Goddamn. Combine that with my kid, who wouldnotfuckin’ keep still, and I was far from bored. “Wills. Stay where I can see you.”
Willow skipped back from a fire-damaged Fiesta. “What do you think happened to it?”
“Spontaneous combustion. You dropped your phone.”
“Huh?” Willow spun around, almost clattering into Embry.
He passed her the device with a vanilla smile that I appreciated. I hadn’t missed Willow’s wide-eyed stares at the pretty chaplain. A motherfucker I’d watched shoot a cartel boss in the face at point-blank range.
How is this my life?
Not that I had many complaints right now. I’d spent the morning watching my chaotic kid flit around with her wild grin while also finding the time to ogle my favourite people existing in their life-affirming love bubble, and it made the fucked-up start to the day easier to forget.
You want to forget wrapping your hand around Nash’s dick? The weight of his body holding yours down?
Nope. But I’d happily forget my entire existence to erase the look on his face when he’d seen more of me than I’d ever wanted to show him.
“He’s so hot I might die.”
I blinked. “Hmm?”
“That one.” Willow elbowed me, tilting her head at Embry with all the subtlety this awful conversation deserved. “He’shot.”
“He is.” I never lied to my kids unless I had to. “He’s also married—to adude—so wind those eyeballs in before you trip over them.”
Willow groaned. “You know that makes him hotter, right? Like T.K. and Carlos?”
“Who?”
“Oh my god, you’re so shit at fandoms.”
“Don’t swear like that around your mum.”
“I don’t. I’m not stupid.”
Nash came back, cutting off a response I hadn’t thought of yet. “It’s a good car. If River helps me with the bodywork, we can get it on the road by next week.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I repeated for what felt like the thousandth time.
For the thousandth time, no one listened.
Nash moved closer to Willow. “What guitar do you have?”
“Huh?” Willow tore her gaze from Embry. “Oh. It’s a... what’s it called, Dad?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know.”
True story. That guitar pissed me off, and I’d spent the four years since Logan “rescued it from a skip fire” pretending it didn’t exist.
“Santiago,” Willow remembered eventually and retold the legend that made my stomach clench and my eardrums bleed.
I tuned her out, still unreasonably annoyed with my twin for stepping up for my kid when I hadn’t been around to do it myself. At least he hadn’t pretended I’d bought it, but it was a fucked-up thing to be thankful for, and the envelope in my pocket weighed me down. I could buy her and Nicky a hundred cars each. It wouldn’t change anything.
“Hey there.” Orla nudged me, her fruity scent swamping my senses. “Don’t fall down that hole. Look at her face. Look how excited she is.”
“She’s always excited.”
“I noticed. She reminds me of River, minus the toddler temper.”
