leans her tall frame against the side of the car, slips on a pair of aviators and flashes a grin, killer dimples and all, at something Wynonna says.
That dazzling smile.
“Waverly Earp are you ogling Nicole Haught from behind my Daddy’s lace curtains like some sort of creeper?”
She yelps at the sound of her best friend’s voice so close to her ear.
“Jeez Chrissy, wear a bell or something. And no, I wasn’t ogling Nicole. I, um, thought I heard a car and was checking to see if it was them,” she lies.
Right about now she’s really regretting the night she and Chrissy demolished a bottle of Wild Turkey together, when she’d blurted out the whole sorry story of her attempt to kiss Nicole last year. At the time she’d felt like if she didn’t tell someone, anyone, she’d explode. But now…
“Uh huh,” Chrissy says, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been standing there staring for like five minutes Waves.” She peers over Waverly’s shoulder. “Sweet Jesus, Nicole is looking kinda fine these days. College looks good on her.”
“I-I guess.”
Who’s she kidding? Nicole looks amazeballs.
She seems somehow taller, leaner, everything about her more defined, than the last time Waverly saw her. Her hair is slightly longer, cut in fashionable red waves that fall just above her shoulders. There’s a new confidence, too, in the way she holds herself. Nicole has always been comfortable in her own skin, it’s something Waverly envies. But there’s extra swagger in her step now.
Maybe it’s her success on the basketball court this year. Maybe it’s her time in British Columbia, living in the wilderness, learning to fight fires. Or maybe it’s dating Shae Pressman, the much older, dark-haired, dark-eyed medical student that even Wynonna seems intimidated by.
Whatever the reason, Nicole’s radiating an easy confidence that borders on the cocky and damn it if Waverly doesn’t find that just a little bit sexy.
Great. Because she needs more fuel for this ridiculous crush on her sister’s best friend.
Chrissy hip checks her, breaking her out of her Nicole-induced daze. “Nope, you’re not into her at all.” She rolls her eyes at Waverly, amused. “Come on, let’s go see your girl.”
“Chrissssy,” she groans, “don’t call her that! She has a girlfriend.”
Waverly turns away from the window to vent at her friend some more, but Chrissy’s already gone, bounding out the front door like an exuberant puppy.
She smiles at that. Chrissy’s been in high spirits the last couple of days, excited for the trip ahead. Like Waverly she’s never been out of Purgatory for much more than a day at a time.
She follows her friend outside and watches on as Chrissy flings herself at Nicole, who catches her with practiced ease. They do a half twirl before Nicole sets her down gently, laughing, and Chrissy starts peppering Nicole with questions about her trip to B.C. and exclamations over her new car.
Meanwhile Wynonna is rummaging around in the Mustang’s trunk, moving stuff around like she’s trying to solve a slide puzzle and muttering darkly about “cheerleaders”. Which Waverly just finds bizarre. But hey it’s ‘Nonna, so…
Nicole glances over Chrissy’s shoulder and her easy smile falters as she registers Waverly’s presence.
The redhead removes her sunglasses and their eyes lock for a long moment.
So, huh. Nicole’s soft brown gaze is as expressive as ever, and all of that cool self-assurance from earlier has evaporated. The look she sends Waverly now is a heady cocktail of nerves and adoration.
It gives Waverly a tiny thrill and a rush of confidence to know she can still affect her like that.
She sashays her way over to Nicole’s side and smiles brightly up at her. “Hey stranger.”
“H-hey…Waves.” Nicole shoves her hands into her back pockets and rocks nervously on her heels.
Seriously? Since when is Nicole Haught shy? “C’mere you dork.” She half-lunges at the redhead, pulling her into a tight hug, desperate to erase the remaining distance between them.
It’s a little awkward at first but once Nicole relaxes they fit together perfectly, just the way Waverly remembers.
She closes her eyes, taking a moment to fully breathe in Nicole’s presence. Around them the air is heavy with the fragrance of Sheriff Nedley’s blooming roses. It’s sweet and cloying. But pressed up against Nicole’s shirt, Waverly still manages to catch the familiar scent of vanilla and she revels in it. A wave of calmness washes over her and she sighs contentedly.
Nicole has always been her safe haven. With her gone this year everything has felt askew, like the planet had slipped off its axis.
She knows she should be upset at her for staying away from Purgatory for so long, for the scant phone calls and text messages. Instead all she feels right now is relief. Relief that they’re spending the rest of summer together; that they’re going to the same university next semester; that their time apart is done for now.
