Of course he wouldn’t do that. But what was she thinking? Shoplifting while out with Mama D? He bit back a groan.
“But he’ll be mad.”
Silence.
That part Zoey couldn’t refute, because he was mad. A lot mad. Mad enough to knock down the door but not mad enough to realize he shouldn’t.
Linc drew a shaky breath. At least Zoey was on his side, had his back. He’d cool off, talk to Amelia in a little while. Sucked she didn’t trust him enough to tell him before she told Zoey, or even tell them at the same time—but at least she trusted one of them.
That was something. He’d hold on to that.
“…when Mama D told me, I was mad too.”
Oh. So Zoey had known first? He frowned, inched closer to the door. Why hadn’t anyone told him?
“You were?” Amelia’s voice shrank.
“Of course I was. That’s a pretty shady thing to try, especially when someone is doing something nice for you, like taking you shopping.”
“I know.” Her voice was tinged with regret. “I said I was sorry.”
“And I believe you.” A beat. “Parents can get mad. That doesn’t mean they don’t care—or that they don’t want you around.”
“You’re not my parent.”
Zoey’s sigh was long. “I know.”
“But I’m glad you’re here.”
Oh. That sentiment should have been nice, but it hit Linc like a sucker punch in the gut. Zoey, Amelia trusted. Zoey, she confided in. Zoey, she was glad was there. Not him.
Would it ever be him?
Then again, how much could he really blame Amelia? Zoey was his comfort too. The one person he wanted around when things were bad. The one person he wanted on his team.
Then Zoey’s voice sounded again, quieter this time. “I guess I don’t have to tell him right now.”
Aye. So much for a team. His stomach flipped. He’d heard plenty for one night.
Before he did something dumb, he stalked to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door and staring blindly at the meager contents. Half-eaten bag of grapes. Square of cheese. End of a gallon of milk. He didn’t know what he wanted.
Well, yes he did. But he couldn’t have it.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring, cold air rushing over his face, but at some point, footsteps sounded. He turned from the fridge.
“Oh, hey. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Zoey, her hair gathered up in a messy bun, grinned at him as she tightened the belt on her fuzzy robe. Her face fell as he didn’t smile back. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.” He bumped the fridge door shut with his hip, casting the kitchen into shadows save for the dim light over the sink. “Just processing the fact my daughter shoplifted and my wife was going to keep it from me.” Almost tripped over the W-word, but managed not to stutter.
The anger helped.
Zoey crossed her arms over her chest, eyes flashing. “You were listening at the door?”
Incredible. He crossed his arms, mirroring her position. “That’swhat bothers you? Not the fact you two were ganging up on me?”
A bit of her fire dimmed. She uncrossed her arms. “That’s not what happened.”
“Keeping secrets. My kid is already convinced I’m the bad guy—you’re just confirming it with antics like that.” He jabbed his hand toward Amelia’s room. “You’re making her think I’m not safe. That I can’t be trusted.”
