Callie smiles and nods. “Like I said—a distraction.” She puts her arm around my shoulders, guiding me into the kitchen. She looks so proud of herself, but it’s only because she doesn’t know.
Suddenly, my mind isn’t wrapped up in the unexpected deaths. My pulse races for an entirely different reason—the one secret I’ve kept from her during our friendship. It was so long ago that half the time, I don’t even believe it happened myself.
I’m gonna need more than a candy drawer. I’m not sure a fully stocked vending machine would help me get through today.
Chapter
Two
Leighton
* * *
Guess I worried for nothing. Hayes hasn’t searched me out once since he arrived, and he has no idea I’m watching him from the kitchen like a stalker, eating a stale store-bought cookie that doesn’t come close to fulfilling my sugar craving.
There was no candy drawer to be found. Though I’m sure there’s a drawer Skylar used to organize all her charging cords that I can turn into a candy drawer. One point for me and zero for Callie.
You’d think Hayes was running for mayor, shaking everyone’s hands with that damn charming smile of his in place. Lincoln excitedly weaves between him and everyone approaching, rambling questions about the other players on the team and if Hayes is happy to be a Colt now. Hayes ruffles Lincoln’s hair and nods, entertaining every question. It’s nice to see something other than confusion and sadness on the little guy’s face.
Julianna breezes in, interrupting my tunnel vision. “This dip is going to go bad. We don’t want people associating the funeral with food poisoning.”
Sky would hate that I gave Julianna so much control over today.
I grit my teeth, swallowing down my comebacks. I’m not her biggest fan. She was always offering Sky unsolicited advice on everything from how to introduce new foods to the kids when they were babies to the importance of a Montessori education. Hell, I’m not even sure Arthur likes his wife very much. She clearly runs the roost in their household.
“I think we should talk.” She scoops the dip out of the bowl, and it plops into the trash in one big solid mass.
“After.” For someone who apparently has it all together, she sure can’t take a hint. I’ve already told her ten times today.
She sets the bowl in the sink and grabs a new one. Did she already memorize what’s in every cabinet? Other than some holidays and birthdays, they never really saw one another. Patrick and Arthur would go on their brotherly fishing trips every year. Selfishly, I was happy not to have to share Skylar and Patrick with them very often, so I never really asked questions.
“I have to go water the plants.” I step toward the back door, seeking solitude once again, unable to handle these people and their sad looks at me as if I was dumped into that grave with Skylar and Patrick. My life isn’t over because I have three kids to take care of. Although in just the week that I’ve been responsible for them, it’s been obvious where my single life needs adjusting.
“Didn’t it just rain?” Julianna asks.
“Yeah, you know how much Patrick loved his landscaping. We wouldn’t want it to suffer.” I don’t wait for her to argue with me, opening the back door to their deck and hoping like hell she doesn’t follow me.
Once I’m out there, I pull out a patio chair, and my legs relax in relief the minute I sit.
The sun warms my skin. How cruel of Mother Nature to give us the perfect Chicago spring day on a day like today. The sun shouldn’t shine so brightly. The birds should still be south and not chirping with life in the nearby trees. Flowers shouldn’t be budding, and green leaves shouldn’t be yawning open on the tree branches.
I run my finger under my eyes to dry the tears bubbling up, wishing it were the middle of winter, when everything would be cold, dead, and empty.
Skylar didn’t deserve to leave this world so young. She had an entire life to live, children to watch grow up into good humans because of her exceptional mothering skills.
The back door opens, and I straighten, my feet hitting the deck floor, and I run my palms over my cheeks to dry the tears.
A king-size Twix bar lands with a thud on the patio table in front of me, then the chair next to me slides out, a body falling into it. The scent of men’s cologne reaches my nostrils, giving me an idea of who it is before I even turn my head to look.
Peeking, I catch his long, thick fingers wrapped around the arm of a patio chair. The button-down sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off forearms corded with muscles.
I swallow back my rush of desire. This isn’t the time to be crushing on Hayes Carlisle.
“I’ll take half as payment,” his deep voice says.
I face him, and damn, he looks as good as he did when I saw him six months ago. He’s always been built, but more so since the last time I saw him. He was clearly hitting the gym in the offseason.
“And here I thought this was your condolence gift.”
