“That’s my dress,” Naomi said, handing the photo back to Nash. She’d gone pale. I snatched it out of his hand and stared at the image.
Fuck. It was her dress.
“Figured she was dressing like you in case she ran into anyone in town,” Nash explained. “She must have grabbed it when she broke into your motel room.”
Naomi was biting her lip again.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
She shook her head. “Nothing.
My bullshit detector was activated.
“Daisy.”
“It’s just Tina used to do that when we were kids. I was home sick once our sophomore year of high school. She went to school dressed like me and told my history teacher—who I had a crush on—to go fuck himself. I got detention. All because my parents gave me the car the weekend before because she was grounded.”
Christ.
“You better not have kept your mouth shut and sat through detention,” I snapped, throwing the fork in the baking dish in disgust.
“Did she get whatever it was she wanted?” Naomi asked Nash.
“We don’t know. I heard that Tina got herself hooked up with some new guy a few weeks back. Lucian did a little digging. Said the new guy was some badass out of D.C. and Tina bragged to a couple of friends that they had a big score coming up.”
“Is that my mom’s peach cobbler?” she asked, nodding at the dish I held.
“She stopped by this morning to drop it off. She also stole my laundry and watered my plants.”
Naomi gave him a wobbly smile. “Welcome to the family. Prepare to be smothered.”
Something was wrong, and she was trying to hide it. I put down the cobbler and picked up the picture again.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Nash asked.
“I saw you in this dress. Outside the shop,” I said, remembering her standing in the window of Whiskey Clipper with Liza and Waylay. She’d looked like a summer vision in the dress.
Her cheeks weren’t pale now. They were flushed.
“Which means Tina didn’t take this from the motel. She broke into the cottage.”
Naomi busied herself by organizing the first aid supplies.
Nash swore and rubbed his good hand over his face. “I need to call Grave.”
He got up and snatched his phone off the dining table. “Yeah, Grave,” he said. “We’ve got a new problem.”
I waited until he headed into his bedroom before turning my attention back to Naomi. “She broke into your place, and you weren’t gonna say a word.”
She looked up as I rounded the island. She held up her hands, but I kept coming until her palms were pressed against my chest. “You do not keep shit like that from me, Naomi. You owe her nothing. You can’t live your whole life protecting people who don’t fucking deserve it. Not when it puts your safety at risk.”
She winced, and I realized I was yelling.
“What are you thinking? You have Way. If Tina and some low-life criminal fuck buddy are breaking into your fucking house, you don’t cover that shit up. You don’t protect the bad guy—you protect the kid.”
She shoved me, but I didn’t budge.
“You saw my motel room. You heard what Nash said—the storage unit was trashed. That’s what my sister does. She destroys,” Naomi snapped. “If Tina broke into the cottage, she would have wrecked the place. She never could stand the idea of me having anything nicer than what she did. So yeah. Maybe I noticed a few things out of place once or twice, and I chalked it up to Waylay or you or Liza. But Tina didn’t break in.”
“What are you sayin’?”
She wet her lips. “What if someone let her in?”
“Someone meaning Waylay?”
Naomi shot a nervous glance in Nash’s direction. “What if Tina got word to her that she needed access, and Waylay left a door unlocked? You were the one who yelled at me for leaving the back door unlocked. Or what if Tina told her what she needed, and Waylay got it for her?”
“You think that kid would give Tina the time of day after she’s had a few weeks with you? With your parents? Hell, even fucking Stef and Liza. You made one big happy family for her. Why would she risk fucking that up?”
“Tina is her mother,” Naomi insisted. “Family doesn’t stop being family just because one of you does shitty things.”
“That’s exactly what happens to families, and you need to quit this loyalty to your fucking sister. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“It’s not loyalty to Tina, you idiot,” Naomi shouted back. She shoved against my chest again, but I was immovable.
“Educate me,” I insisted.
“If Waylay had anything to do with letting Tina in, how is that going to look in the guardianship hearing? How am I fit to take custody when I can’t even keep criminals out of my house? They’ll take her away from me. I’ll have let her down. I’ll have let my parents down. Waylay will end up with strangers—” Her voice hitched.
