Things We Never Got Over

by Lucy Score

  I gave her a playful slap on the ass. “Go on. Go scream into some hand towels.”

  A minute later, Nash came out of the bedroom. “Grave is sending some boys out to see if we can lift any prints. Where’s Naomi?”

  “Bathroom. You find any prints in the landlord’s office?” I asked Nash.

  He shook his head. “It was a clean job.”

  “What are the odds they split up? Tina took the storage unit, and the boyfriend took the office.”

  Nash thought about it. “It plays.”

  “Naomi doesn’t think Tina broke in. She’s worried Way let Tina in. Worried how that’ll play in the guardianship shit.”

  Nash blew out a breath. “Any judge that looks at those two sisters and decides Naomi isn’t fit has their robe on too tight.”

  “She’s a worrier. Which is why I don’t want her worrying about some stranger sneakin’ into her home and going through her things.”

  “Better the devil you know,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Speaking of, you going to see him this weekend?” Nash asked.

  Deliberately I took another forkful of cobbler even though my appetite was suddenly gone. “If he’s there.”

  “Give him this from me.” Nash limped over to the table and picked up a backpack. “And maybe think about not handing over cash.”

  “You’re lucky I’m tired of fighting about this,” I told him and took the bag.

  “People keep telling me how lucky I am,” he said.

  “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

  “You remember what she was wearing when she walked by your window,” he said, nodding at the bathroom door.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “She means something to you.”

  “Does blood loss make you stupid?” I wondered.

  “I’m just sayin’, you care about her. Any other woman you wouldn’t have bothered calling her on her own bullshit. You wouldn’t have known any other woman well enough to know she was bullshitting you, let alone care that she was.”

  “Getting to your point any time soon?”

  “Yeah. Don’t fuck it up like you usually do.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  A SWIFT KICK

  Naomi

  “Why do kids’ sports start at such ungodly hours? And why is the grass so wet? Look at these shoes. They’ll never recover,” Stef complained as we set up our folding chairs on the sideline of the soccer field.

  “It’s nine in the morning, not four a.m.,” I said dryly. “Maybe if you and Liza hadn’t made and then drank an entire pitcher of margaritas last night, you wouldn’t be cringing like a vampire at the light of day.”

  He collapsed into his chair, looking impossibly stylish in Raybans and a thick knit sweater. “It was my last night in town before my trip to Paris. I couldn’t say no to margaritas. Besides, it’s easy to be Suzy Sunshine when you’re getting laid regularly.”

  “Zip it, Betty Big Mouth,” I said, shooting a look at the rest of Waylay’s cheering section. My parents were sitting with Liza, who didn’t seem any the worse for wear for her half of the margaritas. Mom was doing her mom thing and introducing herself to everyone in a twenty-foot radius, asking them the names of their players and proudly pointing out Waylay in her number six jersey.

  Wraith, badass biker and silver fox, strode down the sideline. He was wearing a Metallica t-shirt, black jeans, and a scowl perfectly framed by his gray Fu Manchu mustache. “Looking lovely as always, Liza,” he said with a wolfish smile.

  “Peddle that charm someplace else, biker boy,” she shot back. But I noticed two dots of color on her cheeks.

  “Bring it in, Knock ’Em Outs,” Wraith bellowed. Fifteen girls in all shapes, sizes, and colors jogged and skipped their way over to the unlikely head coach.

  “That guy looks like a probation violation, not a girls soccer coach,” Stef observed.

  “That’s Wraith. His granddaughter Delilah is the one with the pigtails. She plays forward. She’s unbelievably fast,” I told him.

  Waylay looked up from her team huddle and waved at me. I grinned and waved back.

  The ref blew two short blasts on the whistle, and two girls from each team jogged to the center circle. “What’s happening? Did the game start?” Stef asked.

  “They’re doing the coin toss. You’re lucky you’re so pretty. What if your future husband is into sports?”

  Stef shuddered. “Perish the thought.”

