“She’s at your mom’s. I may have driven past the house on my way here. Just because I let her have her moment doesn’t mean that I’m okay with it. I’m giving her time to come back to me, if that’s what she wants.”
Ollie opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “So we good?” I press on my knees to rise at the same time Ollie does.
“Yeah, man, we’re good. I still don’t like that way you two went about it, but love, man. It fucks you up. No more secrets, though?”
“No more secrets.” That was the first secret we’ve ever had between us our entire lives. I mean, hell, he told me the truth about his and Hollie’s fake relationship back in the beginning. I was the only one who knew it wasn’t real, although I watched those fake feelings turn into forever.
He pulls me into his arms for a manly hug, swatting my back harder than normal. I wince slightly at the last slap.
“For the record, you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you myself. And my wife watches enough true crime that they’d never find the body.” When he pulls back, he smiles his carefree Oliver Mosby smile, but his eyes tell me he’s not joking.
“Trust me. If I ever hurt her, I’ll hand you myself on a silver platter to do with as you please. And make it hurt.”
Archer chuckles at my response. “Good to know. But be on your best behavior because I’d hate to go out and hire a new chef. Which, speaking of, we’re opening soon, and you have a kitchen to run.”
“What?” Ollie screeches. “You’re worried about the kitchen when this shit is going down? We need to fix things.”
Ollie’s change in behavior gives me fucking whiplash. Oh, my, how quickly the tables have turned. This time, I don’t hide my smirk.
“No, Rhyland seems to know what he’s doing at the moment. So he’s going to get to the kitchen like planned and focus his mind on cooking. And you—” Archer pokes his brother in the chest hard enough to shove him back slightly. “—are you going to get in your jeep, drive over to our mother’s house, and pray to God that she lets you inside to apologize to her daughter. I like how you saidweneed to fix things when it’s you.Youare the one that fucked things up, andyouneed to be the one to fix things.”
Ollie swallows dramatically, as if just now realizing that Pay being at their mom’s house means that she probably told Connie everything, including the shit he said.
“Don’t worry, baby bro. I’m sure Mom can get out the old soap you used to chew on back in the day,” Archer teases before walking me out of the office and to the kitchen.
As I slip into my chef coat, I hope Ollie doesn’t make matters worse and hurt his sister even more. We may be good now, but I swear to all fuck that I will hurt him if he makes the situation worse.
If he does, I will at least help Payton bury the body while giving my condolences to Hollie upon her return.
Chapter 32
Payton
Acool front seems to have slipped into the area to break up this heat wave. The closer it gets to the change of the seasons, the more drunk Mother Nature becomes. But I’m thankful for the breeze because it allows Gabby and me time in the backyard while Mom ran out to pick up a plethora of my favorite takeout.
“You can’t make any major decisions on an empty stomach,” she said.And who am I to turn down my favorite meal?
I hadn’t thought twice about coming to Mom’s house after fleeing Rhy’s. It seems to always be the place I can escape to. We sat on the couch, and she allowed me to cry in her arms as I told her everything that has been happening between me and Rhy since Gabby and I moved in. She had no judgment and only offered comfort—the comfort only a mom could do.
Gabby’s giggles wrap me up in a warm hug as she soars through the air in her bucket seat on the swing set—the same swing set I grew up playing on. The same swing set Rhyland found me on the day of Dad’s funeral.
Behind me, the sliding glass door opens. Guess Mom is home. But the heavy thud of footsteps down the steps has me second-guessing. A slight hesitation in each step makes me believe the approaching person is nervous.
My brother stepping into my peripheral vision confirms my thought. I observe his demeanor—hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slumped, and worry wrinkles, as my mother calls them, etched between his brows.
Neither of us speaks for a moment, the only sounds around us belonging to my daughter and tiny squeaks from the swing set.
When I can’t take the silence anymore, I decide to be the bigger person and break it.
“What, come to throw more punches?” I hope the flat tone in my voice tells Ollie that I’m still mad at him.
Ollie exhales a loud breath as he steps forward and sits on the swing beside Gabby, facing me. “No.” He hesitates. “I’m here to apologize.”
“What was that?” I taunt, even though I heard him perfectly the first time he said it. I just want to hear Oliver Mosby admit he needs to apologize.
“I’m sorry. I messed up and was completely out of line.”
I scoff. “Ya think?”
