“It’s not like that,” I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“Uh huh, tell that to your face,” Maren grins, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You better keep me updated on everything. And don’t worry, I won’t tell Calvin. I’ll let Jack handle that conversation whenever he’s ready. Calvin’s pretty focused on work right now anyway, so I don’t think he’d live for the drama the way I am.”
“Thank you,” I laugh, squeezing her hand. “And Mare? I’m so glad you know. I hated lying to you.”
“Aw, I know you did,” Maren says, her expression softening before she points at me with mock sternness. “But damn right you should feel bad. From now on, you tell meeverything. No more secrets between us.”
“Deal,” I say as she pulls me in for a quick hug.
“Good.” She pulls back, eyes sparkling. “Because this is way more entertaining than even the best reality TV.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Well, I’m glad my love life can provide quality entertainment.”
She picks up her clipboard again. “I expect a full debrief after Miami.”
CHAPTER 13
JACK
The fifty-pound bag of mulch hits the ground with a satisfying thud. Calvin’s at the community college teaching his summer writing workshop, so Maren recruited me for garden duty with the promise of lunch. Which really just means I would have helped anyway, but now I get food too. Plus, Maren makes these sandwiches with some kind of fancy aioli that’s basically crack in condiment form.
“Thank god you were free,” she says, kneeling by her raised beds with a trowel, blonde hair already escaping from her ponytail. “I was too impatient to wait for Calvin to get home from work, and these beds need to be prepped before the rain comes tomorrow.”
“Happy to help,” I say, hefting another fifty-pound bag like it weighs nothing. Training six days a week has its advantages. “Besides, you had me at ‘food.’ I’m easy that way.”
Maren laughs, shaking her head. “The way to a man’s heart, apparently. Even Formula One drivers aren’t immune to good sandwiches.”
We work in a comfortable rhythm for a while. Maren’s one of those people who doesn’t need to fill every silence with conversation, which I appreciate. She hums while she works, occasionally muttering creative threats at weeds that dare to exist in her carefully planned garden beds.
“So,” she says after a while, sitting back on her heels and wiping her forehead with her arm, which just smears more dirt across her face. “You excited to get back to Miami and get out of Dark River for a bit?” She gives me a look, and I’ve interacted with Maren enough over the years to know she always has this way of seeing through people’s bullshit.
I smile, setting down another bag. “Do I seem that miserable here?”
She laughs, brushing dirt off her knees. “Not when you’re with Lark.”
“Yeah well, she makes Dark River bearable,” I say. Not a lie. “And it’s not that I hate it here, I guess I just loved my life before all this and, I dunno, it’s…” I trail off, not sure how to explain the restlessness that’s been eating at me.
“Not home?” She looks up, her eyes too perceptive, seeing more than I want to show.
“Yeah, exactly. Not like it is to Calvin now, or Theo or Dominic. Even Alex to some extent. They’ve all found their place here, put down roots. I’m just passing through, killing time.”
“I get that,” Maren says, digging up another stubborn weed with focused determination. “Hopefully you’ll get the contract stuff sorted soon and get back to where you belong.”
“Thanks, I like the being-around-family part,” I say, moving another bag of mulch into position. “Just Dark River itself isn’t quite right for me anymore, or maybe never was. Not that Miami is home either, but at least it’s back in my world. Back in racing.”
“I’m happy for you,” Maren says. “And for Lark, too, with Miami coming up. She’s always wanted to travel more. And Iknow she’s still thinking about the open mic night and being so nervous about future performances, so a bit of travel and distraction is great to take her mind off it.”
“You know her performance was incredible,” I say. “Her songs and her voice are something special. She has that thing, that presence that you can’t teach. It was just at the end I think her nerves came through.”
She attacks a particularly stubborn weed with renewed vigor. “Ugh, tell me about it. God, when she told me what happened I wanted to go and key his car that night!”
A cold feeling settles in my stomach, realization creeping over me like ice water. “Whose car?” I ask carefully.
Maren pauses mid-weed-pull and looks up at me, panic crossing her face. “Uh, what?”
“Whose car?” My voice is deceptively calm even though everything inside me just went still and dangerous.
“Shit. I thought she had told you already.” She drops her trowel, looking distressed. “If you don’t know then she probably didn’t want anyone else to. Fuck.”
