Free Deadworld by J. N. Duncan

“if you had been there, you would’ve been pissed, too.”
    “No!” She pounded her hands against the steering wheel. “Pernetti can be a prick for the rest of our lives, for all I care. His behavior is not the problem.”
    “Oh,” she said. “Well, I don’t like him.”
    “You don’t like men, period.”
    “What?”
    “Men, Jackie. You got a big issue with them, and I understand why, but I’m tired of seeing it drag you down into this . . . this place you’re in.”
    “What place is that?” Jackie’s hand absently went to her stomach, which churned away with a fear that bordered on panic. “What are you talking about?”
    “Am I stupid, Jack? Do I look blind?”
    “No. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
    “I know what happened to you. I know why you’ve got this thing. Why every guy is the biggest asshole in the world. Not all guys are like that, mind you, but it drives you, and that makes you strong in some ways. I admire that drive.” She smiled faintly.
    “Thanks.”
    “No, shut up. Let me finish while I still have the nerve.”
    Jackie leaned away from her, against the door, watching her. “Okay.”
    “Okay. First thing, why did you fight Pernetti? No, don’t answer,” Laurel said quickly, holding up a finger to her. “I’ll tell you, because I’ll bet I already know. He made a quip about what or how much you were drinking.” Jackie’s sheepish silence answered the question. “How about the guy this weekend? The lifeguard. What was his name?”
    What the hell was his name? That whole night was a foggy blank. She had not even known when he left her apartment. “Does it matter?”
    “Would you have had any interest at all if you weren’t plastered off your ass?”
    Jackie looked down at her lap. No. She would not have given him the time of day. “Okay, so I got a little drunk and fucked a stranger. I’m not the first woman to do that, you know.”
    “Jackie Rutledge,” Laurel said, pointing a shaking finger at her. “You don’t fuck anyone unless you’re so shit faced you don’t even know your own name.”
    “Hey! That’s not . . .” Jackie faded to silence again. It was true.
    “See! Not a one. I’ve been with you for eight years, Jackie. You’re my partner, and I care about you more than anyone.” Her hand reached out and pulled Jackie’s hand off her stomach and held it in her own. “Look at me, please.”
    For a moment she could not bear it, but Jackie finally forced herself to look into the teary eyes of her friend. Jackie squirmed in her seat. “What?”
    “They aren’t all your stepfather. There are a few good ones out there.”
    She tried to grin. “That might be debatable.”
    “Cut the shit! Quit hating yourself, hon. Forgive your mother for being weak and stop being scared you are just like her. You aren’t. Trust me.”
    Anger billowed up inside. “I don’t hate myself! And what’s with all the psychobabble? All I did was smack Pernetti—”
    “Because you’re half drunk! Why? To mull over the case? Bullshit! You don’t need six fucking shots of tequila to mull over anything.”
    “I didn’t say—”
    “Quit talking, Jack!” Laurel released her steel grip on Jackie’s hand and stabbed a finger at her again. “This isn’t about today or punching Pernetti. This is just the final straw, and I’ve got to say something before it drives me insane and makes me hate you.”
    Jesus Christ. The ghost shit had really done a number on her. Clearly, she had to get something off her chest, so Jackie stayed silent and waited.
    “I don’t want to hate you. I want . . .” She paused, gathering herself, and heaved a sigh. “Damnit, Jackie. You need to figure this out. I don’t want to cover your ass anymore on this stuff.”
    Jackie shrugged. “Okay. Then don’t. You don’t need to do that. I’m a big girl, you know.”
    Laughter half dissolved into tears. “That’s just the thing. You’re still that little girl inside who is