Page 3 of Hearts of Fairlake (Men of Fairlake #8)

KYLE

"Oh, what the fuck? It's too early for this."

The voice carried all the way to where I stood near the back door, in all its irritated, exasperated glory. Which, normally, would amuse me because swearing wasn't her thing, but I also knew what that tone signified, and I wondered just how badly my day was about to be spoiled. So, with a sigh, I gripped my mug of coffee closer and walked toward the front of the house.

For a moment, I was startled to find a strange young woman standing at the window, her face twisted into a distasteful expression. She still had her father's slightly angular jaw and flat nose, but other things had changed over the years. I tried not to think too hard about it, but there was a sometimes unsettling resemblance to her mother, especially when she was annoyed or angry...like she was now.

Her hair was thrown to one side, exposing her ear so I could see the device around its outer rim, letting me clear my throat to get her attention. She grunted in response, gesturing toward the front lawn. I stepped up to the window to look and chuckled. "Look, I know Ian isn't the best at understanding what is or isn't a weed, but we've been doing better. The flower bed doesn't look that bad."

Ayla glanced at me and rolled her eyes toward the front walk, where I knew she'd been looking in the first place. "You know I'm not talking about his front garden massacre."

"No, I imagine not," I said as I watched the old woman standing on our front walk peer down at the admittedly brutalized front flower bed. It really looked bad, and I was quickly reminded why Ayla or I should be the one to pick through the weeds or have one of us stand guard to make sure he didn't destroy everything. Still, it had been sweet of him to make an attempt while I was working overtime this week...unnecessary and disastrous but sweet. "Planning on taking it out?"

Ayla's hand stole up to the cochlear implant curling around her ear, and she sighed, making an ugly face. "No, she stopped accepting that I was just a bratty kid years ago. Now she'll think I'm a bratty teenager who hasn't learned respect."

"Well," I said, taking another sip as I watched the old woman make her way up the front porch, moving carefully with her cane. "At least we can say she’d be seeing the real you then, wouldn't we?"

"You're hilarious, ."

"I have my moments," I said as the doorbell rang once.

"You really don't. My dad didn't marry you for your sense of humor. We both know that."

"And he didn't keep you alive all these years because you're sweet."

That earned a small smile. "Well, at least there's one good thing about this visit."

"What's that?" I asked as the bell rang a second time.

"It's always a good time when you two get together without Dad playing mediator. "

"I live to entertain," I said with a roll of my eyes at the third ring.

"Am I allowed to add whiskey to my coffee yet?" Ayla moaned as she dropped into a dining room chair.

"We both know you're not allowed to let alcohol touch your lips until the age of eighteen," I told her as I reached the front door.

" You said that. Dad just glared at you and said he'd talk about it later."

"Yes, and guess who gets to drink when they're eighteen?" I asked, getting smug when I watched her face go blank with surprise. Of course, that came with a few caveats. Namely, she would only be drinking in the house with us or with someone we trusted, and she wasn't allowed to leave the property of whoever she was with while drinking. All in all, it seemed stupid that she should have to wait until she was eighteen to enjoy some silly drunk moments but could put herself into financial debt with the government to go to school if she wanted.

"Oh," was all she said.

I winked at her and opened the door with a wide grin. "Beatrice! What an unexpected and absolutely pleasant surprise. How have you been since I last saw you lurking around the yard...last night."

Ian's mother glared at me, using her cane to stay upright and maintain a dignified position. "No matter how often I tell you, you continue to believe that your sarcasm is the height of wit and not the least ill-mannered."

"Ah, and I will take etiquette lessons from one of the rudest, most passive-aggressive people I know when the sun sets in the east, and your son decides to divorce me," I said, opening the outer door for her to come in. "Come in, come in. Have some coffee and cool off a little. I'm sure it's no hotter outside than where you're headed someday, but you might as well enjoy our air conditioning."

"Your blasphemy could be left behind as well," she said but took the offer to come inside all the same.

"Ah well, your good book has a whole passage about killing people like me and Ian. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't put too much stock in what else it has to say," I said, closing the door.