Aware that this hug has gone on for far too long she loosens her grip and takes a step back, a little dazed. Chrissy’s watching on smugly, she shoots Waverly a you-go-girl wink and saunters off to chat with Wynonna.
“So,” Nicole frowns, “I heard about Champ.”
Waverly ducks her head, embarrassed. The whole frickin’ town seems to know about the show Champ and Steph put on at Shorty’s last Friday night.
She’s not even that angry about it, that’s the crazy thing. Wynonna had gone after Champ half cocked, because, well, Wynonna, but Waverly just feels numb. She’d seen it coming a mile away. She’d been neglecting him for weeks and Champ Hardy is nothing if not an entitled boy-man with certain needs he expects to be met.
“Eh, I’m not exactly devastated. It’s not like we had an epic, Notebook-worthy romance going on,” she says, voice flat. “High school’s over and now we’re over. It’s a lot like you and Beth last year, I guess. Drifting apart after graduation…”
Nicole huffs. “Except Beth never cheated on me Waves…and sure as hell not like that, in a public place with one of my best friends. That was an asshole move. You deserve so much better than that dolt. You always did. You know that right? He was never good enough for you. He’s a…a…”
Nicole stops, composure momentarily lost. A muscle ticks in her jaw and her fists ball by her side. Waverly’s pulse quickens. It’s rare for Nicole to lose her cool. When she was younger she found protective Nicole sweet. Now it does something else to her; something far more adult.
She reaches out and wraps a hand around one of Nicole’s balled fists. Nicole relaxes and allows Waverly to entwine their fingers together. “Thank you for saying that. F-for caring…”
“Of course I care Waves,” Nicole says softly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so unavailable lately. I’ve been a shitty friend.” Her brown eyes cloud with guilt. “I missed your eighteenth, and your graduation, your valedictorian speech…”
“—Shh. It’s okay Nic, I get it. ‘Nonna told me you’ve had a lot on your plate.”
“No…I mean yeah, that’s true. But there’s other reas—”
“’Sup slackers,” Wynonna interrupts, accosting them from behind and slinging an arm around each of them. “Is Haughtdamn talking your ear off about her new wheels babygirl? Classy choice, eh? Gotta say I had her pegged as a nerdy Prius type, or maybe choosing a boring ol’ Subaru Outback, to ya know, represent.”
Of course. Trust her sister to butt in at exactly the wrong moment. Now she’s gonna be left wondering what Nicole was going to say for god knows how long.
“Excuse me?” Nicole says, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know the Outback is a classic.”
“Dude, I guess…if your idea of classic is the auto equivalent of Birkenstocks,” Wynonna chortles. “Now this gorgeous ‘Stang, on the other hand, is a total chick magnet. Operation-get-my-best-friend-laid-this-summer just got a whole lot easier. You’re gonna be beating the ladies off with a stick Haughtpants.”
What the heck? Why is her sister blabbing about hooking Nicole up with random skanks? Has she forgotten her best friend is in a committed, long-term relationship with a soon-to-be-doctor? Unbelievable. University life must have sunk Wynonna’s already lax morals to new lows.
“Honestly Wynonna!” Waverly pokes a finger at her sister’s chest, annoyed. “Nicole has a girlfriend. It’s bad enough that you’re constantly pin-balling between boys without you trying to turn Nicole into a cheating hussy too.”
“Woah, dial it down a notch you adorable psycho. No one’s cheating on anyone.” Wynonna shoots a questioning look Nicole’s way. “You haven’t told her yet?”
“I haven’t exactly had a chance,” Nicole mutters.
“Right, well your info’s out of date babygirl. Haughtstuff and Shae are officially splitsville.”
“More like on a break, actually,” Nicole corrects, “but yeah things don’t look good.” She sighs and looks down at her hands dejectedly.
“Oh,” Waverly says, stunned.
Son of a gun.
Talk about being out of the loop. This news is going to take some processing. Whilst Waverly may not have liked it, she’d thought Nicole and Shae were in it for the long haul. When she’d met Shae for the first time at Christmas it was obvious the sophisticated brunette had her hooks in deep. Nicole had seemed smitten in a way she never had with her previous girlfriend Beth Gardner.
Curiosity gets the better of her. “W-what happened?”
