Page 44

It seemshomey.

Before we even get to the door, it swings open. A woman, probably around the same age as me, with wavy auburn hair, steps out. She's dressed casually in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts. When she sees Sam, she smiles and calls behind her to someone else in the house. Moments later, a man with slicked back hair and tattoos covering every inch of his arms down to his fingers appears in the doorway.

Sam presses his palm against the small of my back and leads me forward. "Olivia, this is my cousin, Lana, and her husband, Naz."

Lana's face lights up when he says “husband,” and she peers over her shoulder at the tattooed man.

"Lana is Damien's daughter." Sam continues, and the pieces click into place. I can see the way she resembles the woman at the funeral. The dead man's wife, who was sobbing as her husband was sealed away in the cemetery forever. "Can we come in?"

Moments later, we're seated out back on a cute patio that's surrounded by plants. There's an herb garden with popsicle sticks poking from the soil to identify the different sprouts. Potted ferns hang from the railings, and there's a large magnolia tree that I want to lie beneath.

"How’s the new house?" Sam asks Naz as Lana places a glass of lemonade in front of each of us.

"Good. Different than being in New York, but it's good to be home."

Sam nods. "And your family?"

That question seems to make Naz smile. "Good. Anthony's getting too big, and my sister’s working toward her degree now."

Sam returns the smile. "I'm glad to hear it."

"I know you didn't come over to ask about the house." Lana plops into the seat across from me. "So what's up?"

"I want you to tell Olivia about your father."

That seems to quiet the group. Lana's face falls, and she takes a moment, swallowing hard before she looks back up.

It's not lost on me that Lana wasn't at her father's funeral this morning, and the look on her face tells me this is a sore subject. That's something I understand well. I felt like a fraud at my own father’s funeral, the daughter who hadn't seen him in fifteen years.

Lana chews on her bottom lip, and her eyes flash to Sam, as if asking if she really needs to share this. Naz folds his hands together on the table and drops his head. This is a sore subject, I can tell. Guilt settles in my gut. I don't want to force them to tell me anything; this is all Sam's doing.

"My dad just died too," I offer, the words leaping from my lips in an attempt to soothe the energy at the table.

Lana's face pops up, and she looks at me with a hint of shame. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's okay." I shush her apologies as quickly as possible. Maybe because I feel like I don't deserve them, or maybe I'm just tired of hearing apologies over a death that really didn't affect me. You can't miss someone you never had a relationship with, right? "We weren't really close."

A soft smile lifts her pink lips. "I get that. I wasn't really close with mine either."

Beside her, Naz snorts. Lana tosses him a look. "Wasn't closeis an understatement," he mutters, causing Sam to chuckle under his breath.

"You don't have to tell me anything," I say. "Despite what he says."

Lana smiles and looks at Sam with a quirked eyebrow. "I like her."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam waves his hand.

"Why don't you show Sam the bar you built, hmm?" Lana nudges her husband, who takes the hint easily.

Sam looks at me, giving me a quick nod before following Naz and leaving me alone with Lana.

"Figured we'd get the peanut gallery out of here." She takes a sip of her lemonade. "So, I know why you're…here.Or I guess, with Sam, I should say."

I nearly choke on my own lemonade, sputtering out the sour liquid while Lana hisses an apology and hands me a napkin.

Is she saying she knows that I saw Sam kill her father? An awkward grief settles over me. I'm not sure what to say in this situation.

"It's okay. You don't need to feel bad. I'm guessing that's why Sam wants me to tell you about my father, so you know he wasn't a good guy."