"Anyone with a lick of sense would know that passage was translated by fools who couldn't perceive anything other than their misguided arrogance," she said with a sniff as she hobbled into the kitchen. "That passage was originally in reference to pederasts, which was a disturbingly common practice at the time, which you'd know if you read anything proper. And as for Sodom and Gomorrah, their crimes were the worst sort of inhospitality and attempting to rape others, among a myriad of other sins."

"There's still a lot of debate on the subject. A lot of biblical scholars are reluctant to admit the first but do admit to the second," Ayla said as she returned to her laptop. "So, she does have a point."

I raised a brow at her, knowing full well she was ignoring me. "Right, well, as a non-believer, blasphemy is the least of my concerns, I'm sure. Coffee, Beatrice?"

She eyed the counter where once a simple coffee pot had sat, now replaced with a machine that had made Ian stare at me like I'd lost my mind when he'd learned how much it cost. Of course, that went out the window the first time I let him try a cup after I’d learned its bells and whistles. "Who...was the one who made it?"

I thought about taunting her further, but the past five years had taught me how far I could push before Beatrice got offended. She was an...odd woman. On the one hand, she was one of the most miserable, stuck-up, overly critical, rude, and spiteful people I'd ever had to deal with. On the other hand, she had moments where you could almost think she was human, and under all those levels of ice, there was something that could almost be love and affection.

All in all, I had learned how far I could push her. We put up with one another because of Ian, most of all, as Ayla sided with me when deciding whether Beatrice should be thrown into a nice home...a retirement home, not the one next door to us. In return for knowing not to push her too far, she found ways to let me know she didn't completely disapprove of me and the way we lived...like correcting my attitude on biblical statements about homosexuality.

Truly, one could almost feel the genuine human warmth coming off her at times.

"I made the last batch," I said, nodding toward the machine. "Ian won't use it for anything but the most basic drip coffee. Says he's been living off police station sludge for too long to be turned onto anything else."

She would never admit to it, but I saw the relief on her face. Ian was...not as meticulous as I was when it came to some things, and making coffee was one of them. The one downside to the machine was that she showed up a little more often in the morning to get a cup in the hopes I had made it, even if it did come with the occasional comment.

"At least your overly complicated version of coffee doesn't bring to mind rotten oil and dirt," she said, and honestly, she probably thought that was the best compliment.

"Let it never be said that you are not magnanimous in your praise," I said dryly as I took a sip of my coffee and watched her making a cup. If it had been anyone else, I would have offered to make a cup for her, but this was not anyone else. This was Beatrice Reiner, and she was fully capable of making her own cup of coffee, thank you very much. And if you could not bring up her blood pressure issues on top of all of her other health concerns over something so trifling as a cup of coffee, that would be wonderful.

"I'm sure a great deal of unnecessary praise is thrown around this house like a cheap trinket without my help," she said, and I didn't miss the sidelong glance she gave Ayla.

I twitched at the inferred criticism. I couldn't tell whether it was aimed at Ian and my parenting style or at all of us in general, but it managed to finally find a nerve and tweak it just enough to make my almost playful sarcasm fade away. Time, parenting, and a steady, reliable man at my side had managed to wear down my flash temper, but that didn't mean it had died or gone away, and right now, I was sorely tempted to tell an old woman what I thought about her ideas of nice.

"You know what I just realized?" Ayla said without looking up from her screen, interrupting my annoyed thoughts.

"What's that?" I asked, knowing I was doing a poor job of hiding my anger. Both Ian and Ayla liked to say that reading my face was like reading a children's book; it was that clear and easy to understand. I did my best not to let it insult me.

"Grandma B reminds me of Chase," she said, squinting at the screen and tapping her mouse.

I choked on my coffee, struggling to swallow it before finding the air to speak. "That...is a comparison that will not make either of them happy."

"Who is this Chase?" Beatrice asked with a frown, clearly sensing the insult coming but unsure what angle it would swoop in from.