“It’s complicated and she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Wynonna recites, cutting in before Nicole has a chance to speak for herself. “I’m sure you’ll crack once we get some liquor into you though, huh Haught?”
Nicole just grunts, like she’s trying to give Wynonna as little ammunition here as possible.
“I’m so sorry Nic,” Waverly says, reaching out to rub Nicole’s arm, aching to offer the redhead comfort even if a small part of her is selfishly doing a happy dance about this development. “I thought you and Shae were the real deal. I mean she seemed like…”
“—A black hole of suckitude? A controlling, nymphomaniac ice princess? Christian Grey crossed with Nurse Ratched?”
It’s fair to say that Wynonna and Shae Pressman do not get along.
“Hey now Earp, careful there. She’s still my girlfriend, sort of. Technically we’re just on a break, remember?”
“Break, Shmake. You’re done dude. How many couples that go on breaks ever get back together? I’ll tell ya. Nada. Anyway, this is a good thing, a good day. For both of you. You’ve both been liberated from shitty relationships. You should be partying. In fact,” Wynonna snaps her fingers, “I gotta plan. First decent dive-bar we find, the four of us are hitting it up and drinking a shit ton of tequila to celebrate.”
Waverly could do with a proper blow-out to mark her breakup with Champ. There’s nothing like a little alcohol poisoning to soothe the soul and to help expunge her memories of that no-good shit ticket. But her sister’s plan is fatally flawed. “Sounds great ‘Nonna. Teeny, tiny problem though…”
“What’s that Waves?”
“You do know the legal drinking age in the States is twenty-one, right? There won’t be any dive bars for us on this trip, or any bars for that matter.”
It figures that her sister would just assume the drinking laws are the same everywhere.
Wynonna cackles. “You really think I’m that much of a dumbass sis? You’re not the only Earp capable of a little research and forward planning you know.” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out four plastic cards, handing one to each of them. “Like I’d let those Southerners and their dweeb rules get in between me and whiskey.”
Well snap. Wynonna has gotten them all fake IDs.
She turns hers over in her hand, inspecting it with wonder. It’s a hyper-realistic looking Montana ‘The Big Sky State’ driver’s license featuring her photograph (lifted from her Instagram?) and a fake name, Wendy K. White. Apparently Wendy’s twenty-two.
“You don’t think Ginger Sparks is just a smidge on the nose Wy?” Nicole says dryly, staring at her own ID with an expression that’s alternating between amused and panicked. “Where did you get these anyway?”
“Eh, a friend of a friend of a friend.”
Waverly and Nicole share a knowing, uneasy look. In Wynonna-speak that’s code for the Banditos.
“Wynonna—”
“Don’t start Haught. You’re not gonna get caught, they’re top shelf fakes. The best of the best…”
Nicole continues to look down at her ID dubiously, though. Waverly feels a pang of sympathy. Nicole wants to be a police officer once she’s done with her degree and that means keeping her record squeaky clean. She can’t afford to take unnecessary risks. Not to mention she’s naturally just a law abiding type of person.
“I don’t know Wy—”
“Relax you nerd. It’s a fake ID, I’m not asking you to open a meth lab with me!”
“—Shoot guys, Daddy’s coming over to say goodbye,” Chrissy cuts in, “quick, stash the IDs.”
Chrissy’s right, Sheriff Nedley is waddling their way. The four of them scramble to shove their contraband IDs somewhere out of sight. A flustered looking Nicole ends up dropping hers down the front of her shirt, into her bra. Waverly feels a little jealous of that card; she has a long-standing fascination with Nicole’s boobs.
“You girls ready to roll out?” The Sheriff drawls when he reaches them. He looks suspicious, but then Randy Nedley always looks suspicious of everything and everybody.
“Y-yes Daddy,” Chrissy stammers, trying her utmost best to look all casual and innocent.
“Alright then.” He slaps Nicole heartily on the back. “Could I have a quick word with you in private first Nicole?”
“Uh, sure thing sir,” Nicole says, startled. She shoots them all a deer-in-the-headlights look as she follows him over to his Crown Vic Cruiser.
“Oh man, poor Haughtstuff’s gonna have a coronary with that fake ID stuck to her boobs while Nedley grills her about whatever it is he wants to grill her about,” Wynonna crows in delight.
“You’re so mean Wynonna,” Chrissy chuckles.
Waverly starts to say something but gets totally sidetracked admiring the way the redhead’s skinny jeans hug her tall frame as she strides purposefully after Sheriff Nedley.
