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“It was worth it. That woman had a plastic hip and removable teeth,” Frank said, wiggling his thick gray brows.

So, yeah, at some point, they finished building that fifty-plus community across the street.

And that ‘mixed use’ part in the back? Yeah, that turned out to be a fucking assisted living place.

Things have certainly been lively ever since.

From the noise complaints and old ladies hooting at us when they caught us shirtless, to the old men who wanted to come party and relive their glory days, we’d developed an interesting love/hate relationship with all the old folks.

“Gross,” Ryland declared, looking a little green at the idea of a toothless blowjob.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, kid,” Frank said, shuffling over toward the fridge to grab a beer that I was almost sure he wasn’t supposed to be mixing with his medications. But, fuck, if I lived to his age, I didn’t want to hear shit about what I should or shouldn’t eat.

“One thing about ladies with a few years on them,” he said, pausing to chug half the beer, let out a hacking cough, then wipe his mouth on the back of his sleeve before continuing, “they grew up in a different time. They were expected to be good little housewives who gave it up on Saturday night while they thought about their grocery list. They’re making up for lost time now. Where are all the girls?” he asked, looking around.

“It’s three in the afternoon, Frank,” I reminded him. “The club girls aren’t going to show up until eight or nine.”

“Isn’t that three hours past your bedtime?” Ryland teased.

Before Frank could clap back, footsteps rushed down the steps.

And there was Grayson, his prospect vest on full display.

“The fuck happened to you?” he asked, looking at Ryland.

“Crash.”

“Well, it had been six weeks. You were due. Pops, did you see this?” Grayson asked, thrusting his phone out toward me.

And right there on the screen was a vaguely familiar face. One I’d once looked up when Zoe was asleep next to me, and Lainey on my chest.

Travis Butler.

Lainey’s biological father.

He was ten years older and seventy pounds heavier. And his hairline seemed to be engaging in a long-distance relationship with his eyebrows.

But there he was.

In a mugshot.

“What’d they get him on?” I asked, wondering if Zoe had heard the news yet.

“Tax evasion and racketeering,” Grayson said.

“Oh, he’s goingawayaway.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Ryland asked. “Ma was always worried he might try to come and take Lainey.”

“It’s definitely a bit of a load off. Though I’m not looking forward to explaining all this to Lainey one day.”

“Hey!” Amy’s voice barked through the clubhouse. The clomp of her combat boots moved across the floorboards. “What is with this text?” she asked, shoving her phone screen at Ryland. “‘Almost died. Haha,’” she read off. “And then no answer to my fifteen follow-up texts?”

“My phone died.”

“There are these things called chargers. And if you stick one in—”

She was cut off by yet another voice.