I grabbed her and pulled her into me. “Baby. Stop.”
“I tried,” she said, fingers curling into my t-shirt.
“Tried what?”
“I tried not to hate Tina. My whole life, I tried so hard not to hate her.”
I cupped the back of her head and buried her face in my neck.
“Don’t fucking cry, Daze. Not over her. You’ve given her enough.”
She sucked in a breath and blew it out.
“You can use me as a pillow if you wanna scream it out,” I offered.
“Don’t be sweet and funny right now.”
“Baby, those are two things no one has ever accused me of being.”
She pulled back and took another steadying breath. “This is not what I was expecting when you said you were taking me to lunch.”
“I expected the yelling, just thought we’d be doing it naked. We good?”
Her fingers were tracing little circles against my chest. “We’re good. For now. I’m going to go collect myself in the bathroom.”
“I’m gonna eat some more of your mom’s cobbler.”
She gave me another one of those wobbly smiles that made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. I reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s gonna be fine. No one’s takin’ Way. Nash and I’ll take care of it.”
She nuzzled her cheek against my hand. “You can’t solve my problems for me.”
“Oh, but you can solve everyone else’s?” I pointed out. “You gotta stop worrying about making everything okay for everyone else and start thinkin’ about making it okay for you.”
She didn’t say anything, but I felt like my words had landed.
I gave her a playful slap on the ass. “Go on. Go scream into some hand towels.”
A minute later, Nash came out of the bedroom. “Grave is sending some boys out to see if we can lift any prints. Where’s Naomi?”
“Bathroom. You find any prints in the landlord’s office?” I asked Nash.
He shook his head. “It was a clean job.”
“What are the odds they split up? Tina took the storage unit, and the boyfriend took the office.”
Nash thought about it. “It plays.”
“Naomi doesn’t think Tina broke in. She’s worried Way let Tina in. Worried how that’ll play in the guardianship shit.”
Nash blew out a breath. “Any judge that looks at those two sisters and decides Naomi isn’t fit has their robe on too tight.”
“She’s a worrier. Which is why I don’t want her worrying about some stranger sneakin’ into her home and going through her things.”
“Better the devil you know,” he said.
I nodded.
“Speaking of, you going to see him this weekend?” Nash asked.
Deliberately I took another forkful of cobbler even though my appetite was suddenly gone. “If he’s there.”
“Give him this from me.” Nash limped over to the table and picked up a backpack. “And maybe think about not handing over cash.”
“You’re lucky I’m tired of fighting about this,” I told him and took the bag.
“People keep telling me how lucky I am,” he said.
“You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“You remember what she was wearing when she walked by your window,” he said, nodding at the bathroom door.
“Yeah. So?”
“She means something to you.”
“Does blood loss make you stupid?” I wondered.
“I’m just sayin’, you care about her. Any other woman you wouldn’t have bothered calling her on her own bullshit. You wouldn’t have known any other woman well enough to know she was bullshitting you, let alone care that she was.”
“Getting to your point any time soon?”
“Yeah. Don’t fuck it up like you usually do.”
A SWIFT KICK
Naomi
“Why do kids’ sports start at such ungodly hours? And why is the grass so wet? Look at these shoes. They’ll never recover,” Stef complained as we set up our folding chairs on the sideline of the soccer field.
“It’s nine in the morning, not four a.m.,” I said dryly. “Maybe if you and Liza hadn’t made and then drank an entire pitcher of margaritas last night, you wouldn’t be cringing like a vampire at the light of day.”
He collapsed into his chair, looking impossibly stylish in Raybans and a thick knit sweater. “It was my last night in town before my trip to Paris. I couldn’t say no to margaritas. Besides, it’s easy to be Suzy Sunshine when you’re getting laid regularly.”
“Zip it, Betty Big Mouth,” I said, shooting a look at the rest of Waylay’s cheering section. My parents were sitting with Liza, who didn’t seem any the worse for wear for her half of the margaritas. Mom was doing her mom thing and introducing herself to everyone in a twenty-foot radius, asking them the names of their players and proudly pointing out Waylay in her number six jersey.