Someone who would be incredibly pissed at the comparison, but I wasn't going to point that out. If Ayla opened her mouth to start something with her grandmother, I wouldn't try to stop her. She was just a couple of months shy of being an adult, and she'd long since been capable of standing toe to toe with seasoned adults in a battle of wits. Ever since she was thirteen, and had told a substitute teacher precisely why she wasn't going be doing a required pledge of allegiance in the morning and that, no, she did not care if she got in trouble or if said substitute decided to call her parents.

Which had been delightful for me, considering I was listed as a guardian by the school, and Ian had been out on a call and couldn't get away. At first, I’d been touched that I was considered a good replacement, though the school wasn't nearly as happy. After hearing about everything, I'd informed them that the practice was outdated, that requiring it of students was ridiculous, and even more ridiculous was punishing a student for it. The substitute had also been heard commenting on Ayla's mixed heritage via a snarky comment about how her parents might not be from this country, but you showed proper respect in this country.

Well, needless to say, the school had dropped the issue, and the substitute teacher, for fear of the hell I promised to rain down on them. Then there was the English teacher in her Freshman year who accused her of reading inappropriate books in class, which had also been fun for me when I discovered that it was The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, deemed inappropriate by the teacher because of its language. When Ayla tried to point out that the book had been required reading only a couple of days before and that taking the language out of context was ignorant...well, I had another call on my hands.

There was the boy she had punched when he decided to try to pull her shirt down. On one of those rare moments, she wore a slightly low-cut shirt and was told she should wear more 'appropriate' attire. Ian had taken that one, and when we received a call about her telling her art teacher that she was an idiot for thinking there was only one right way to do art, the school seemed relieved when I showed up. I wasn't sure what Ian had done to those administrators, but it had to be something that would make them glad to see me.

So yes, our little 'problem child' could handle herself when she was prepared to put up a fight.

"You've met him," Ayla said, still keeping her eyes on the screen. "He's the head mechanic down at the shop."

Beatrice stared at her momentarily, blinking so slowly that it absurdly made me think of a lizard before her lips thinned. "That brutish man you spend all of your time with?"

"It's not all my time," Ayla scoffed. "Just when I'm working there."

"Why an adult man would want a teenage girl around him all the?—"

"He's a homo, not a molester," Ayla corrected, and I could hear the edge of protectiveness in her voice. It wasn't like Chase needed to be protected. God knew the guy could probably offend Beatrice more thoroughly in ten minutes than I’d done in the past five years. It was just that she didn't like anyone talking badly about the people she cared about.

"And I'm sure he would love to be referred to in such a coarse manner," Beatrice chided, which I immediately knew was a mistake.

"This from the woman who was on her way to inferring, if not outright saying, that he was trying to sleep with an underage girl," Ayla said, finally looking at her grandmother sharply. "Now that I'm thinking about it, I should take back that comparison. Chase can sometimes be grumpy and downright mean, but he's not cruel or spiteful. And he actually has a heart."

"Ayla Isabelle Reiner," Beatrice chided with wide eyes.

"I had my middle name changed two years ago," Ayla said, glancing toward me before closing her laptop. "So if you're going to try to yell at me like I'm a child, then at least have the decency not to use the middle name my egg donor forced on me."

Beatrice's face tightened, but I could see it wasn't out of anger...but confusion. I knew I shouldn't take pity on her, but I did all the same, reminding her. "Mia."

"What was that?" Beatrice asked blandly.

"Ayla Mia Reiner," I said, spinning the simple band around my ring finger. Neither Ian nor I had seen the point of having a complex wedding band when our jobs could be rough and scuff them up anyway. "She took my mother's middle name for hers."

And no, I was not still emotional about that decision. Just like I had not cried when she’d come home with Ian from the court after I'd had one hell of a stressful and miserable day. She had been nervous and fidgety when she stood before me to hand over the paperwork with her new name. I still remembered how I'd stared at the paper in shock as Ian stood in the doorway, letting the moment happen between Ayla and me. My mother had joked, after finding me with another guy, that the chances of her family middle name getting passed down had dropped even lower, but there was Ayla, taking the name willingly.

