Page 46 of Drilled

There was no preamble or pretense after that. Her eyes narrowed over the rim of her steaming coffee mug.

“I’m here to talk some sense into you, Lane. Sign the Graystone over to me and there’ll be no need for all this drama,” she said.

“I’m not the one who decided to get the courts involved,” I replied.

“You forced my hand.” She set the coffee down, her face hardened. “It's a money pit, and this HOA business is a public embarrassment to our family. Hand over the deed, and I will put in a good word with a senior partner at a firm downtown. They’ll take you on by Monday.”

My ponytail felt too tight. “Negotiations usually involve an incentive. My place is and always has been in public defense. And I’m not giving up Uncle Ricky's house no matter how much you try to threaten me.”

“You are slumming it,” she scoffed. “Your uncle wasn't in his right mind when he left you that property and that insurance policy. I will contest the will and tie that entire estate up in probate court for years."

I leaned forward, my voice low and sharp. “Try it. Uncle Ricky lived in Switzerland for years. The will was executed under strict Swiss notary law, and the life insurance policy names me as the direct, sole beneficiary.”

“You’re not the only lawyer in the world,” Rose snapped back. It was interesting to see how little she even cared to wear a mask around me. She hadn’t worn one for years. “We can see how far this goes.”

“Do what you have to do. But hear me now and hear me clearly.”

She paused, her hand hovering over her purse.

“If you follow through with this threat," I said, each word a cold, deliberate strike, "then we are completely done. I’ll cut you out of my life completely and I never want to see you again.”

Rose stared at me, her eyes flashing with pure fury. She stood up, throwing cash on the table and then violently grabbing her leather gloves. "You are just like your father. Stubborn and blind."

She stormed out into the dense white fog. The glass door clicked shut, leaving me completely alone. Something in me broke watching her leave. She didn’t even bother to fight or talk it out.

She’d all but implied I wasn’t even worth the effort, just the lawyer fees. And even though I’d thought I closed my heart off to my mother years ago, there’d been just enough of her left inside to tear a fresh wound when she walked away.

*

The curb directly in front of the Graystone was completely bare—no sign of Dax’s bike. I glanced down the narrow side alley where Bear usually parked the Cornerstone truck, only to find it empty. Nothing but wet tire tracks in the dirty slush.

I was freezing, my body aching for a hot shower and comfort food. I pushed the front door open, expecting total darkness. Instead, a warm glow spilled from the kitchen. I walked in, my chest tightening as I found Bear sitting on a barstool, a heavy bottle of red wine already uncorked in his hand.

Huh. So miracles were real.

16

Bear

Lane yanked off her wet coat, tossing it over the back of a barstool before taking a seat and kicking off her boots. She looked defeated and exhausted. My chest felt full and I wished for a second that Nancy or Sy was here. Either one of them would know exactly the right words to say to pull Lane out of this slump she was in.

But I didn’t have Nancy’s number, Sy had a family commitment he had to get back to and, well, I wasn’t going to ask Dax for any favors. Especially as they pertained to Lane. Instead of saying anything just yet, I poured her a full glass of Malbec and slid it across the counter like it was a tribute.

Lane’s eyes actually lit up and she grabbed it with both hands. “Thanks, Bear. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“I figured you might need the medicine,” I joked, watching in amusement as she took two giant gulps of wine.

“Give me a minute and I’ll whip up something to eat. You haven’t had dinner yet, right?” she asked.

“I’ll order something,” I said, pulling out my phone. “What are you in the mood for? Burgers? Pizza? Mexican?”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. “You don’t mind?”

“I can afford takeout with all the money you’re paying me, Lane,” I said, and she held her hands up in surrender.

“Okay. Fair enough. I just thought you blue collar types preferred home-cooked meals.” She took another sip of wine. “I am absolutely craving Mexican food, though.”

“When it’s yours, absolutely. But between the three of us, the only one who hasn’t been living out of a food carton is Sy. And that’s only because he goes back home often enough to get fed like he never left,” I said, pulling up the app. “Anything you can’t eat?”