Wraith, badass biker and silver fox, strode down the sideline. He was wearing a Metallica t-shirt, black jeans, and a scowl perfectly framed by his gray Fu Manchu mustache. “Looking lovely as always, Liza,” he said with a wolfish smile.
“Peddle that charm someplace else, biker boy,” she shot back. But I noticed two dots of color on her cheeks.
“Bring it in, Knock ’Em Outs,” Wraith bellowed. Fifteen girls in all shapes, sizes, and colors jogged and skipped their way over to the unlikely head coach.
“That guy looks like a probation violation, not a girls soccer coach,” Stef observed.
“That’s Wraith. His granddaughter Delilah is the one with the pigtails. She plays forward. She’s unbelievably fast,” I told him.
Waylay looked up from her team huddle and waved at me. I grinned and waved back.
The ref blew two short blasts on the whistle, and two girls from each team jogged to the center circle. “What’s happening? Did the game start?” Stef asked.
“They’re doing the coin toss. You’re lucky you’re so pretty. What if your future husband is into sports?”
Stef shuddered. “Perish the thought.”
“The coin toss determines which team gets the ball for kickoff and which direction they’re trying to score.”
“Look at you, soccer mom,” he teased.
Self-consciously, I straightened my Knock ’Em Out hoodie. Thanks to a school fundraiser, I now owned a capsule wardrobe of school cheer gear. The mascot was an oversize boxing glove named Punchy that I found both charming and inappropriate.
“I may have done a little reading up on the sport,” I said. I’d done a lot of research. I’d reread Rock Bottom Girl andwatched Ted Lasso, Bend it Like Beckham, and She’s the Man for good measure.
The whistle on the field signaled the start of the game, and I cheered along with the rest of the crowd as the action got underway.
Two minutes into play, I was holding my breath and Stef’s hand in a death grip as Waylay got the ball and started dribbling for the goal.
“Go, Waylay! Go!” Dad shouted as he came out of his chair.
When we were ten years old, Tina had played softball for one season. Dad had been her biggest fan. It was nice to see he hadn’t lost his enthusiasm.
Waylay faked a move to the right before heading in the opposite direction around the defender and firing off a pass to Chloe, Sloane’s niece.
“That was good, right?” Stef asked. “It looked good. Sneaky and full of deception.”
“The coach says she’s a natural,” I said proudly before yelling, “Go, Chloe!”
Chloe lost the ball out of bounds, and play was paused so three players could tie their shoelaces.
“A natural. That’s impressive.”
“She’s quick, she’s sneaky, she’s a team player. There’s just one or two little kinks that need working out.”
“What kind of kinks?” Stef asked.
“What did I miss?” Sloane appeared next to me in jeans and a Nirvana tank top under a soft gray cardigan. She had her pink and blonde hair piled high in a knot on top of her head and stylish sunglasses. Her lips were painted ruby red. She waved to Chloe and plopped down in her own camp chair.
“Just the first two minutes. No score. And Wraith hasn’t screamed ‘Come on, ladies!’ yet,” I reported.
On cue, the burly biker cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Come on, ladies!”
“And all was right with the world,” Sloane said with a satisfied smile. “Any yellow cards for Way yet?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.” Though if the past two games were accurate predictors, it was only a matter of time.
“Is that like an award?” Stef asked.
“Not exactly,” she said, winking at me before turning back to my best friend. “You’re looking annoyingly gorgeous today.”
He preened, fluffing the collar of his sweater. “Why, thank you, Sexy Librarian. Love those boots.”
She kicked up her feet to admire the knee-high waterproof footwear. “Thanks. I discovered early on in Chloe’s soccer career that I wasn’t a fan of wet shoes and squishy socks.”
“Now she tells me,” he complained.
“By the way, loving this whole curly vibe,” Sloane said, waving her hand in front of my face.
I tossed my hair dramatically. “Thanks. Waylay showed me a tutorial.”
“We’re the new generation of hot soccer moms,” Stef decided.
“I’ll drink to that,” Sloane agreed, hoisting her tumbler that said This is Definitely Not Wine.
“So where’s your hot soccer daddy?” Stef asked me.