Page 33 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

“You really think she stopped talking to me?” Lana reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, scrolling for a moment before flashing it at Stevie.

A photograph of Angie, topless and wrists tied in front of her face, filled the screen.

Heat again seared Stevie’s vision. It was an old photo. It had to be.

“Then why are you here acting all butt-hurt? I know she didn’t invite you.” Stevie’s voice didn’t betray the hurt in her chest as much as she’d feared, but it did leak through, and Lana lapped it up like a cat.

“You sure about that?”

“Text her. Tell her to meet you out front.”

Lana typed out a message and hit send, flashing the screen again. The photo was nowhere in sight. Old then, Stevie hoped.

“I’m surprised you’re even interested in my sloppy seconds,” Lana said.

Stevie’s fist flew toward Lana, who stopped it with an annoyingly quick reflex, pushing back hard. Stevie stumbled to one side.

“Lana?” Angie ran out of the barn and skidded to a halt beside Stevie, stabilizing her. Stevie snarled and lunged. Angie grabbed her by the back of her shirt.

“I want to talk to you,” said Lana.

“Not here. I’m working.”

“Take a lunch break.”

“You can’t—” Angie started. “No, Lana. I’m not on lunch right now, and I don’t need you picking fights at my job. You know how much I need this job.”

Lana glared at Stevie, and Stevie realized that there were things Lana wanted to say that she was not saying because Stevie was present—probably things like “Why aren’t you answering my calls?” This allayed her rage enough to return the power of speech.

“You heard her. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Shut up, Stevie.”

“Both of you shut up. If a client were here right now? Do you know how bad you’re both making me look?”

Stevie felt like she’d been slapped.

“Ange—”

“I’ve got this. Lana, you have three seconds to tell me why you’re here.”

“You heard her,” Lana said to Stevie. “Give us a minute.”

“No.”

“Stevie, please.” Angie turned to her, face blotchy with anger and poorly concealed panic. Stevie relented despite her misgivings. She’d never seen Angie look like that.

“I’ll be right here.” She backed up a few steps. Lana flipped her off.

Angie stepped close enough to Lana to glare up at her, and while Stevie couldn’t quite make out the words she hissed angrily she could see Lana’s expression growing steadily more and more furious.

“Have fun with that one,” Lana said at last, loud enough for Stevie to hear and gesturing in her direction. “Didn’t think you liked ’em whipped.”

“Fuck off, Lana,” said Angie.

“Call me when you get bored.”

Lana stalked away to her car, leaving Angie shaking and Stevie wishing she’d brought her bow and arrows with her so that she could stick a few holes in Lana’s Jeep. Or Lana. She wasn’t picky.

“You okay?” she asked Angie.

“Seriously? What was that? I do not need you picking fights for me.”

“I—what?”

“Next time she shows up just come get me, okay?”

“Next time? Will there be a next time, Ange? When you ‘get bored’ of me?” She couldn’t quite make her voice obey her. Instead of sounding nonchalant, she sounded like she felt, injured.

Angie’s face softened and her lips lost their hard edge. “You have to ignore what she says. She’s a dick, and she knows how to get under people’s skins.”

“Speaking of dicks, did you . . .” But she couldn’t bring herself to bring up the picture on Lana’s phone and trailed off.

“Did I what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and watched Lana peel out of the driveway.

Lana had showed her that picture to piss her off.

Angie hadn’t stopped talking to her that long ago.

It was perfectly plausible Angie had sent the photo right before she swore off Lana, possibly even on the night she’d invited Lana over.

And if she was wrong?

Ivy, who had strolled to the fence, called out, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Angie and Stevie said at the same time. Ivy gave them a searching glance, clearly aware that was a lie, then retreated.

“What did Lana want?” Stevie asked quietly.

“She’s pissed I stopped talking to her.”

“Did you tell her why?”

“What do you mean?” Angie’s voice grew defensive.

“Like, did you tell her you were done with her, or did you just ghost her? Both work for me.”

And neither was the answer she would have preferred.

“Lana doesn’t like not getting her way,” said Angie, which was not an answer. “But I’m serious. Don’t start a fight about this. She isn’t worth it, and she could’ve really hurt you.”

“Hurt me ? Why am I the one getting hurt in this scenario?”

“Because you’re a good person, and she fights dirty.” Angie took a steadying breath. “I didn’t expect her to show up. What else did she say to you?”

“Nothing important.”

“Stevie.”

“Seriously. Nothing important.” Just the second photo in as many days she’d seen of parts of Angie that Lana had never deserved to touch. “Are you okay?”

