Page 93 of Reeves

Son of a bitch.

I stare at the phone, then at the empty parking space, mapping out the fastest way to fix it.

Charli has already moved Benjy down toward the water. She’s giving me space without making it obvious.

Smart. The last thing I need is to be the guy losing his temper in front of a five-year-old.

And not just any five-year-old.

I drag a hand over the back of my neck and run through the problem once, clean. The yard opens at eight. Keys are in the glove box. The only way to deal with it is a ride back tonight and another trip in the morning.

A couple of hours on the road for a mistake that took five seconds.

Annoying, but manageable.

I pull out my phone and scroll, then text Keller.

Can you send a driver to Bay St. Louis? Truck got towed. Need pickup tonight.

Where exactly?

Beach access parking on Magnolia.

What about your truck?

Yard opens at 8. I’ll deal with it in the morning.

Jesus. What kind of mess you gotten into? Never mind. I’ll call a driver.

I slide the phone back into my pocket. Handled.

Charli has Benjy occupied far enough away that he doesn’t catch any of it. She does it without looking like she’s doing anything at all. She always had a way of managing a situation before it turned into a problem.

I watch her for a second longer than I mean to.

This isn’t my girlfriend stepping in anymore. It’s the woman who built a life without me, protecting her kid from a version of me he doesn’t need to see.

I head down toward the water. Benjy looks up as I get closer.

“Did you find your truck?”

“No, buddy. Tow truck got it. I parked in the wrong spot. That’s why you always check the signs.”

Charli glances up at me, reading past the words. “What’s the plan?”

“Yard opens at eight tomorrow. I’ve got someone coming to pick me up, and I'll just come back tomorrow.”

It comes out clipped, letting my frustration leak out toward her. I didn't mean it like that. I start to say something to soften it, but I don't know what.

“Reeves! Look! Now, when someone steps on the sand, the stick falls, and we’ll know they got caught.”

I drop into a crouch beside the pit he built out of reeds and shells, pushing everything else aside.

“Looks like you’ve got it handled.”

He lights up like I handed him a medal. Then his head snaps toward the shoreline.

“Wait—look at that!”