Her mind ping-pongs back to the bomb her sister dropped just moments ago. Nicole Haught is single now? Sort of?
She’s in so, so much trouble.
///
Nicole likes to think that in a tight situation she’s pretty clutch.
As a little girl, while her friends were dazzled by and dreaming of becoming Disney Princesses, she spent her Saturday mornings watching reruns of the classic Hanna-Barbera cartoon Lucky Luke and idolizing its protagonist — the laconic, cool-as-ice hero and master gunslinger. Oh how she worshiped Luke, even if he did suffer from chronic hero syndrome and wander around chewing on a wheat stalk.
Over time Lucky Luke became a kind of spirit animal to her. So much so that today, at nineteen going on twenty, there’s nothing she prizes more in herself than her cool, calm, and collected disposition.
That steadiness serves her well on a basketball court and she hopes it will one day as a police officer, too.
Right now, though, she’s not feeling all that clutch.
Between hearing about Waverly and Champ-the-Chump’s breakup, having her brain turned to mush by that oh-so intimate hug from Waverly, Wynonna unveiling her latest criminal hijinks, and then having the fruits of said hijinks wedged uncomfortably between her bra and her left boob, she’s fraying.
Definitely fraying.
The intense I’m-sizing-you-up stare the Sheriff is currently leveling at her isn’t helping matters. For all his good ‘ol boy shtick Nicole knows he’s sharp as a tack; a Jedi master when it comes to reading people.
The midday sun is beating down on them something fierce and she feels sweat begin to pool where the fake ID is sticking to her skin.
Hold your nerve Haught. This man is a teddy bear at heart. You know it.
Her Dad and the Sheriff are drinking slash curling buddies so the Haughts and the Nedleys are a close-knit bunch. Heck the Sheriff is practically a second father to her. Still, she’s not sure he’d react well to her reaching down and pulling a fake ID out from her cleavage.
Nedley clears his throat. “Your Daddy told me you topped a couple of your classes this year,” he says, breaking the silence at last, voice gruff. “Congratulations Nicole.”
“Thank you Sheriff.” Surely he hasn’t called her over for a private chat about her academics, has he?
“You still meanin’ to head to the academy in Regina once you’re done in Calgary?”
“I am sir.”
Nedley grunts approvingly.
“I was wonderin’ if that summer job your Daddy set you up with might’ve tempted you into thoughts of becoming a hose jockey instead?”
“No chance,” she answers with an assured smile. “My mind’s set on joining the force and nothing’s gonna change that. Not my Dad and sure as heck not six weeks stuck in the boonies with a bunch of probie firefighters who don’t have a handle on basic hygiene.”
“Good…good,” he drawls, coming close to cracking a rare smile. “You’ve got an excellent head on your shoulders Nicole. I reckon you’ll make a fine deputy one day. Truth be told we’re not far off needin’ some new blood here in Purgatory ourselves and I’d prefer not to end up having to deputize some fool like Champ Hardy. So when you’re all done, when that day comes, you keep us in mind. You hear me?”
“Y-yes sir…thank you sir. I will.” His suggestion catches her by surprise and she feels a rush of warmth towards him. It’s a long way off, that day — at least two and a half years. But it’s nice to think that at the end of it all she might have the option, at least, to come home to Purgatory and be mentored by someone she respects as much as she does Randy Nedley.
“Now, I need you to do me a solid Nicole,” he says, tone grave. “As you’ll rightly know this is Chrissy’s first big trip and trouble, well it has a way of finding people on the road…”
She relaxes a little, understanding at last why he’s called her over for this private chat.
Nedley rubs an agitated hand across his bristled jaw. “Frankly there are a lot of weirdos out there. And four young gals on your own, it has me a little concerned. I need you to look out for her Nicole, take care of her for me.”
A familiar heaviness descends. It’s not new, this weight on her shoulders. She’s used to being the responsible one; the designated driver, everyone’s first phone call, the go-to-girl for check-ins from anxious parents. She’s learned to lean into it, to accept that it’s just who she is.
“I’ll keep her safe sir. I promise you,” she pledges solemnly, holding his gaze for a long moment to indicate how seriously she takes her commitment to Chrissy’s well-being.
Nedley gives a little nod and claps her on the shoulder. “I ‘preciate it, Nicole. I know she’s meant to be all grown up now,” he says, looking a little sheepish, “but you can’t blame a man for worryin’. Especially with that one along for the ride.”
