“Well, she’s dead,” I said soothingly, patting his hand. “So I’m not sure what good it would do.”
“Give me some satisfaction,” he said under his breath, making my lips twitch.
We’d had the same conversation a hundred times, and I was sure we’d have it a hundred more. When my mom had taken off with us, my dad had looked for us, but he’d eventually stopped, assuming that Miranda or I would contact him if we needed him. He hadn’t had any idea about the life we were living in Oregon, and he hadn’t known when my mom overdosed and we’d been placed in foster care. He’d been in prison when he’d eventually found out that Miranda and I weren’t with our mom or each other, and as soon as he was free it had been an uphill battle to get us back.
He was bitter about it, and I didn’t blame him one bit.
After a while of drinking our coffee in companionable silence, I stood from the table and stretched again. “I’m gonna get some sleep,” I told him as I put my cup in the sink. “I’m beat.”
“Okay, princess. You let me know if you get too hot and want me to open that window in the bedroom. It sticks like hell.”
“I will. Love you, Dad,” I said, kissing the top of his head as I passed him.
“Love you too,” he said as I walked away. “Glad to have you home.”
* * *
“Frances, you drop that box and I’ll shave off half your beard while you’re sleeping,” I warned as one of my childhood friends carried two too many boxes toward the house. “I’m not joking.”
“Call me Frances again, and I’ll drop-kick it across the yard,” he shot back, kicking out his leg just to irritate me.
“Sorry, Frank,” I sang, walking up the ramp into the hot truck.
We were halfway through moving my stuff into the house, and it was already so hot that I had sweat stains on my T-shirt. It was a good thing I had absolutely no intention of trying to impress the guys who’d shown up that morning to help.
After I’d hugged both of them hello, I’d pointed them in the direction of the truck and we’d started to unload. Dad kept an eye on Etta and built our beds as we moved the boxes in, but none of us let him carry anything heavy. A few years ago he broke his back when some bitch in a Honda ran a stop sign and slammed into his motorcycle, and he’d been having problems ever since. I wasn’t about to have him mess himself up more by carrying a box of my books into the house.
Sometimes, when I was away from home for a long time, I began to feel like the life I’d left behind didn’t matter. It seemed so far away that I let myself forget the connections I had in Central California. But the minute I was home, I began to remember why I’d felt so safe and comfortable in that little town outside Sacramento.
My dad’s friends were really more like a family. When he’d brought Miranda and me down from Oregon, they’d seemed big and scary, but after only a few hours, my sister and I had both known that we’d found our tribe. The men and their wives were rough around the edges. They smoked and drank and partied all night. They also loved their kids, went to every school event, and looked out for each other like no one I’d ever met before or since. Their kids were even better. It was like, from the moment they’d met us—two petite blond-haired girls who were suspicious of everyone and everything—they’d adopted us as their own.
Frank was the oldest son of my dad’s closest friend, and one of the few of us kids who’d stuck around once we were grown. He had two younger brothers named Reggie and Olly, but only Olly had stayed in the area. He was helping unpack, too.
“Girl, you look hot as hell,” a raspy voice called out behind me. “And I don’t mean attractive.”
“Thanks, old man,” I replied, laughing as I turned to face my honorary uncle. “You look old, but that’s not surprising.”
“I’m in the prime of my life,” he argued, his big barrel chest shaking as he laughed. “Come give your uncle Danny a hug.”
“Missed you,” I said as I wrapped my arms around his waist.
“Same. You home for good?”
“Home for now,” I answered, leaning back to meet his eyes.
“Always on the move,” he said, shaking his head. “You and that sister of yours.”
“What can I say?” I shrugged as I stepped back. “I’ve got places to go and people to see.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, reaching out to give my ponytail a yank. “Where are my pain-in-the-ass sons? They helping you?”
“Your pain-in-the-ass sons have been here for two hours,” Frank said, walking toward us. “Where you been, old man?”
