“Took care of that, too. Did a little stakeout.”
My mouth drops open. “With what car?!”
He shrugs. “Helen leaves her keys on that little hangy thing by the door.” He rolls his eyes. “Such an easy mark. Silas must’ve clocked her a mile away.”
I want to smack him for saying it, but I’m afraid I’llactuallyhit him instead of the friendly rough-housing we usually do for saying that about Helen. Even though I’ve said literally the exact same thing before. But now that I know her? Fuck, I’d lay across tracks to protect that lady.I try not to think about this new information about my apron-clad, cooking-baking stepmother in leather thigh-high stilettos.Does not compute, does not compute.
I shake my head, trying to scrub that particular image out of my brain.
I look at Z. “You sat around here for weeks doing nothing but sitting on your ass and gaming, and suddenly you’re Sherlock Holmes?”
His face goes solemn. “I knew you’d wanna know.”
“So?” I ask, emotions all over the place. “What’d you find?”
“I saw one of the guys who used to come around the trailer park, visiting with Darlene, after your dad got popped. The guy with the motorcycle. Or maybe it wasn’t the same guy.” His eyes are dark, like he knows exactly how devastating the information he’s delivering is. “But he sure had the same cut. The one with the devil’s horns.”
Fuck. By cut I know he means the motorcycle jacket the MCs wear. TheoutlawMCs.
Z’s voice is softer. “After I saw him pull up, your dad came out the side exit lookin’ like he’d seen a ghost. They started arguing. I’m so sorry, Harp.”
“Fuck!” I shout, my knees cutting out, so I sink down to my haunches.
I’d actually started to believe... I thought Helen was such an easy mark, when all along it’s beenme.
Z immediately crouches down with me, trying to put his arms around me, but I throw him off.
“I’m so fuckingstupid!” I jump back to my feet, hands to my head like if I just squeezed hard enough, Ican go back in time and stop myself from being so fucking gullible.
And what would that have changed?
The porch is still spinning under my feet.
I snatch the joint out of Z’s fingers before I can stop myself. “Helen will murder me if she smells weed. Don’t fucking smoke out here.”
But I bring it to my lips anyway and take a deep drag to let the burn distract me from the ice water in my veins. It makes my voice raspier.
“Don’t piss me off, Z. Do you know how hard I’ve been working to keep this all from falling apart? You could make it easy just once.”
It comes out too sharp, but I don’t take it back. I can’t. If I stop swimming, I’ll drown.
Z gives a bitter little laugh, one I haven’t heard in months. One that reminds me of asphalt and blood and trailer park shadows. “You still thinking this is real? This is a pit stop, baby. Nothing more.”
Baby.The nickname scrapes against something raw.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Your dad’s the same piece of shit he always was,” Z says, taking the joint back and flicking ash. “The con’s just dressed up in better clothes this time.”
My throat closes. I want to punch him. I want to hug him. I want to disappear under the covers where we used to pretend none of it could touch us.
Z’s laugh is jagged. “No one changes, baby.”
“I said, don’t call me baby.”
But my voice falters, and he hears it. Of course he does.
I move to shove him, but he catches my wrists and pulls me into his chest. His hands are warm and rough and too damn familiar.