  “The coin toss determines which team gets the ball for kickoff and which direction they’re trying to score.”

  “Look at you, soccer mom,” he teased.

  Self-consciously, I straightened my Knock ’Em Out hoodie. Thanks to a school fundraiser, I now owned a capsule wardrobe of school cheer gear. The mascot was an oversize boxing glove named Punchy that I found both charming and inappropriate.

  “I may have done a little reading up on the sport,” I said. I’d done a lot of research. I’d reread Rock Bottom Girl and watched Ted Lasso, Bend it Like Beckham, and She’s the Man for good measure.

  The whistle on the field signaled the start of the game, and I cheered along with the rest of the crowd as the action got underway.

  Two minutes into play, I was holding my breath and Stef’s hand in a death grip as Waylay got the ball and started dribbling for the goal.

  “Go, Waylay! Go!” Dad shouted as he came out of his chair.

  When we were ten years old, Tina had played softball for one season. Dad had been her biggest fan. It was nice to see he hadn’t lost his enthusiasm.

  Waylay faked a move to the right before heading in the opposite direction around the defender and firing off a pass to Chloe, Sloane’s niece.

  “That was good, right?” Stef asked. “It looked good. Sneaky and full of deception.”

  “The coach says she’s a natural,” I said proudly before yelling, “Go, Chloe!”

  Chloe lost the ball out of bounds, and play was paused so three players could tie their shoelaces.

  “A natural. That’s impressive.”

  “She’s quick, she’s sneaky, she’s a team player. There’s just one or two little kinks that need working out.”

  “What kind of kinks?” Stef asked.

  “What did I miss?” Sloane appeared next to me in jeans and a Nirvana tank top under a soft gray cardigan. She had her pink and blonde hair piled high in a knot on top of her head and stylish sunglasses. Her lips were painted ruby red. She waved to Chloe and plopped down in her own camp chair.

  “Just the first two minutes. No score. And Wraith hasn’t screamed ‘Come on, ladies!’ yet,” I reported.

  On cue, the burly biker cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Come on, ladies!”

  “And all was right with the world,” Sloane said with a satisfied smile. “Any yellow cards for Way yet?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet.” Though if the past two games were accurate predictors, it was only a matter of time.

  “Is that like an award?” Stef asked.

  “Not exactly,” she said, winking at me before turning back to my best friend. “You’re looking annoyingly gorgeous today.”

  He preened, fluffing the collar of his sweater. “Why, thank you, Sexy Librarian. Love those boots.”

  She kicked up her feet to admire the knee-high waterproof footwear. “Thanks. I discovered early on in Chloe’s soccer career that I wasn’t a fan of wet shoes and squishy socks.”

  “Now she tells me,” he complained.

  “By the way, loving this whole curly vibe,” Sloane said, waving her hand in front of my face.

  I tossed my hair dramatically. “Thanks. Waylay showed me a tutorial.”

  “We’re the new generation of hot soccer moms,” Stef decided.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Sloane agreed, hoisting her tumbler that said This is Definitely Not Wine.

  “So where’s your hot soccer daddy?” Stef asked me.

  “Thank God someone asked,” Sloane said, s
hifting in her chair. “Here are all the questions I’ve stored up. How good is the sex? Is he as grumpy immediately after orgasm as he is the rest of the time, or are there cracks in the stony facade that reveal the soft, teddy bear heart beating beneath?”

  “Has he torn any clothing off your body?” Stef asked. “If so, I know a guy who makes entire wardrobes with Velcro closures.”

  “Of course you do,” I said dryly.

  Sloane leaned forward. “Is he a flowers and a cook-you-dinner kind of guy? Or is he more of a growl-at-any-man-who-dares-to-look-at-your-boobs dude?”

  “Definitely a growler,” Stef decided.

  “You guys! My parents and his grandmother are right there,” I hissed. “Besides, we’re at a children’s soccer game.”