“In bed with my wife,” Danny replied, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning.
“That’s my mother you’re talking about,” Frank bitched, shaking his head as he hopped into the truck, not bothering with the ramp.
“So sensitive,” Danny said quietly to me, shaking his head as his eyes twinkled.
“Move,” Frank ordered as he carried boxes down the ramp. “Don’t want to be doing this shit all day.”
“Nobody made you come,” I sniped back, shifting out of his way. “You’re in such a pissy mood.”
“You know I love ya,” he called back over his shoulder. “But it’s already hot as fuck out here.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a box, taking a minute to get my balance with the extra weight before following him toward the house. I wasn’t about to stand around chatting while other people unloaded my stuff.
“You going to be here for a while?” I asked as Danny carried a couple of boxes behind me.
“Yeah, got nothing else planned. We’ll catch up later,” he huffed, out of breath.
It was hard seeing my dad and the uncles aging. Every time I came back, I was surprised to see how they’d changed. None of them were really old, but living the life they’d lived and working the jobs that were so hard on a person’s body took its toll on each of them. They were slowing down, no doubt about it, and it was tough to watch.
Less than an hour later, I stood staring into the small bedroom that I used to share with my baby sister, wondering how in the heck I was going to find a place for all of our stuff. My bed and Etta’s crib were built and ready for linens, but I wasn’t sure where we’d put them. There were plastic bins and boxes lining the walls almost to the ceiling.
“I draw the line at unpacking,” Frank said, laying a hand on my shoulder as he came up behind me.
“I’m not even sure where I’ll put everything,” I confessed, grimacing. I hadn’t thought that Etta and I had very much stuff until we’d unpacked it into the small room. We’d been spoiled with space at our old place.
“Just leave everything in boxes and spend twenty minutes searching through them whenever you need something,” Olly chimed in, grinning as he came down the short hall. “That’s what Frank’s been doing for two years.”
“Ew,” I replied. “Seriously?”
“Apartment’s temporary,” Frank mumbled. “Just until I can get the old house sold.”
“Gotta get the ex-wife out before you can sell it,” Olly said helpfully. “And I don’t see that happening.”
“Still?” I asked, shaking my head. I’d never really liked Frank’s wife, but I’d made an effort whenever I saw her. It didn’t matter. Her snotty comments when we’d visited made it clear that she hadn’t liked me or Miranda. I couldn’t exactly blame her, though. Miranda and Frank had this never-ending relationship that wasn’t good for either of them. They got together and broke up so many times that most of us stopped paying attention to their ups and downs until Frank came home from Vegas with a wife, effectively ending things with Miranda for good. I’d always wondered if Frank was the reason Miranda had chosen the college in Oregon, but I’d never asked. My sister would never have admitted that he had anything to do with her decisions.
“My ex is none of your business,” Frank mumbled. He kissed the side of my head. “I’m out of here. Call if you need anything.”
“You shouldn’t have said anything,” I c
hastised quietly as Olly and I watched him leave.
“Someone’s gotta say something,” he replied. “Or he’s never going to get off his ass and fix it.”
“Not your call,” I reminded him as I caught sight of the plastic garbage bag that held our linens half hidden behind a cardboard box. I ripped the bag open and tossed him the sheets to my bed. “It just pisses him off.”
“He’ll get over it,” Olly said as he rounded the bed and started helping me make it.
* * *
Later that night, my dad, Danny and his wife, Lorraine, Olly, and I were sitting around the table playing dice and catching up. Etta had fallen asleep on my dad’s lap and was snuggled against his chest, not even flinching when the dice rolled loudly on the wood table. It felt like old times, when I was a kid and we’d all get together for a barbeque or whatever, and the kids would sleep where they landed and the adults would stay up visiting long into the night. I loved it.
My phone rang in the middle of a game and my dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Know that ain’t your sister, since she’s usually in bed by nine.”