She follows his gaze to her best friend, who’s goofing around with Chrissy trying to figure out how to put the Mustang’s top down.
Wynonna may as well have the word ‘trouble’ stenciled over her head the way the Sheriff’s glare is drilling into her. “That girl is a walking bad decision,” he grouches.
Nicole takes in the leather jacket, the black nail polish, the ‘Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound’ t-shirt, and the I-give-zero-fucks way she holds herself. She looks the part of the small town bad girl, that’s for sure. But appearances can be deceiving. Wynonna Earp isn’t the bat-shit crazy hellraiser most of Purgatory has her pegged as.
“Wynonna’s had a tough time of things. She’s a good person, better than most people see.”
“Little Waverly had a tough time of things growing up too,” the Sheriff grumbles, “but you don’t see her carrying on with guns and runnin’ around with biker gangs.”
Nicole’s gaze drifts across to Waverly. She’s sitting on the hood of Nicole’s car, watching the two of them curiously, a ray of sunshine in a yellow tank top and denim cutoffs. She wonders if Waverly’s been watching them this entire time. Their eyes meet and Waverly does her adorable little smile and wave thing. Nicole waves back, a dopey grin blooming.
“Waverly is…special.”
There’s a softness in her voice that the Sheriff must catch because when she wrenches her attention away from the younger Earp he’s giving Nicole a knowing look. Darned Jedi mind-reading tricks.
For a moment she thinks he’s going to acknowledge the unsaid, that he’s going to say something pseudo-fatherly and encouraging. If so he chickens out. “That she is,” he agrees.
They start making they way back to the others. As they walk Nedley claps her on the back one last time. “I hope you find what you’re looking for out there kid.”
When she looks over at him she doesn’t see the same concerned sadness in his eyes that she had with her father. Instead she sees affection and understanding; understanding that sometimes you have to retrace your steps to find your way forward in life.
“Me too Sheriff.”
///
Waverly’s never been in a convertible before and she has to admit it’s kind of nifty having the wind blowing in her hair and the deep blue sky wide open above her as they glide through town on their way to Highway 1.
‘Course it’d be even more enjoyable if she was up front with Nicole but frickin’ Wynonna has called dibs on riding shotgun for the start of their first leg to Great Falls, Montana.
No amount of pouting or pleading has been effective in dislodging her.
When the standoff over the front-seat had gotten heated Nicole had deftly defused things by drawing Waverly close, a gentle hand at the small of her back and her lips so near to Waverly’s ear she’d shivered. “Hey, I got you Wave. Wy’ll get bored and wanna nap in the back within an hour or two. Trust me.”
Waverly thinks Nicole can convince her of just about anything when she’s being all soft and easy like that.
They’re cruising past the library now, Purgatory’s oldest and most distinguished building. It’s Waverly’s happy place, where she first discovered the joy of research and first encountered the musky, yet strangely beguiling scent of timeworn books.
On the outskirts of town they pass the empty lot that long ago was Purgatory’s drive-in movie theater. It’s a popular late-night hookup spot and it’s here that she had her clumsy, fumbling first time with Champ Hardy in the back of his Chevy pickup while Brad Paisley crooned in the background. The ultimate country-girl cliché.
Half a mile later they pass the town’s cemetery where a long line of Earps lie buried, including her father Ward. She still leaves fresh peonies for him every second Sunday, like clockwork, even though she’s pretty sure he never loved her.
Finally, when they reach the town limits sign — a 1950s styled ‘y’all come back now’ affair — she feels a stab of something happy and sad all at the same time. It hits her then that she’s leaving, really leaving, and everything’s about to change. After this trip university and a new life in Calgary awaits.
As much as she loves Purgatory, it’s become her cage. Yet leaving that cage is frightening too. This town’s all that she’s ever known and the outside world suddenly seems like the great unknown, ominous and menacing.
Nicole must sense in that uncanny way of hers that she’s freaking out because she catches Waverly’s gaze in the mirror and holds it for a beat.
It’s an amazing thing when someone sees you as the person you wish you are. Nicole’s looking at her in a way that makes her feel brave, that makes her believe she can triumph over anything.
The speed limit changes. Nicole hits the gas and the car surges forward, hurtling them towards the horizon.
And for a single, precious moment Waverly Earp believes she can fly.