LA- 1974

The house is alive. Music playing from the record player- Led Zepplin- laugher and the sound of beer cans sliding against the table echo through the house. Cards flipping, poker chips clacking on the surface. There are beer cans strewn about on the floor, and an empty bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter.

Holland's eyes flicker to the front door as he hears the sound of your keys jiggling in the lock. His face splits into a grin- a bit lopsided, thanks to the alcohol in his system- but you're used to it. You're prone to your own alcoholic tendencies. It isn't the smell of alcohol that has you faltering in the doorframe. It's the men sitting around the dining table, playing poker, laughing boisterously and sipping on whiskey like it's water. Your husband's old friends from the police force. You hated them all then... and you hate them all now. And you're embarrassed. The outfit your wearing is meant for you and your husband's eyes only...