Page 104 of The Next Lie

Good for Sonny.

Cal is the first one to look over at me. He glances at the bags, then back at Reva. He clocks everything in three seconds and says nothing. I like him a little for that, even though I don’t like that he is here, on principle. My girl doesn’t want him here; therefore I don’t want him here.

Reva turns on me. “Did you know?”

I set the bags down beside the door. “About which disaster, darling Yank? The day has been…ambitious.”

Her lips tighten. “Not in a mood, Shiloh.”

Fair enough.

I lift both hands. “I knew he landed. I did not know he would beat us to the house.”

“He shouldn’t have landed at all.”

Cal’s mouth tightens. “You knew I was coming. I told you I was.”

“I knew you were threatening to come. I told you not to.”

“You stopped answering your phone, so I couldn’t tell you I was ignoring that.”

Reva’s eyes pinch. “I was busy getting dragged through the French Quarter and assaulted by a palm reader.”

Nash looks toward Ever.

Ever says, “Figuratively. Relax.”

I file that away. Sounds like a story.

Cal takes one step toward Reva. She takes one back.

It is small. It hurts anyway.

I see it hit him. He covers it quickly, but not fast enough for me to miss. The old man loves her. That much is obvious. He loves her with the exhausted discipline of someone who has spent fifteen years checking locks, making backup plans, and lying to himself that survival was the same thing as peace.

Unfortunately for him, Reva has started noticing the difference.

“I needed to see you,” Cal says.

“You saw me. Congratulations. Now you can leave.”

“Kid—”

“No.” Her voice cracks on that single word, then hardens around it. “Don’t ‘kid’ me.”

Cal stops. Nash shifts his weight, ready to intervene. Ever slants a side-eye at me, which is annoying because it means he expects me to be useful.

I can be useful. Occasionally. When I want to be. I’m not sure I want to be right now, though⁠—

“Shiloh,” Ever hisses.

Fucking fine. I lift the bags and bang them against my thighs.

“Reva,” I say, jerking my head toward the hall, “come upstairs with me.”

She turns her glare on me. “Why?”

“Because you’re two minutes away from throwing something heavy at a man who looks like he’d let you, and apparently I’m the chosen whipping boy.”