  “She’s going to tell us how inappropriate we’re being but what she doesn’t realize is how every conversation happening around this field is about sex,” he complained.

  “They are not,” I insisted.

  “Oh, believe me. They are. Chloe’s been playing since she was six. Those dads over there might look like they’re talking about power tools and lawn mowers, but they’re actually talking about vasectomies,” Sloane said, pointing at a group of dads huddled together next to the bleachers.

  “I forget. Did you tell us why Knox isn’t here?” Stef said, feigning innocence.

  I sighed. “He’s not here because I didn’t invite him.” What I didn’t tell them was I didn’t invite him because I didn’t think he’d come. Knox Morgan didn’t seem like the type of man who would willingly show up at a kid’s sporting event and make small talk for an hour.

  He was the kind of man who pinned you down and made you come in positions that shouldn’t have been possible. Like last night when he’d pressed me flat on my stomach and entered me from behind—

  My inner walls clenched involuntarily at the decadent memory.

  “Why didn’t you invite him?” Sloane pressed, ignoring the game in favor of the sideline inquisition.

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know. Probably because he wouldn’t have come. And I don’t want Waylay to get too used to him being around.”

  “Naomi, I say this with love. This is the first time since high school Knox has dated anyone in town. That’s huge. It means he sees something special about you that he hasn’t seen in anyone else.”

  I felt like a fraud.

  I wasn’t special. I hadn’t landed a never-falling-in-love bachelor. I’d gotten swept up in an admittedly scorching hot one-night stand, and he’d gotten caught in the consequences of banging a good girl.

  “Is that Nash?” Stef asked, mercifully changing the subject.

  I looked up and spotted him ambling slowly in my direction.

  Sloane hummed. “Those Morgan brothers sure were built to catch the eye.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Nash Morgan looked every bit the wounded hero. I noticed quite a few of the moms and even one or two of the dads thinking the same thing. He was wearing worn jeans and a long-sleeved Henley. He had a baseball cap pulled down low, and I noticed he’d ditched the sling for his arm. He walked slowly, carefully. It looked casual, but I guessed the pace was dictated more by pain and exhaustion than by a desire to look cool.

  “Mornin’,” he said when he arrived.

  “Hey,” I said. “Want a seat?”

  He shook his head, eyes on the field as the Knock ’Em Outs played defense.

  Waylay glanced up and spotted him and waved.

  He waved with his good arm, but I saw the grimace under the smile.

  The man should be sitting at home resting and healing, not strolling around town without his sling. I realized my annoyance with his brother was spilling over onto Nash.

  “Sit,” I insisted, rising. I all but manhandled him into my chair.

  “I don’t need to sit, Naomi. I don’t need to be at home resting. I need to be out here doing what I’m good at.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked. “Looking like you got hit by a fleet of school buses?”

  “Ouch,” Stef said. “Better listen to her, Chief. She’s mean when she’s riled.”

  “I don’t get riled,” I scoffed.

  “You should be riled given the bomb that got dropped on you,” Nash said.

  Uh-oh.

  “I changed my mind. You can stand up and walk away,” I decided.

  He looked smug then. “You didn’t tell them?”

  “Tell us what?” Sloane and Stef said at the same time.

  “I didn’t get a chance,” I fibbed.

  “Did you get a chance to tell your parents? Or Liza J, seein’ as how she owns the property in question?”

  “What’s happening right now?” Sloane wondered.

  Stef’s eyes narrowed. “I think our close-mouthed little friend here is keeping more from us than just her exploits in bed.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I huffed.

  “Naomi didn’t mention to you that Tina was connected to a break-in in town?” Nash asked, knowing full well I hadn’t.

  “She most definitely didn’t mention that.”

  “How about that in order to commit the robbery, Tina broke into Naomi’s cottage and stole one of her dresses?”

  Sloane tilted her sunglasses down her nose to look at me. “Not cool, babe. Not cool at all.”

  “She pulled the ol’ Wrong Twin again, didn’t she?” Stef asked, not looking at me. It wasn’t a good sign.

