Page 113 of Wicked Pickle

Do I want that?

My whole body revs up at the thought.

Obviously, I do.

At least to say goodbye. Properly.

“We should probably go right away if we can.” I tilt my head at Caden. “He’ll be okay for an even longer day?”

“As long as he has his iPad, he’s golden.” She reaches out to touch my arm. “You’re really helping us, Symphony,” she says. “I know my brothers were against the Pickle family’s interference. They always were, especially Dean. But I hope that the negativity they might have told you about didn’t include me.”

“I think it was mostly your uncle. And maybe your dad?”

She nods. “The elder Packwood brothers can be a lot. Merrick and Dean had fierce examples to learn from.” She gathers the toys and coloring pages scattered over the table. “Caden, we’re going on a car ride to the beach!”

He sits up. “Really? Can I get in the water?”

“Of course,” she says. “Let’s get packed up.”

I help clear their table, my belly already buzzing with nerves. I don’t know what will happen if the brothers aren’t there. They disappeared for ten years before.

But something tells me that they’ll be there.

I can feel it.

CHAPTER 36

DIESEL

The waves lap at my feet as I lie at the edge of the surf, my hat pulled over my eyes.

I have sand everywhere, even in my ears, but I’m good. I haven’t been this good since we abandoned the bar.

Sand rains on my chest.

“You finally got a tan on your white belly,” Merrick says.

More sand lands on me. I shift my hat to peer up at him, the sun searing my vision. “Are you sprinkling me with sand, motherfucker?”

He laughs. “Don’t cuss around the families.” He scoops up another handful and drops it in a clump on my stomach.

I leap to my feet and kick his legs out from under him. He lands in the shallow water. I drag him out, holding his head underwater.

But this is an old game. He twists and locks his knees around my legs, dragging me down with him. I release him to find my footing.

I’ve barely sputtered the water out of my face when Merrick says, “You’re going down,” and knocks me into the surf.

We wrestle underwater for a moment, then both come up, gasping for air.

A voice I’d recognize anywhere says, “We never could take the two of you to a respectable beach.”

I dash the water out of my eyes to look.

“Greta!” Merrick says, racing toward her to drag her into a shirt-soaking hug.

“Merrick!” she shouts through her laughter. “You’re getting me wet.”

Her kid aims a water gun at Merrick, squirting his face. “Let go of my mom!”