“There you go again,” he mutters.
I tilt my head to the side. “What do you mean?”
He squeezes my hand, wearing a wiseass smile. “Always making sure everybody around you is okay. Maisy, Tyler, Pen. Livy, Nina, me. You’re always looking after us.”
I blush. Maybe I do take care of others. I’m used to that. But right now? The feel of his hand around mine doesn’t feel a whole lot like caretaking.
It feels like sharing.
And maybe even something else.
Something I don’t want to examine right now.
“If his injuries weren’t bad, what was the worst of it?” I ask. And it’s not just because I need a distraction. It’s become clear in the last few minutes that this story is a big part of who Lark is, and I want to know it.
Because I want to know him.
He squeezes my hand again and lets out a sigh. “The mine was shut down for weeks. Investigations. Repairs. Safety checks.” He rolls his eyes like this last one is worthless. “When they let us go back down again, Dad’s injuries had healed, but—”
He pauses, and his jaw clenches.
“I knew he wasn’t himself.” He looks at me for just a moment before glancing away. Like he’s ashamed. This time, I squeeze his hand. “He’d been pretty quiet. Once he was able to move around, he spent most of his time outside on our land. Mowing. Clearing brush. Woodworking. He hardly ever came inside except at meal times.”
Lark shakes his head, and I can just read his self-censure in the gesture.
“Anyway, that first day back, he gets in the elevator and can’t breathe. Thinks he’s having a heart attack. The guys take him back up, call 911, get the defibrillator, the whole nine yards.”
Hearing this, my hand has tightened around his. I can’t imagine a worse place than underground to have an experience like that.
“I think Dad would have preferred a heart attack,” Lark says sourly.
I bite my bottom lip. “It was a panic attack?” I ask, because, shit. I’d have a panic attack going down into a mine even without surviving a mining disaster.
“Full-blown. The next day? Same thing. Shortness of breath. Sweating. Hyperventilating. All of it.” He wrinkles his nose. “Any idea how tough it is to get a sixty-year-old Cajun man to talk about mental health and PTSD?”
“Oh man.” My dad would never. He’d just pretend nothing happened until he actually did have a heart attack.
Lark nods. “For a while, it was really bad. He couldn’t get why he couldn’t work if his body was fine. And everything just snowballed. Panic attacks even at home. In bed.” That look of pain is back. “Depression set in. My mom was at her wit’s end.”
I squeeze his hand again. “That sounds terrible.”
His look says you’re telling me. “Takes forever to get disability benefits when you don’t have X-rays or scars to point to. Once we could get him to get a mental health diagnosis, that is.”
I was twenty-six when I had to navigate all of that bureaucracy to get Tyler where he needed to be. It wasn’t easy, but there was no denying his disability. Judging from the timeline he’s given, Lark was about eighteen or nineteen when that happened, and it sounds like his mom leaned on him a lot to help sort things out.
He wasn’t kidding. He’s twenty-three, but he’s not a young twenty-three.
“And even after all of that, you still want to work underground?”
His grin is like a jailbreak. “Yeah, especially if I’m the one keeping an eye on things like salinity distribution, erosion patterns, groundwater creep, and destabilization.”
I double blink. “Yeah, when he says shit like that, he don’t sound twenty-three at all.”
Lark booms a laugh.
Crap. I said that out loud, didn’t I?
His shrug is good humored. “Tried telling you.”
I roll my eyes, hoping my cheeks aren’t as pink as they feel. My only course of action is to shift the attention his way, but he’s earned it.
“And you give me grief about taking care of everybody.”
He’s still smiling, but he eyes me sidelong. “Huh?”
“Helping your mom? Taking care of your dad? Giving Nina rides?” I nod to my laptop. “Helping me set up shop? You think I’m the only one around here who looks after everybody?”
My characterization of him comes as a surprise, I see.
A pleasant surprise.
Squeezing my hand, Lark leans in until our mouths are just inches apart.
