“Uh…no. Thanks.”
Brock taps his credit card on the reader and glances over his shoulder. “There’s a table in the back. Why don’t you snag it while I wait for the order?”
“Okay.”
“What do you want to drink?”
“Just water.”
“I paid for a fountain drink, Ave.”
“For God’s sake. So what?” Then I berate myself. I may not use my family’s money, but I don’t want it wasted. Even the few cents for a soda. “Diet Coke.”
“They don’t have Coke products.”
“Pepsi, then. I don’t care.”
“You got it.”
I head to the table Brock gestured to and take a seat. A few crumbs are scattered on top. Great. Something about fast-food places always makes me want to bathe in hand sanitizer. My bakery is always spotless. I get perfect scores on all my reports from the Department of Health. No one will ever find a crumb on one of my tables. Maya wipes them down a millisecond after a customer gets up.
Makes me wonder if the newfound crumbs of my family history will ever be wiped from my mind. If only I had a Maya inside my head brushing away all the unpleasantness.
Brock returns with our order. I grab a taco and a packet of sauce.
“Which drink is mine?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re both Diet Pepsi.” He grabs one and shoves in a straw.
I open the sauce packet and squeeze it onto my taco. Then, against my better judgment, I take a bite.
Brock lifts his eyebrows at me as I chew and swallow.
It’s good. What is it about tacos? You can be feeling like complete crap and a taco will still taste good.
I nod at him.
He smiles. “Eat every bite.”
He downs all six of his plus the cinnamon twists before I get through my second. But it is good. Something about the crunchy shell scratching my throat a bit as it goes down puts me in a better mood.
I unwrap my third taco. “It feels weird, us being here.”
“How so?” Brock takes the last sip of his drink, the straw making gurgling sounds.
“I mean, the two of us without Dave. You know. Huey, Dewey, and Louie.”
“You went to a different college than Dave and I did,” he says. “The whole duck thing kind of dissipated after that. And it should have dissipated a lot sooner.” He rolls his eyes.
I swallow my bite of taco. “I know. But when things were serious, the three of us always stuck together, just like the awesome foursome does.”
“Who the hell came up with that name, anyway?”
I take a sip of drink. “They probably came up with it themselves.” Gina, Angie, Sage, and Bree are the youngest of the Steels, and the most fabulous, to hear them tell it.
“Actually…” Brock fiddles with his phone. “Rory came up with the Three Rake-a-teers, and I’m betting…”
His phone dings.
“Yup. Just as I suspected. The Pike sisters strike again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rory says Maddie came up with the awesome foursome. I wonder if the four of them know that Maddie always feels like a fifth wheel with them.”
“She’s not a member of the family.”
“No, but she’s their same age, and they all still go to college together.”
“I don’t get that,” I say. “That feeling of not belonging.”
“That’s because you never cared whether you belonged or not.”
I can’t help a chuckle. “That’s the truth, for sure. But it’s more than that, Brock.”
“What do you mean?”
I look away and scrunch the wrapper from my taco into a ball. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.”
He smiles. “You’re going to have to tell me now, after that lead in.”
“I stopped caring so I wouldn’t have to compete with Gina.”
“Why would you have to compete with Gina?”
“Come on. You know why. She’s beautiful, brilliant, talented. She’s everything I’m not.”
“She’s got a few inches on you in height, but that’s about it, Ave. You’re just as beautiful, brilliant, and talented as she is.”
“I can’t paint.”
“So what? Gina can’t make the fluffiest croissants on the planet.”
I finish up my final taco. “That’s right. She can’t. See? I’m not competing with her.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ll never understand women. I’m getting a refill.” He rises and heads toward the soda fountain.
I shrug. He doesn’t get it. That’s okay, though. I know what I mean.
He returns to the table with his refilled cup. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I grab the tray and head to the wastebasket.
You ready?
Not in the slightest. But I want to see this woman. This grandmother. I want to know the secrets she still hides.
Because I’m fucking done with secrets.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brendan
By ten, the game is over and the bar has settled down to its normal Monday-night atmosphere.
“Let’s go,” Dad says. “You and I still need to talk.”
I pop the cap off a Fat Tire and hand it to a customer. “All right. Where’s Johnny?”
“In the can.” He gestures at Johnny, who’s walking toward the bar, wiping his hands on his jeans. “There he is.”
“Fine.” I move toward the staircase to my apartment.
Dad is right behind me. I unlock the door and enter.
“You want anything? A sandwich?”
Dad takes a seat at my small table. “No. Sit down, Brendan.”
I grab a bottle of water from my fridge and sit next to my father. “So…Lauren Wingdam?”
“Yeah. I’ve got an address.”
“Did you give it to Pat Lamone?”
“I did. She’s his mother. His birth mother, that is.”
“She’s his only mother now,” I say. “His adoptive parents were killed in a car accident.”
“That’s a damned shame.”
“It is. But Pat Lamone is no saint, Dad.”
“Neither am I. Neither are you.”
He’s not wrong. “But Lamone’s bad news. I was talking to Brock—”
“Brock Steel?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s keep the Steels on a need-to-know basis, Brendan.”
“They’ve been getting the same cryptic messages. The Steels aren’t our enemies, Dad.”
“Did I say they are?”
“No, but…Pat Lamone isn’t a good guy. I’m sorry he lost his parents and all, but he tried to destroy the Pike sisters back in high school. And…he drugged Diana Steel.”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “You got proof of that?”
“Brock does.”
“Are they filing charges?”
“They can’t. Statute of limitations.”
“You mean they only just found out?”
I nod.
“The Steels have their hands in everything. Damn.”