  “Look. I just found out about this—”

  “I told you three days ago, Naomi,” Nash reminded me.

  “I’m not real clear on the law in Virginia. Is it okay to put duct tape over a police officer’s mouth?”

  “Not when he’s on the clock,” Nash said with a grin.

  “Why wouldn’t you tell us? Why wouldn’t you say something? If we need to be on the lookout for your sister, it’s better if we know about it,” Sloane pointed out.

  “Let me explain something about our little Witty here,” Stef said to Sloane.

  “And here we go,” I muttered.

  “See, Naomi doesn’t like to inconvenience anyone by doing anything annoying like talking about what’s wrong. Asking for help. Or standing up for what she needs and wants. She prefers to scurry around like a mouse, making sure everyone else’s needs are met.”

  “Well, that’s just fucked up,” Sloane decided.

  I winced. “Look, guys. I understand that you’re concerned. I get it. I am too. But right now, my priority is to get custody of my niece. I don’t have the time or the energy to worry about anything else.”

  “Your evil twin has been in your house that you share with her daughter,” Sloane interjected.

  “She stole from you. She committed a crime disguised as you so once again you’d be the one to pay the consequences. And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?”

  “Thanks a lot, Nash,” I said.

  Sloane crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t blame a man who just took two bullets,” she said.

  “Guys, don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  “No. We’re reacting appropriately. You’re the one who is underreacting. Your safety, Waylay’s safety, is on the line. That deserves a reaction,” Stef said.

  I looked down at my hands.

  “So it would make you all feel better that I am terrified, frozen in the core of my soul, fearful that something is going to happen and Waylay is going to be taken away from me. That some stranger is going to end up raising my niece, or worse, that my sister, the person I’m supposed to be closest to in this world, could come waltzing back into town and take her from me without me knowing. That between trying to prove to a caseworker who keeps seeing me at my worst that I’m the most responsible option she has, holding down two jobs, and reminding a little girl that not everything has to be the way it was for the first eleven years of her life, you want me to pencil in a conversation about how I have to exhaust myself just so I can sleep at night and not stare a
t the ceiling thinking of all the ways this could go horribly wrong.”

  “Uh, yeah. That would make me feel better than being intentionally cut out,” Sloane said.

  “Thank you,” Stef said. “Nash, you wanna bring this home for us?”

  “Naomi, you’ve got a lot of people who care about you. Maybe it’s time you let them take care instead of you doing all the care-taking for once.”

  I stuck out my chin. “I’ll take that under advisement,” I said.

  “That’s her snooty tone,” Stef said. “There’s no getting through until she calms down.”

  “I’m going for a walk,” I said huffily.

  I hadn’t made it very far when I heard, “Naomi, hold up.”

  I wanted to keep walking, to flip him the middle finger, but because I was me, I stopped in my tracks and waited for Nash to catch up.

  “I’m not doing this to piss you off,” he said. His eyes were bluer than Knox’s, but they burned with that same Morgan intensity that had my stomach flipping upside down and inside out. “You need to be on the lookout. Your family needs to too. Keeping shit like this from them is irresponsible, and that’s the kind of thing that doesn’t look good in guardianship cases.”

  “You said I had nothing to worry about!”

  “I’m speaking to you in a language you understand. Being a guardian, being a parent, it isn’t about getting gold stars from some authority figure. It’s about doing what’s right even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

  Easy for him to say, a caseworker hadn’t caught him mostly naked after a one-night stand.

  He reached out and gripped my shoulder with one hand. “Do you hear me?” he asked.

  “I’d think real hard about removing that hand if I were you.”

  My head swiveled, and that’s when I saw him. Knox sauntering our way. But there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. He looked pissed.

  Nash kept his hand where it was even as Knox stepped into our little twosome.

  A second later, I found myself hauled up against Knox’s side, his arm draped over my shoulder. Our audience was dividing its attention between the play on the field and the drama off it.