“Then move the parts.”
“They’re organized.”
“They are in piles.”
“They are system piles.”
I can’t breathe right.
Derby’s house.
Not the clubhouse. Not a motel. Not some neutral space. His house. The fake boyfriend’s house. The man who sat in the hall all night. The man who called my underwear attempted murder and told my son he would get a dinosaur. The man who said no touching unless I say and then looked away like the words cost him.
I stand. “I can’t stay at his house.”
Derby says, “Correct.”
Sophie looks at me. “Why?”
“Because I barely know him.”
“Good instinct,” Derby says.
“Because I have a child.”
“Another good point,” he says.
“Because Jeremy already thinks…” I stop, embarrassed and angry. “Because he already thinks I came here for Derby.”
Sophie’s expression is calm. “Which is exactly why it works.”
“No, that is exactly why it’s insane.”
“Both can be true.”
Derby glares at Sophie. “This ain’t happening.”
Sophie’s gaze cuts to him. “The clubhouse isn’t appropriate for August.”
“I didn’t say keep them here.”
“Then where?”
“Legend’s got properties.”
“Legend’s properties are watched, known, or tied to the club. Yours is quieter.”
“Oaks has a place.”
“Oaks has Brittany, and they have enough ghosts in that house.”
“Whiskey.”
“Whiskey has a child of his own and a future legal nightmare if Jeremy’s people start sniffing around.”
Derby’s mouth shuts.
I notice that.