I laughed a little and glanced at my phone, smiling a little as I saw Trevor’s name on the screen. We hadn’t talked all day, but I’d texted him a photo of Etta drooling with her head resting on the table about an hour before.
“I’ll be back,” I told everyone. “Skip my turn.”
Ignoring the good-natured grumbling, I left the room and answered before Trevor could hang up.
“Hey!”
“Hey,” Trevor replied, sounding surprised at my excited greeting. “How’d the unpacking go?”
“Good.” I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me. “I mean, the only things that made it out of boxes are our clothes and sheets, but I call that a win.”
“Definitely,” he agreed. “That was a long drive yesterday. You’ve got time to put everything where you want it.”
“You’re never going to let that long drive go, are you?” I joked, sitting down on the edge of my bed.
“Hey, I thought I was pretty cool about it.”
I snorted.
“Wish you would have let me help, but you got there and everything’s all good,” he clarified, chuckling a little.
“I really appreciated the offer,” I said, getting more comfortable on the bed. “But I had it covered.”
“Clearly,” he replied. “Now that you’re there, you gonna let us come visit?”
I opened my mouth, then paused. Was I? Much to my chagrin, I’d grown lax at keeping my distance from Trevor. He was just so…likeable. I tried to tell myself that it was good that I was forming a relationship with Etta’s uncle, but I knew, deep down, that Etta wasn’t the only reason why his texts were the highlight of my day.
“I know you just got there,” he continued. “But I’m having some serious withdrawals here.”
I felt my cheeks heat at his tone, then shook my head to clear it. He meant Etta. He missed Etta. Jesus, I needed to get my head on straight.
“We can plan for something soon,” I finally replied, clearing my throat. “I know you’re anxious to see Etta again.”
“I’m—” He stopped short, then dropped the bomb that would change everything. “It’s both of you.”
Sometimes a million things can run through your head in the space of just a few seconds, reasons for something, reasons against something, recriminations and memories, pros and cons, denial and acceptance. It happened to me then, the barrage of thoughts that raced past almost too fast for me to fully comprehend them.
Before I could open my mouth I was startled by loud knocking on my bedroom door.
“Look at you,” Olly teased. “Pretty sure I found you talking to your boyfriend when you were seventeen in that exact same spot, all dreamy eyed and blushing.”
“I have to go,” I mumbled into the phone, my eyes widening in horror as Olly came closer. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
I didn’t wait for a reply before ending the call and sticking my phone down my shirt where I knew Olly wouldn’t reach for it. When he and his brothers had decided that Miranda and I were family, they’d really decided it, and that came with every annoying-older-brother trait imaginable, including but not limited to embarrassing the hell out of us as often as possible.
“Oh, come on,” Olly complained.
“You know, when you knock you’re supposed to wait for the person to answer before you open the door,” I snapped, climbing off the bed.
“Who was that? Thought your dad said you were single?”
“It was Etta’s uncle,” I replied, pushing past him.
“Whoa,” he replied, frowning as he grabbed my arm. “Etta’s dad ran like his ass was on fire and now you’re going for the brother?”
“I’m not going for anyone.”
“Girl, I just saw you,” he argued. “You’re definitely doing something.”
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head. “That would be weird, right?” I tried to laugh, but the noise got stuck in my throat. Oh, crap.
Olly tilted his head as he looked at me like he was reading my mind. “No, I guess not,” he finally said, giving my arm a squeeze. “From what I’ve heard, you weren’t ever serious with Etta’s dad. And it’s not like it’s gonna cause trouble with the brothers, since one of them’s dead.”
“Still,” I muttered, wincing at the abrupt way he’d spelled it out. I glanced quickly down the hall to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “If something did happen, then I’d be screwed when we stopped. I don’t want to mess anything up for Etta.”
