It made sense that he hadn’t actually vanished without a trace. It also made sense he’d put his trust in Noah—the guy who said five words a year and owed him a life debt on account of giving him a job that wasn’t cracking skulls.
Back in the day, she’d have held the information over Noah’s head. Tried to be funny or cute. Now she couldn’t think of anything she wanted less.
Because if Noah and her dad were in touch, her dad knew what had gone down in the years since he left and he still hadn’t come home. Not for the attempted studio arson, or Midnight the cat getting sick and needing to be put down, or Noah and Nicole’s wedding, or the miscarriages, or the twins turning thirty…
Or Sparkling Whine failing. Or Toby ditching me.
Tabby’s eyes burned as tears fought their way through weed smoke. Her dad was the only person she’d have been able to tell about Toby. She’d always been able to talk to him about guys and love and sex. He was completely non-judgemental and kind. He listened, and he gave better advice than anyone on earth. They’d spent so many nights on this porch, sharing a joint and talking about everything and anything, memories more precious than pearls to her now.
And who was he in contact with? Noah. A guy who had legitimately shattered people’s hands over botched amphetamine deals. It was bullshit.
A faint noise made Tabby turn. Speak of the devil, her brother-in-law emerged from the door behind her. Backlit by the porch light, he glowed like an angel.
“A Hells Angel,” she said, her voice muffled by her headphones. Noah said something inaudible, and she pulled them from her ears. Night sounds rushed in—crickets, cars, faint air-conditioner wooshing.
“How are you?” Noah asked.
“I’m not gonna lie, Noah. I’m dogshit.”
“Fair.” He pulled a small, familiar packet from his back pocket, and Tabby almost spat out her joint. “You’re smoking again?”
Noah glared at her as he lit up. “Stressful time.”
“You mean about my mum or…?”
He said nothing, but his eyes were hollow as empty graves as he lit up his Pall Mall. Despite what she’d just learned about him, Tabby’s heart twisted for her brother-in-law. Nix wanted to be open about her fertility issues, but Noah had always played things close to the chest. He had a big heart under his blackwork tats, and each miscarriage hit him like an axe.
Tabby knew in some caveman recess of his brain, Noah blamed himself. She’d watched him get angrier and angrier in the last few months, snapping at some dude trying to shove his dried-out Christmas tree into their green bin and almost starting a fight with a guy staring at Nix’s rack at the churro place around the corner. And now Nicole was pregnant again, but he didn’t seem happy or excited, only braced for more disaster.
“Everything’s okay,” she told Noah. “Nix and Sam will be fine. It’ll all work out for the best.”
His eyes softened over his cigarette. He exhaled smoke and then, to her surprise, sat down on the step beside her. He was so big he looked like a hunched-over grizzly bear.
“Seriously,” he said. “How are you?”
She shrugged. “Hard to tell.”
“You don’t need to see her ever again.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. Blood isn’t family.”
But it is blood, Tabby thought as she watched Noah draw deeply on his cigarette. “Does Nix know you’re punching darts?”
He shook his head.
“How are you gonna hide the smell?”
“I’ll go home after this. Take a shower.”
“Seems like a lot of work.”
“Don’t wanna worry her. She’s got enough on her plate.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell her about Dad?”
Noah said nothing.
