Page 106 of Only Between Us

Slightly unhinged, she’d called it, and herself, the day I first saw them.

Ironically, it’s the gist of how I’ve felt since the moment I crashed into her on that field. Slightly unhinged rubs off on you, apparently. And all I want is more of it.

I woke up at the crack of dawn today to bribe the guy who’d sold me my SUV into driving Siena’s new car three hours to Oakwood from the city and hand me the keys.

Then there’s the lucky-to-be-alive motherfucker two doors down, probably cowering in his shower right now. Siena’s ex-landlord started shaking like a leaf the moment he found me on his doorstep. Telling me without telling me that Siena’s instinct had been right on the money. If he wants to remain in possession of all his limbs—whichI suspect he does, by the way his entire pathetic body blanched as I spoke to him—she’ll never hear from him again.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as persuasive as I am when I’m working for Siena. Which is why Summer and Parker are here now, dutifully helping me pack up her apartment.

The dinner plate in my hand is badly chipped and rimmed with a faded blue pattern. Still, I bundle it carefully in a thick, protective layer of packing paper. I chuckle at Parker, who seems entranced by the batshit crazy pictures on her wall.

“I can’t look away. Why can’t I look away?” he mutters. “Who is this blonde?”

The chuckle is a real laugh now. “That’s her friend Shy. She’s married. Has a real cute daughter.”

“I wasn’t asking if she’s single. I was asking if she’s going to crawl out of these pictures at midnight and haunt me to insanity. This is some kind of horror-movie shit. You lay eyes on it, you get haunted.” Parker finally tears himself away from the photo wall, shakes it off, and resumes stacking the contents of Siena’s bookshelf into a box.

A flash of blond hair in my peripheral vision has me jumping out of my skin, almost dropping the plate in my hand. As though Parker summoned her, Shy stands silently giggling at the kitchen opening, eyes fixed on Parker’s back. She’s holding her adorable little girl on her hip, shushing her with a finger over her mouth, and does the same at me when I start to say something.

Shy tiptoes over to Parker, who’s elbows deep in a cardboard box.

“Seven days—” she rasps into his ear.

“Fuck!” Parker jolts so hard his head crashes into the bookshelf.

Shy staggers back, nearly doubled over in laugher and clutching her daughter to her. The little girl shrieks her own delight. She glimpses me laughing over her mom’s shoulder, and her smile doubles in size.

She’s so damn cute. I want one.

Parker rubs at a red mark on his forehead. He’s laughing by the time he sizes up Shy, who retreats into the kitchen to sit Rosie on the island. “Hey, freaky picture girl. Nice to know you’re as nuts as your friend.”

“Oh, no. I’m the sane one.” Shy grins as I come over to wave at Rosie. “The sweet to her spice. The Lois Lane to her Harley Quinn.”

“Do I hear Shy in here?” Summer strolls into the open kitchen-living room and hugs Shy. “This must be Rosie-Wosie! Nice to meet you, little one.”

“Sayhito Auntie Cee’s friends.” Shy moves Rosie’s arm in a waving motion. “Siena texted that there was a packing party going on, and we wanted to get out of the house. Didn’t we, Ro?”

“Daddy,” Rosie says, reaching for Parker.

Shy grimaces. “That’s not Daddy, Rosie.”

“Daddy.” Rosie reaches for me this time, and fuck if that doesn’t break my heart. I remember the little girl had done the same thing the day I met Siena.

“Also not Daddy.” Shy’s cheeks flush, and Siena’s unfinished point from this morning falls into place.

The Rosie of it all.

Shy’s husband is deployed for another few months. The little girl misses her father so fiercely, she searches for him in every man she comes across. And Siena is holding it up as yet another hazard of long-distance.

How the hell do I counterthat?

“How’s the packing coming along?” Shy looks around the living room. We’ve been at this all day, and, between the three of us, have managed to pack up the entire place.

“I think we’re almost done,” Summer says. “Brooks, the bedroom’s all packed up except her underwear drawer and nightstands, because I chickened out of opening them. You can’t unsee that kind of stuff.”

Shy points at Summer. “Smart girl.”

“Thanks, Sum,” I say. “I’ll take care of that.”