His sudden closeness sets my heart pounding.
“Nobody’s around.” His breath and his gaze fall on my lips.
On instinct, I lick them. His pupils expand.
“Yep,” I squeak.
“I’m gonna kiss you.”
The rough way he says it has my nipples tightening to rosebuds. “Okay,” I manage.
His lips brush mine once, twice, with a barely there hello. And I open for him, awaiting the velvet of his tongue—
The front door crashes open. We jerk apart.
“Nobody betta come near me!” Livy shouts, slamming the door behind her. “I’m liable to do some stabbin’!”
Chapter Nineteen
LARK
Stella’s on her feet and headed in Livy’s direction when I snag her by the wrist.
“You did just hear her, right? Stabbing? The woman wants her space.”
Stella tugs at her arm, giving me an exasperated look when I don’t let go. “Yeah, but she doesn’t mean that. Something must be wrong.”
We hear fast, angry thumps make their way upstairs. And then another slam.
But this one, I recognize, is the bathroom door. Not Livy’s bedroom. I know because the bathroom door has a brass skeleton key that rattles every time anyone closes it.
“Trust me on this,” I pledge. “You don’t want to disturb Livy while she’s in the bathroom.”
Stella’s mouth quirks to the side as she considers this advice. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll just text her.”
I roll my eyes. “Suit yourself. But you know you don’t have to be on standby to solve every crisis, right?”
Her lips part in surprise. And I get the feeling she absolutely does believe she has to be on standby. For everybody. All the time.
“I-I know that,” she stammers.
I give her a long stare. When she looks away, I take it as a win and tug her gently closer.
“Where were we?”
She lays a hand on my chest, and I remember the touch of her fingers on my bare skin last night. Stella peers at me from under her lashes in a teasing way that is nothing short of cruel.
“Well—” She glances over her shoulder at the microwave clock and then back at me. “I was about to start Maisy’s bath and you—” A manicured fingernail skims my nipple through the cotton of my shirt. I gulp. “—were about to pick up Nina.”
I check the clock. Damn. She’s right.
Ever since the run-in with Kaleb Doucet, we aren’t taking any chances. I pick up Nina from work at the end of every shift.
Heavy steps echo down the hallway off the kitchen.
Correction. Tyler and I pick up Nina from work at the end of every shift.
I let go of Stella, and we both step away from each other like two guilty teenagers.
Tyler walks in looking like he’s gone two rounds with an alley cat. His hair is sticking almost straight up, and he has bandages wrapped around the tips of three fingers.
“Whoa. You okay, man?” I gesture to his hands.
Tyler spares them hardly a glance before glaring up at me. “Ti...me… to… go.”
One look at Stella and I know she’s about to break into laughter. “Time to go,” she says to me, beaming.
As Tyler heads to the door, I give her a wicked look of my own. One that says, we’re not done.
Her fluttering lashes and blushing cheeks are a boon, but I want more.
Before I push through the swinging door to head out, I give her a
mock-questioning look. “I think my AC’s still busted.”
Her eyes go wide and a hand flies to her mouth. “Oh shit,” she utters. “I meant to go to Home Depot for another one.”
I shrug. “No big deal. Sleeping down here is kinda nice.”
I push through the door. Before it swings closed behind me, I see Stella’s hand fall from her mouth to her chest. She’s flustered. And she’s excited.
And I’m the one making that happen.
Driving with Tyler is an exercise in awkwardness. I know he doesn’t like talking, and I get that. It also feels like he’s angling to establish some kind of dominance with me. Like I might try to make a move on Nina or something.
So our rides are short, but silent. A tense kind of silent.
But driving with Tyler and Nina is next level awkward. Because neither one of them speaks, but they’re constantly engaged in this eye contact game of tag. She’s staring at him when she thinks he can’t see. Then he checks her out in the side mirror, and she looks away. When she looks back, he stares down at his lap.
