Page 80 of The Bronze Garza

Hours later, we’reloaded up in Monica’s car with four food-warmers. Each personalized with their names embroidered; Trent, True, Tripp, and Torin.

It’s both ridiculous and sweet. I’m almost jealous. I would give up my trust fund to have Lysandra show up in my life once a week. I hope the Garza men know and appreciate how good they’ve got it with Monica.

Apparently the routine is to drive to Venice first, since it’s the farthest, then Santa Monica on the way back up, then Silver Lake last.

Tillie and Monica are in the front bickering over music selections, and I’m in the back reading. I didn’t give Torin a heads-up like I said I would, because he would’ve either tried to stop me from going or sent one of his men along with us. And I just didn’t feel like dealing with all the “need to keep you safe” nonsense. Besides, I’m with his family, on the way to his brothers—whoareRed Cage—and thenhim, so I don’t see what kind of danger I could possibly be in.

We’ve just stopped at an intersection, right under the Venice sign stretched between two buildings, when Tillie’s phone chirps with a text.

After reading it, she scoffs out, “Tripp wants you to pick him up some crab legs from Big P’s Grocer on the way.”

“On the way?” Monica repeats. “We’re already here. We passed Big P’s almost five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we both know you’re gonna turn around and get it,” Tillie says resignedly. “Anything for your favorite son.”

“I don’t have a favorite,’ Monica refutes. “I love all my children equally.”

“Oh yeah?” Tillie replies. “Prove it by not turning around. Let him get off his ass and go get his own damn crab legs.”

Monica huffs.

Less than a minute later, we’re headed in the opposite direction and Tillie is laughing hysterically.

“Oh, shut up,” Monica grouses. “You will understand when you have a child of your own.”

“In that case, I’llneverunderstand. Because with my jerkoff brothers, I’d have to leave this entire side of the country to find a man willing to touch me with a ten-foot pole, let alone get me pregnant.”

“Good.”

“Whatever,” Tillie mumbles under her breath.

Minutes later, we’re in the parking lot of Big P’s Grocer.

“Be right back,” Monica tells us as she undoes her seatbelt and gets out of the car.

My phone rings just then, buzzing against my thigh.

Holly calling...

“Wow, you remember I exist,” I answer with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” she replies, and it sounds truly genuine. Or maybe I’m just thirsty for our friendship. “I’ve been a shitty friend.”

“What happened, you heard I had Ebola or something?” I ask. “Or did you decide toun-forgive me for proposing to your boyfriend in kindergarten?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I love you. You know that.” She blows a ragged sigh down the line. “Where are you, by the way? I went by your house and Patrick told me some nonsense about you being in rehab?”

Rehab? Well, I suppose it’s better than “living with strangers for security reasons.”

“Yeah. You would’ve known if you bothered to pick up the phone when I called.”

“I’m so sorry, Ly. You have no idea. However you choose to have me make it up to you, I’ll do it, I promise. But—” Her father shouts something in the background. “All right, all right I’m coming! Jeesh,” she yells back. “Ly?”

“I’m still here.”

“Are you allowed visitors at the rehab?”

“I—yeah,” I answer, adding, “Why?”