"Heading out?" I asked as she shoved her laptop into her bag.

"I'm going to find somewhere to call Kam. I've been putting him off for the past few days, and if I don't call him, he's going to show up in Fairlake and hunt me down," she said with a roll of her eyes, "again."

"Tonight's a sandwich night. Otherwise, let us know if you're coming back," I told her as she walked toward the door, hesitated, and leaned over to give me a one-armed hug. I smiled, kissing the top of her head and making her wrinkle her nose before backing up toward the front door. Her brow was still furrowed as she signed that she was sorry for the mess she was leaving and that she loved me. She waited until I shook my head and told her I loved her and to flee while she could.

"You aren't going to give her a curfew? Ask where she'll be, and she stays out as she pleases?" Beatrice asked, clearly having recovered from the 'shock' of being insulted.

"She will be a legal adult in a couple of months. There's no point in suddenly trying to restrain her. She has her phone with her, and there's a dozen places she can go if she wants some peace and quiet away from the house," I said, setting my empty mug on the counter. "Despite what you think, she's capable of taking care of herself."

"Don't think I am unaware of how much trouble she got into at school," Beatrice said sourly.

"Yes, and last I recall, nothing serious came of it, and no legal trouble. And she also had the second-highest GPA of her graduating class," I said wryly. "As well as working part-time and taking college courses for the credits."

Of course, that part-time job was with Chase down at the shop, which meant there was no way in hell she would get away with slacking or misbehaving at school or work, which suited Ayla just fine. She had never been an actual troublemaker...she just wasn't shy about standing up to trouble if it came knocking on her door.

Another knock at the door brought confusion about who could be rolling up to the house so early, considering Beatrice was already here. Only to snort at the wrinkled, pleasant face waiting for me. "Dad, what the hell are you doing up this early?"

"Oh, you know, sometimes I like to get up and roam around at the best part of the day before getting a nap," he said with a wink. "You busy?"

"I am not," I said, standing aside to let him in. "I have the day off. Ian works the evening shift, so he should be back from his errands in a little bit if you're hoping to catch him."

"Or maybe I wanted to see my son," he said, giving me a hug, turning to enter the kitchen, and stopping. "Well! Beatrice, you're looking as lovely as ever."

Beatrice, as always, looked confused whenever she interacted with my father and his unfailing politeness and warmth. "A good morning to you, Mr. Bower."

"Please, I've told you before, call me Ben. I wouldn't want to stand on formality."

"How...polite. Would that it was a family trait."

My dad winked at me over his shoulder. "Eh, he might look like I did when I was younger, but that's almost all his mother. She had a short temper and a smart mouth as well. Kids, what can you do?"

"I'm almost forty," I reminded him.

"And you'll always be my kid," he said, glancing over at the machine. "Mind if I help myself?"

"Dad, you and I know I don't care if you help yourself without permission. It's not like you'll take anything we'll sorely miss," I said with a shake of my head. An EMS and small-town cop salary wasn't exactly bringing in piles of cash, but we weren't hurting either. Neither of us was particularly big spenders, and living in Fairlake was a lot cheaper than other places. Our biggest expense was, of course, Ayla, but she had spent a lot of her early years in an environment where spending was a big deal, and it had ingrained in her a tendency not to ask for much, even when she should.

My dad busied himself, preparing a cup of coffee and softly humming. "I passed Ayla on the way over. She looked deep in thought."

Which meant she looked grumpy. "She's going to go find one of her hiding spots and call Kam."

"Why is she still speaking with that man?" Beatrice asked .

"Because he's a mental healthcare professional?" I said, raising a brow. "And in case you've forgotten, Ayla spent a lot of time enduring Isabelle and her...issues. Oh, and Isabelle also showed up, brutally beat Annie, and then kidnapped Ayla. That leaves a mark."