Angie placed her fingers on the inside of Stevie’s wrist, right above the crease of the pockets where she’d buried her hands to keep them from turning into fists. “I’m fine,” Stevie said. “I could take her.”

Angie laughed without humor. “Please don’t. This whole thing—I don’t ever want you getting hurt because of me.”

“Not my fault you’re worth it.”

“Stop it. It’s not—” Angie lowered her voice and stared at Stevie with an intensity that reminded her, horribly, of their fight about the roof.

“I don’t need you to fight for me, or over me.

It’s juvenile. Do you want jail time for assault?

A criminal record? Or, better yet, broken teeth and a misaligned jaw? ”

That last part, all things considered, would be a tragedy for Stevie’s new favorite extracurricular activity.

She took in the shadows beneath Angie’s eyes and the slump to her shoulders and wished she’d hit Lana sooner or cut the brake line in her car because now she couldn’t do it without directly contradicting Angie’s wishes.

“I would, though. For you.”

“Seriously, stop.” Angie looked like she wanted to shake Stevie. “You’re better than her. I need you to act like it.”

Ouch. Well. When put like that . . . Stevie nodded, silenced but gratified.

“I have to get back to work. Stevie . . .”

She looked up from the gravel, trying not to feel hopeful, that stupid fucking picture seared in her memory.

“I’ll be done in an hour,” Angie continued, softening. “Dinner and a movie?”

Something Lana did not have nor, if Stevie had any influence at all, ever would again.

Angie shut the door to her office and would have leaned against it were it not already occupied by a cork board, leashes, and an out-of-season Halloween pumpkin basket that had once held candy and now held dog poop bags. She settled for standing and breathing.

Never, not once, had she wanted someone to win her battles for her. It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t romantic. It didn’t fix anything. People always offered to fight for you when what you needed was a time traveler, not an avenger.

Stevie had to stop putting herself at risk for Angie. First the roof, now Lana. No, not first the roof. First, and she knew it was melodramatic and maudlin of her to even think it, Stevie had put her heart at risk.

No part of Angie felt warmed, not even a tiny, weeny, little bit, by Stevie’s willingness to throw herself recklessly in front of Angie like a jealous guard dog. No part of her was counting it as evidence against inevitable loss.

Nope. None.

She pulled out her phone, ignoring a series of texts from Lana, and texted Stevie.

AR: btw we’re watching Fight Club for your moral education.

SW: Yessss

AR: And I’m holding out on you tonight

SW: Noooooo

AR:

Several days later, Angie stretched, sore in ways she hadn’t been in quite some time, and luxuriated in the feeling.

Stormy slid a mug of coffee in front of her and sat down at the small table in the corner of her shop where Angie, Stormy, and Lilian met occasionally to gossip, usually about the rest of their friends.

“She’s been acting weird recently,” Lilian was saying when Angie tuned back into the conversation.

She’d been replaying the morning in her mind.

The shower with Stevie’s expression of slack-jawed, bewildered delight as she soaped Angie’s breasts had been thoroughly gratifying. She had missed the last few exchanges.

“Ivy?” she asked, for clarification.

“Yeah.” Lilian sipped from her cup, which contained something green-smelling.

Her scrubs were covered in fine white hairs, and she wore the slightly harried look Angie had come to associate with difficult clients.

When Lilian had come home looking like that, back when they’d lived together, often she and Angie would sit together in silence, taking comfort in the presence of a person who would not induce stress.

“How?”

“I’m not sure really.” Lilian frowned down at her mug. “It’s small things.”

“Are you worried?”

“Holden is obsessed with you,” Stormy said. “Maybe she’s going to propose.”

“Don’t say that,” said Lilian, coloring.

“Why? Would you say no?” Stormy dropped her teasing tone and considered Lilian seriously.

Angie did the same. Her friend’s cheeks had flamed, but there was something in the way Lilian dropped her eyes and the very, very slight curve of her lips that suggested she wasn’t entirely displeased with the thought.

“How are things with you ?” Lilian shot back.

“As you see me.” Stormy opened her arms in an expansive gesture. “Angie? What’s shaking in your neck of the woods?”

“Fine. Usual. You know.” Was she blushing? Her cheeks felt warm.

“I’m not sure we do.” Stormy leaned her elbows on the table. Even the tiny potted succulent in the center seemed to wait expectantly.

Angie, however, was used to keeping secrets. “I’m boring. I want to hear more about Ivy.”

“Mostly it’s this weekend she’s planning,” said Lilian.

“Is she over-planning?” Angie guessed. “She strikes me as an over-planner.”