And it goes on like that the whole ride back.
Except today.
Because Nina isn’t quiet.
As usual, now that Tyler’s with us, she climbs into the back—behind me (better vantage point to sneak peeks at him).
“Thanks for picking me up.” This is also her norm. She doesn’t have to thank me, but she never neglects to.
“No problem.” After what happened Friday, it’s a wonder she can bring herself to go in at all. But it’s just for another couple of weeks. She gave her notice, and though her boss Aggie was broken up about it, I think she’s also relieved.
“Any trouble today?”
I catch her head shake in the rearview as I reverse out of the parking spot. “No.” Then she surprises me. “You have any trouble?”
Shifting into drive, I glance back. “Me?”
Nina is scrutinizing my reflection.
“No trouble. What d’you mean?” As soon as I ask, I know I shouldn’t have. Nina’s focus goes pointy.
In the month or so I’ve known her, Nina Lemoine has shown me zero assertiveness. So the look she’s giving me now stuns the hell out of me.
“Are you causing any trouble?” she asks. Her tone is shy of accusation but full of concern.
When I turn around in my seat to meet her face to face, I clock that both she and Tyler are zeroing in on me.
What the hell?!
“Am I missing something?” I ask, my eye contact bouncing between them.
Nina draws in both of her lips, and I see that meeting me head on makes her nervous. “Maggie said you are a heartbreaker.”
“WHAT?!”
The word is like a crack of thunder, and Tyler literally bares his teeth. He seems to swell in the seat beside me, and without even pondering it, I know that if Stella’s brother socks me in the jaw, I can’t hit him back.
I raise a hand. “Whoa. Hang on a second.” I honestly don’t know if I’m talking to Tyler, Nina, or myself. “Start over. What did Maggie tell you?”
Nina looks to her left and right. “Let’s get out of here first,” she says, anxiety narrowing her eyes. “I-I don’t like just sitting here.”
She has a point. I turn back to the wheel and hit the gas. But if she thinks we’re going straight back to the house, she’s crazy.
I check Tyler to see he’s still glaring at me like a psycho.
I hang a left out of the parking lot and another left onto Jefferson Street, no sign of the black matte Camaro in any direction. The downtown law offices and advertising firms are emptying for the day and people in suits and power blazers file into their Beamer coups and Kia Sports to head home.
I turn onto West Convent Street, but instead of taking it all the way home, I pull over next to Pop’s Poboys.
“Why are we stopping?” Nina asks.
I throw the Jeep in park. “Because I need to hear what Maggie told you, and I need to hear it before we get back to the house.”
Yeah, I might sound a little irritated. It’s more with my sister-in-law than with Nina, but one look at Tyler let’s me know he’s not making that distinction. We both might benefit from a little space.
“Y’all hungry? Let’s go in and grab some poboys. My treat.” I gesture to Pop’s. Both of them look at the poboy joint first and then at each other.
Neither of them says a word, but they have a whole conversation.
You want to?
Maybe. Do you?
I could eat.
They push open the Jeep’s doors at the same time. I kill the engine, grab my wallet from the console, and lead us in.
It’s not even six yet, so the place isn’t full. Only one old guy is placing an order ahead of us. I scan the chalk board over the counter and decide on The Boudreaux: buttermilk fried catfish po boy with pickled okra tartar sauce and blue cheese coleslaw.
When I’m up, I put in my order and glance back at Nina and Tyler. Tyler is frowning up at the menu board. Nina’s watching him, concern crimping her brow.
Crap.
Stella mentioned once that part of Tyler’s recovery has been relearning language and literacy. Can he read the menu? Will it insult him if I ask?
Luckily, I don’t have to. Nina leans in close and whispers in his ear. His gaze immediately drops, his frown vanishes, and it doesn’t look like he minds her closeness a whole helluva lot.
He nods in answer.
Nina looks back at me. “We’ll each have a Classic with fried shrimp.”