Well, not strictly kidnapping, as Ian had never had sole custody before the incident. Of course, showing up after being absent for years, with a violent felon in tow to rip Ayla away from her father and her home, hadn't been a good look. Being thrown in prison hadn't helped either. It had let her miss out on kidnapping charges, but it had helped Ian get full custody. Sometimes, I wondered what Isabelle would say if she knew that three years after that stunt, Ian had married me and, as far as everything but the federal government went, considered me her other parent.

Considering she wasn't due to be released for another couple of years when Ayla would be an adult, it didn't matter either way.

"Aww, and she's getting ready to leave the nest and go out into the world. That's always scary, especially after everything she's been through," my dad said as he opened the fridge to find the creamer.

"At some point, she'll have to develop some thick skin and a stronger spine if she wants to be as independent as she acts," Beatrice said.

I snorted, jabbing my thumb toward the front door. "You tell me that the young woman you just saw leave this house lacks thick skin or a spine. And then I'd love to hear your justification for it."

Her sour expression was all I needed to know that I’d made my point far better than hers. If my father noticed the tension he didn't show it as he added sugar to his coffee and smiled. "She's already a fine young woman, and she'll be a superb adult once she gets out and has to discover things on her own. You and Ian have done a wonderful job raising her, and she knows she always has a home where she can come back if she needs to, where she's loved and wanted. That's all children ever need in life."

Considering the increasing sourness in Beatrice's expression, I thought it was a fairly safe bet that she believed quite differently. Yet, against all odds, she held her tongue and stared out the front window while my father put everything away.

It was an effect I hadn't seen anyone else have on her before or since. I didn't know what caused it, but Beatrice was always completely taken off guard and downright confused by my father's attitude. At the same time, he seemed completely and utterly immune to the icy, barb-covered 'charm' she’d had from the moment I met her. Maybe it was just that her chilly aura and his warm one refused to interact meaningfully. Or maybe deep down, she understood that she couldn't get a rise out of him, which was probably a first for her.

"So," my father said once everything was tucked away. "How are the girls? I miss them still."

I smiled, gesturing toward the back door. "They're napping now, but Oracle and Demeter are still up to their tricks, as usual. And Uno, Dos, and Tres are all as peppy and annoying to the old girls as ever."

Even ducks had their own personalities, distinct even from their hatchmates. Demeter and Oracle had come from the same clutch, but Oracle was calm and patient, while Demeter was feisty and mouthy. Uno, Dos, and Tres were Ayla's ducks, and not one had come out calm. It was a miracle they hadn't gotten up already and started screaming their heads off, which was their normal habit unless they slept in.

And, of course, they never did when we tried to sleep in .

"Ah, then I'll wait," he said, sounding disappointed. "I know how much you try to enjoy the quiet mornings when you're given them."

"I do try," I said, rolling my eyes when I heard a truck door slam. Why Ian had decided to buy the old clunker when we could have afforded payments on a new truck was beyond me. Admittedly, it had let him and Ayla have something to do together to get it into better shape. Of course, better shape wasn't perfect, and you had to slam the doors hard enough to shatter glass half the time. "And there they go."

Sure enough, the front door opened, and I heard the first loud quacks from the open back window, followed by more, growing into a series of outraged animal noises. A feeling of irritation and affection swept through me when Ian walked through the door, head bent as he tucked his phone away. I felt the urge to reach out and run my hand through the small patches of gray hair that had shown up in the past couple of years, but held myself back. Even if his mother was okay with our relationship, we didn't make a spectacle of ourselves too often.

Ian looked up as he closed the door, a smile on his face as he saw me. He then froze when he looked behind me. "Good...morning, everyone. I didn't know we were having family time."

"Impromptu," I told him, raising a brow and ensuring my back was to my father as I signed that his mother had shown up and kicked the hornet's nest. My dad had decided at some point to start learning ASL as well, so if I wanted to gossip, then I needed to make sure he didn't see my hand gestures. Even if he had seen it, he wouldn't have said anything, knowing when to mind his own business most of the time, but it was the principle of the matter .

