Page 17 of Only Between Us

But that rusty old bitch of a car died on the way over, and thoughI’ll have to wait until morning to know what the damage will be to my wallet, I can’t help but wonder what kind of energy I’ve been putting out into the world.

You’d think I had enough for one week.

To have the anniversary of Dad’s death, and my face plastered on every sports and D-list celebrity website, after suffering the indignity of being called a gold digger by my supposed boyfriend. The articles online aren’t all bad, but the nasty ones make me glad for my thick skin.

I close my eyes, effectively blocking out the sight of the nest on top of my head from the windy bike ride over to Mom’s. Gulp down a long breath to cut off the acute panic rising up my throat.

Gulp another when it doesn’t work.

And a third, and fourth, until I’m nothing but calm control, smiling back at myself in this mirror.

“Who’s winning?” I call as I stroll into the small living room with the same worn-in floral couches my parents have had since I moved in.

Maybe I didn’t need those deep breaths.

The familiar sight of those beat-up floral cushions lifts my mood in an instant. This whole house does. Has since the second time I set foot here, invited for dinner by Mom and Dad just twenty-four hours after they caught me breaking into this very home at thirteen. Starving, too skinny to be healthy. Holes in the soles of my shoes.

By then, I’d been sneaking into neighboring houses for food for three months straight. After my birth parents woke up one day, decided they’d had enough of me. And vanished before I’d even rolled out of my cot in the basement.

This tiny house is the first place I was ever truly happy. The first house where I felt cared for, loved. All because Dad found me waist-deep in their fridge one night and took pity on my skinny ass instead of calling the cops.

Mom is huddled around the coffee table with Carla and Evan.Mom on the sofa because her arthritic joints don’t do well on the ground, and the other two sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor.

“There you are, angel!” Mom offers me her cheek when I give her a peck and then smacks one of her own on my forehead. “Everything all right at the shop?”

“All good, just took a bit longer with the inventory tonight,” I say, ignoring the pang of guilt over the lie.

Better that than to worry Mom or force Evan and Carla to spring to action, solving a problem that’s mine. They’ve made it their business to keep Mom company since Dad passed—coming around for dinner a couple of times a week, inviting her to travel with them. I couldn’t love them more for it.

Wouldn’t know how to begin repaying them for that level of kindness.

Certainly not by adding my own messes to their plate, especially when they’ve got their own businesses to worry about—they own the marina just down the boardwalk from Ship Happens, and charter out their own sailboat during the summer months.

And Mom… well, she and Dad have done more than enough for me. The least I can do is take care of the shop, like I have for years.

And years, and years.

“Well, you’re doing a fabulous job with it, angel,” Mom says happily. “Dad was right to leave the shop in your capable hands. You’re doing him so proud.”

And years, and years, andyears.

“Was it the inventory, or was she sneaking around with her new pretty-boy lover?” Carla shoots me a smirk overtop of her playing cards.

“Ha-ha.” It’s been a running joke all week, since that stupid picture from the Huskies stadium went viral, regardless of how many times I assured them that the media had it brutally wrong.

That there was not, nor would there ever be, anything going on between me and Brooks Attwood.

I move around the room, offering Carla and Evan hugs before plopping down next to Mom. “I thought Shy and Rosie were coming tonight.”

“There was a last-minute playdate with a new neighbor’s kid.” Carla surveys the cards in her hand before her gaze bounces between Mom’s and Evan’s, as though she’s got the X-ray vision required to see through them.

“Oh yeah? She didn’t mention. I’m glad she’s getting out, though.” I tuck my legs underneath me. Since her husband, Max, was deployed six months ago, Shy’s been a walking ball of stress, missing him and caring for Rosie. Shy and I aren’t a required presence on cribbage night anyway, seeing as they play on a three-person board. It’s just an excuse to get together, drink too much wine, and tease our parents for reaching the golden age of cribbage in the first place.

“You can say that again,” Evan mutters as various cards hit the wooden coffee table. “I keep telling her we’ll watch Rosie so she can have more of a life, but she’s worried about Rosie missing a parent enough as it is.”

I think of that afternoon on the Huskies field, the way Rosie called out for her daddy when she laid eyes on mynew pretty-boy lover. My heart clenches for her and my best friend.

“You’re preaching to the choir, Evs, and we’ve just established that Shy isn’t here.” Carla leans over under the guise of patting his arm, head straining around her husband’s handful of cards. She’s really hamming it up, like she wants to be caught.