Why was I even thinking about that shit? If something did happen? I needed my freaking head examined. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing could happen. Even if it was technically acceptable, it was still wrong in a lot of ways. I’d been burned in the past and I’d brushed myself off and kept moving, but this was Etta’s family we were talking about. There would be no escaping that aftermath.
“Aw, come on,” he said consolingly, throwing an arm around my shoulder so he could lead me back toward the kitchen. “If the guy stopped wanting to see Etta just because you broke up, he wouldn’t be worth the trouble anyway. Plus, you need to get laid. Your shoulders are all tense.”
I elbowed him hard in the side as we reached our parents, and ignored the surprised oomph as I sat back down in my chair. He was a jackass, and he made a little bit of sense, but I wasn’t going there. Besides, I could barely focus on his words when a deeper voice was saying both of you over and over in my mind.
Chapter 9
Trevor
I was such an idiot. The minute Morgan hung up on me, I threw my phone across the room like it was a poisonous snake and watched it bounce across the carpet and slide under my recliner. Good. It could stay there until I figured out what the hell I was going to do now.
I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I knew that making any kind of mention about how much I wanted to see her again would backfire. I knew it, and yet I still opened my big mouth and let it slip out.
Two seconds later I’d heard a guy’s voice in the background and Morgan had ended our call in a hurry.
God, if I fucked up my family’s chance for a relationship with Etta I was going to start wearing a hair shirt under my clothes. I’d never understood that method of penance—it seemed pretty weird—but I was starting to understand it now. The constant reminder of my stupidity would help me be smarter in the future.
Hell, maybe I should order one online just in case.
Flirting was halfway acceptable. Some men flirted with anything that walked on two legs—it didn’t mean anything. But saying something like that? Telling her I was having withdrawals from her? That crossed the line, big time.
Unable to stay in the house where the walls seemed to be closing in, I threw on my coat and headed outside. A ride would clear my head and I’d just changed the oil in my four-wheeler, so she was ready for a trip. I started the engine and then glanced at the house, wondering for a split se
cond if I should go back for my phone, but decided against it. I needed to unplug for an hour or six. Maybe if I didn’t have the thing with me I’d be able to put some figurative distance between me and Morgan.
I rode through the woods and over wide fields of waist-deep grass, up massive hills and down into canyons. My parents’ land butted up against my uncle and aunt’s, the lines so blurry that we’d always considered it one big piece of property, and I knew every foot of it like the back of my hand. Sometimes I ambled along, and sometimes I practically flew, but I didn’t stop. I rode by the light of the moon and a single headlight until I was out of gas, filled up with the extra gas can I carried on the back, and finally headed home.
By the time I got to my house I was covered in mud, soaking wet, had scratches all over my hands from blackberry bushes and a pretty nasty-looking scratch on my calf where a stick had pierced through my jeans. On the bright side, my head was clear and I’d stopped chastising myself for a comment that Morgan may not have even heard or cared about.
Sometimes I found myself fixating on things I should have or shouldn’t have done. It didn’t happen often anymore. It had been worse when I was a kid and worried constantly that I was doing the right thing, the thing that would make me the most friends or convince some family to like me. The panicky sensation of saying the wrong thing had mostly disappeared after the first year with my adoptive parents, but occasionally I fixated on a certain specific sentence or phrase that I wished I hadn’t said. I hated feeling that way, so I always made sure to think my words through before I spoke.
The problem was, I had thought about those words before I’d said them to Morgan. I’d run them over in my head twice before I’d even opened my mouth. It hadn’t changed the fact that I really shouldn’t have said them, and the response I’d gotten had made me instantly regret them.
It was the middle of the night by the time I kicked my boots against the side of my porch to knock off the mud and shrugged as if knocking off the last bit of my panic. The words were said and the damage was done. They hadn’t been that bad, and if I was honest I knew that I could spin them any way I wanted. If Morgan started acting strange or uncomfortable, I’d get us onto solid ground again. There wasn’t any other option.
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