Ian brought the smile back to his face. "Well, just so long as everyone is comfortable. Morning Ben, morning Mother."

I didn't have to turn around to know Beatrice wasn't fond of being addressed after my dad, but the nice people got more attention in this house. Ian walked in to drop off the few groceries he'd gone out to get and handed something to me as his mother immediately began nosing through the bags. Looking down, I snorted when I saw the bottle of lube he’d picked up while he was out. Ian had known his mother would go rooting through the bags to be nosy like she always was.

I, however, was still feeling a little miffed, and despite behaving myself just seconds before, I waited until Ian was distracted, putting some of the bags away before slipping the small bag into a larger one. Refilling my coffee, I listened to Ian's familiar ebb and flow as he and my dad talked up a storm. It wasn't exactly a mystery why my husband got along better with his father-in-law than his mother, and I loved watching the two of them.

Ian had never really had much in the way of a family, and mine was small, but now it was a lot bigger, not just because of my father and Ayla but also the people in the town. Fairlake had always been good at putting together close-knit groups and letting them flourish. Still, it was only after Ian's shocking appearance in Fairlake five years ago that I discovered I'd always had much more than just my father to back me up.

Even with time, I would be forever grateful to the men and women who had come together after Ayla had been taken to fight to bring her back. Everyone had done so much for us, and I'd never forgotten that. I still made sure to take time to visit Devin and Chase for their part in helping hunt down information on Isabelle's location. Along with them was Ethan, whose investigation skills had been just as handy. His boyfriend, the chief of police in Fairlake, Trevor, had held down the fort and ensured everything was organized and done by the book, so Ian got his daughter back for good.

Bennett had been good for morale...and cooking. Adam, Isaiah, and Julian had helped, even fixing Ian's front door. And, of course, Annie had been there, refusing to hide even though she'd taken quite a beating trying to keep Ayla away from her attackers. All of them had a special place in our lives.

"Oh, for the love of all that is good and pure in the world," Beatrice exclaimed in outrage, interrupting my thoughts as she dropped the small bag aside. "Can you not have a single shred of decency like I taught you?"

"Mmm, there's a reason the second mouse gets the cheese," I said as Ian looked at the bag in confusion and then over at me. "Because the first and nosiest gets caught in the trap."

Beatrice let out a huff, setting her cup in the sink. "Honestly, I would think you’d learn how to behave after trying to raise a child."

Ian sighed, giving me a sidelong glance before taking the bag. "I've told you to stop going through our stuff."

Beatrice glared at her son. "You know he did that on purpose."

"Yes, he did, and I'll talk to him later," Ian said as he walked toward the hallway.

"I'll be punished for being a bad boy," I said in a fake sultry voice that made her go red in the face and forced a noise out of Ian that might have been a barely suppressed laugh or exasperation.

"I think I'll take my leave," Beatrice said, adjusting her cane in her hand. "Please do not ruin anyone else's morning with your ridiculous behavior."

"The only easily offended person I know is shaping up to leave my home," I told her with a wink. "And I'll be over later today to give you your injections. Maybe look at that leaky pipe and see if we can handle it or call Adam."

Beatrice opened her mouth before turning and letting herself out of the house, though not without a lot of muttering that was probably aimed at the lack of help she wasn't receiving. When the door closed, I waited until she had left our yard and entered her house before I let go of the bundle of nerves in my chest. She was admittedly easier to deal with now I had learned how, but that didn't mean I enjoyed having her around.

Ian came back, shaking his head. "Really, ?"

I smiled sweetly. "Good morning, handsome. Thank you for running the errands so I could have a free day off without worries. That was incredibly sweet of you, and I love you very much."

He stopped, staring at me with his beautifully mismatched eyes before turning back to the groceries. "That shouldn't work. We've been together for too long, and…that shouldn't work."

"Ah, but it does," I said, winking at my dad, who was chuckling in the kitchen corner.

"Moments like these, I wish your mother was here to see everything," he said with a wistful sigh. "She'd be so proud of you, and I know she'd love Ayla and Ian to pieces...especially Ayla."

