“For fuck’s sake!” she hisses under her breath. “Dude, why aren’t you taking them back to New York? You can figure out a sitter and then go back or whatevs.”
She doesn’t get it.
She doesn’t get a lot of fucking things.
But when it comes to their safety, she has a point.
My blood simmers.
I glance at Margot, unable to help myself.
No, I’m not stranding her in this house to face whatever the Babins have planned with nobody but the lazy-ass Mayberry cops around to stop them. If she got hurt or—
No. Not happening.
Fuck this entirely.
“Hold up. Is this a woman thing?” Daria inhales sharply. “Holy shit, are youseeingsomeone, Kane?”
Her scorned giggle splits my ears.
“It’s not like that,” I lie.
She laughs again like she can see right through my pathetic words.
Damn.
It’s not that Daria cares about me dating.
She’s had more boyfriends than I care to count since we split—and probably before, too. And even if she wasn’t okay with it, that wouldn’t matter.
Trouble is, Margot’s right in front of me, listening to every word.
This thing with her is so new, so fragile—and it’s not really a thing, definitely nothing that I care to share with my ex.
“It’s complicated, Daria. I can’t go just yet and you need to trust me on that,” I say. “There’s crap to sort out here, and I’m the best man to do it.”
“Oh, yes. Right. I forgot you need someone to feed your big hero complex twenty-four seven, and I guess you’ve found her. Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t have them right now. I’m going to be in Cabo for almost a week. Kyle has a pickleball tournament, too.”
My jaw pops hearing Kyle’s name, her surfer-dud boyfriend.
That joke of a relationship won’t last—they never do—and her awful taste in men remains unmatched.
It’s not jealousy, I just hate the thought of the kids being around the one-dimensional losers she brings home. Last time, Surfer-dud yelled at Dan for drumming while he slept off a hangover.
Burnout piece of shit.
“It’s not fair to spring this on me last minute,” she whines. “My schedule issobusy lately, Kane. Can’t your mom—”
“Forget it,” I snap. “I should’ve known better than to expect you to step up.”
“Hey, I—”
“No, you’re right. I’ll have my mom on standby instead, just like I figured. She’s having a spa weekend with her friends, but I’m sure she can reschedule, under the circumstances.”
Then I end this worthless call.
Margot stares at me in stunned silence, this compassion in her gaze I don’t deserve.