The girl at the counter adds it to my ticket, and we each choose a soda from the cooler by the register before grabbing a table.
It’s no surprise that Tyler and Nina sit side by side across from me. What is surprising—or at least unnerving—is the way they both pin me with their unflinching stares.
When Nina dropped the news that Maggie had been talking shit about me, my first instinct was to pump her for details before getting into Maggie’s face about it. That seemed the easier path than confronting Mags head on. But looking at these two now, I’m not so sure.
“Okay, I have questions,” I say.
No response from either of them.
I forge ahead. “Why did you ask me if I was causing trouble?”
Yeah, I’m asking the question, but in my gut, I know the answer. I just don’t want to admit it. Not to them or even to myself.
Nina cuts her eyes to Tyler—a little microsecond check-in—before aiming them back at me. “Something was going on last night,” she says.
Fuck. How the hell do they know that?
I don’t react. Neither confirm nor deny.
“Oh, really?”
Nina glances again at Tyler who now looks like he could decapitate me.
“You were with Stella last night,” Nina says without an ounce of doubt.
This time it’s hard to keep a blank face because WTF? No one else was downstairs. Not until Tyler went to the kitchen.
But the real issue isn’t how they know. It’s that they know at all. This is exactly what Stella wanted to avoid. If she knew we were having this conversation, she’d freak.
And I’d never get close to her again.
I affect a shrug. “Not sure that’s your business.” I make a point to meet both their stares. Nina has the good grace to shrink a little, but with Tyler it’s like pushing against a stone wall. No give whatsoever.
The girl behind the counter chooses that moment to slide our po boys onto the table. “Here you go,” she chirps. “Need anything else?”
None of us respond. She must realize she’s walking into a glaring contest because she literally moves backward away from our table.
“Mmy… si...sss...ter.”
In spite of myself, my respect for Tyler Mouton multiples. He may have lost a lot in that motorcycle accident, but what he has he uses to his full advantage.
Even so, what Stella and I shared last night is none of his fucking business.
“Look, I get that she’s your sister.” I pick up my po boy and take a bite. Then I shake my head. “But I’m drawing a line.”
I swear, Tyler swells again, leaning forward with menace in his eyes. He opens his mouth, but then Nina rests a hand on his elbow.
“We just don’t want Stella hurt,” she launches in, her voice squeaky, but surprisingly firm. “Stella deserves better than that.”
Every one of my muscles contracts.
“I would never hurt Stella.” The words are pure reflex. Animal instinct at even the thought of hurting Stella. I’m scowling. “Why the fuck would you think I’d hurt her?”
Nina bites her lip. “Because Maggie warned me off you.”
It feels like someone soaked my innards in kerosene and flicked down a match. I grit through my teeth. “What the hell do you mean?”
Nina’s hand grips Tyler’s forearm again, possibly stopping him before he lunges over the table at me.
“When she came to the house a few weeks ago,” Nina explains, her voice only a little shaky. “She thought you were helping me because… because you—”
Please tell me you’re not sleeping with her.
Maggie’s text sears my memory. I clench my jaw so hard I’m in danger of cracking a molar. If Tyler doesn’t beat the shit out of me, Bear will. Because Maggie and I are going to have words.
“And what did you say to that?” I ask, reining it in.
Nina’s gaze softens. “That you were just helping me out. And you’d been a perfect gentleman.”
At this Tyler’s eyes narrow in a way that communicates And it better stay that way.
I swear, I almost laugh. What else is there to do?
“Okay, so if I’ve treated you right, what makes you think I’d do Stella wrong?”
Nina’s soft look turns almost pitying.
Pitying.
From Nina.
All at once, being the object of Nina Lemoine’s pity feels like the siphoning off of my spinal fluid.
“Because,” Nina says, “you’re afraid of commitment.”
“Maggie said that?” I practically shout. I ignore Tyler’s flared nostrils. “Did she also tell you I just got out of a three-year relationship?”
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