It was ironic how frustrated and angry I had been with my parents in adulthood. It had always felt like they were giving me next to no direction or guidance in life, while in their heads, they were letting me have the freedom to make my own choices. I'd always sworn I would never do that if I ever found myself responsible for a kid, and yet here I was, having willingly given Ayla plenty of freedom to live life on her terms but always making sure to keep the safety net stretched out. My parents had meant well, but the execution had been messy. All I could do was hope my compromise was the better option.

"Are you staying for breakfast, Ben?" Ian asked once everything was put away.

"Oh, I might just do that, but I think I want to go say hi to the girls," he said, setting his empty mug aside and heading for the hallway.“Shout if you need help!"

"That man would burn down our kitchen if we let him," I snorted as I got up to make another cup I definitely didn't need. I got as far as putting my cup down before I felt strong hands grab me by the waist and spin me around, pinning my back against the counter.

"You," Ian growled, giving my bottom lip a nip, "are the worst, you know that? Taunting my dear, sweet mother like that."

I smirked, letting my hand slide between us to grab hold of his groin and raising a brow when I felt something coming to life quickly. "From the feel of things, what I horrified your mother with is something you're in the mood to make use of."

"As soon as we get your dad out of here, I might just do that."

"We could literally tell him we want to have sex, and he’d leave with a smile on his face and a good luck to both of us."

"Your dad might be comfortable with that kind of thing, but I'm not."

"Neither am I...still, good to know."

He kissed me again, reluctantly pulling away, making my chest flutter slightly. It was always nice to know he still found it hard to control himself around me when he was riled up. Those moments didn't happen nearly as often as they had in the first year, but it wasn't like I expected us to maintain the level of horniness as in the early parts of a relationship. But we never forgot each other, and our desire might nap occasionally, but it never fully went away.

My phone buzzed, and I opened it to laugh at Ayla's message.

Sorry for leaving like that and don't tell Chase what I said. That was just supposed to make her mad. He's kind of a dick sometimes, but he's a really great person. I knew he was the sort of person that would offend her the most .

I tapped back.

Don't worry. Your mission succeeded, and honestly? You should tell Chase that when you see him. It'll make him happy to make B mad and make him sputter when you say nice shit about it .

Oh, you're right! I'm totally doing that when I see him!

It was followed by a devil emoji smiling, and I set the phone down, knowing she would be alright if she was already willing to antagonize Chase. People liked to compare it to a sort of uncle and niece relationship, but she had that with other people as it was. No, their mutual antagonism and affection reminded me of all the siblings I’d seen interact. It didn't matter that there were almost two decades between them. They were like brother and sister.

My eyes fell to the pile of mail I hadn't noticed, and Iflipped through it. "Bill, junk, junk, you know it's bad enough we still get spam mail, spam ads, and those stupid text messages that are so obvious. Why do they have to…wait a minute."

Ian turned from the fridge. "What?"

I picked up a plain envelope with only two things written on it.

Sorry, Ethan

"What could he be sorry over?" Ian asked slowly, and I could see from the slight shoulder roll that he was already bracing for impact.

"Let's find out," I said softly. I opened the envelope and found a few papers folded up inside. One was a piece of a map with a few marks, followed by a couple of what looked like receipts and pay stubs. The last was a piece of official-looking paper that I read. "Oh."

"What?" Ian asked tensely, and I held the paper out for him to read. I looked over what else was in there, putting the pieces together.

"Oh fuck," Ian groaned a moment later. "She's out?"

"On 'good behavior,' apparently," I said with a snort. "Which is shorthand, for she didn't cause a lot of problems, and they need the space for other felons."

"Fuck, what's the rest of it say?"

"It's stuff from the last few weeks. She's in Denver again. Probably living with someone else since he didn't find where she's living."

Ian sat down at the table, breakfast long forgotten. "What are we going to tell Ayla?"

"The same thing we've always done," I told him, reaching across the table to grip his hand, reminding him that he wasn't alone. "The truth."

God knew what that was going to do to her.