“Aggie says she thinks he’s more than a hundred feet away.”
“That reptile,” Pen mutters.
Maisy comes around to my other side and presses her body against me. “What’s happening, Mama?”
Her eyes are wide. She’s definitely picking up on the tension in the room. I stand and take my daughter by the hand.
“C’mon. Let’s go into the kitchen and get everyone a snack.”
But before I reach the door, Nina’s voice pitches. “Stella? What should I do?”
She’s askingme?
Tyler bolts up and reels on me, jaw clenched. “We… ge...t… he...r.”
Lark stands too. “Nina, I’m on my way.”
Tyler whips around, squaring off with Lark. “No.”
My jaw drops. “Tyler, what are you doing? He’s trying to help.”
Pen sidles up and takes Maisy’s hand from me. “Here, Suga, Mama’s got to referee. Why don’t you, me, and Lady Livy get busy on those snacks.”
“Wait—” I protest, glancing rapidly from Maisy to Tyler to Lark to Pen.
My best friend grips my shoulder with her free hand, her amber eyes radiating wisdom and calm. Either that, or she’s hypnotizing me. “We got this. You go on with the menfolk. Keep them from doing anything too dumb.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or sob, so I nod instead. Once she and Livy wisk Maisy into the kitchen, I get in my brother’s face. He’s still glaring at Lark.
“Lark drives. I ride shotgun. You’ll sit in the back with Nina.”
Tyler’s nostrils flare, but he nods, accepting this compromise. Even as we head to Lark’s Jeep, I let myself acknowledge this milestone. My brother is no less rattled and panicked than I am—knowing that he feels something for Nina, he’s probably more so. But he’s able to listen to reason.
That’s a big step for him.
Still, the way Lark tears out of the driveway, I know we all feel a sense of urgency. Good thing Scratch Kitchen isn’t far. The drive gives me just enough time to imagine what could happen if Lark and Tyler have a run-in with Nina’s ex.
Before we turn onto Garfield Street, I close my eyes and send up a prayer that Kaleb the Shitbag isn’t a gun owner.
I’m holding Lark’s phone, keeping Nina updated and calm, though her voice still shakes every time she speaks to me.
“We’re almost there,” I say.
“Lark knows where to go,” she answers.
The sun is low in the sky, but I clearly make out the lone car parked across from the restaurant. It’s a beat up matte black Camaro with tinted windows, but I don’t need to squint to make out Kaleb’s shape inside it because he’s not inside.
He’s standing beside it, leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed over his chest. And he’s glaring at the restaurant as though his gaze could laser a hole through the glass doors.
“That knucklefuck,” I mutter.
Lark snorts and spares me an amused side glance before he banks a hard right into the empty parking lot. He might even spray gravel as he executes a quick U-turn so we’re pointing toward the exit—and the ex.
“Stay here,” Lark orders, throwing the Jeep into park but keeping the engine idling.
But Tyler slides out his door and is only a couple of paces behind Lark as they approach the restaurant’s rear exit. The door opens, and a wide-eyed, tear-streaked Nina stands there, looking petrified.
I glance back at the street. Kaleb’s not leaning against his ride anymore. He’s bolt upright, fists clenched at his sides, the threat of arrest probably the only thing keeping him from charging us.