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We’d finally found our joy again. I would protect it at any cost.
But as much as we all wanted to believe the relatively quiet summer meant we were out of the woods, none of us were that naive.
I figured faux Priscilla was just biding her time.
Especially now that Roth had informed Lila that the real Priscilla had been missing for months. Faux Priscilla had stolen her identity…or worse.
Who knew how long this chick had been planning to come after us and use Teagan to gain entry into Ripper? If that was even the plan. I was pretty sure Noah was right. Things were bigger than just Brooklyn Dawn.
“So, yeah, I’m thinking of calling that number,” Zane said, obviously continuing a longer stream of consciousness that I had accidentally tuned out.
“What number?”
“You haven’t been listening to me. Let me guess, are you planning to buy Teagan a fairytale castle in her Irish homeland?”
“Huh, a castle.” I rubbed my chin and pretended to think it over while Zane flicked my forehead.
“The number on my hand, dick. The one I found the next day and didn’t know how I’d gotten it?”
“I remember. It was a phone number?”
“Yeah. I need to start piecing more of that night together.”
“What if it’s like a porn star or something?”
He shrugged. “What the hell, I’m single. And I’ve been tested. She didn’t give me anything sketchy if something did happen.” The momentary humor fled his face. “I just need to know more, man. It’s like I’m missing a slice of my life. It was just one night, but anything could have happened.”
“The tramp stamp was bad enough. Let’s hope anything else you remember is better than that.”
He gave a mock shudder. “It has to be.”
“Maybe you should just leave it alone?”
“Could you?”
Grimly, I shook my head. “No, it’s better to know. No matter what you find out.” I didn’t add if you find out, but I was thinking it.
But he didn’t need any negativity right now. He needed my support, and I was giving it.
And not only because I intended to ask him to stand up for me at the wedding.
The front desk buzzed me and I went to answer. “Yes?”
“Sir, your rowdy bandmates are causing a scene in the lobby.”
I couldn’t stop my laugh. “Sorry. Send them up.”
My crazy friends poured out of the elevator into the apartment, led by Jamie wearing a giant sparkly headband for the occasion with the number 27 attached. Everyone else came in behind her, laden down with bags of presents.
I barely had a chance to say hello, show them where to stack the presents, and point them toward the alcohol before the front lobby buzzed again.
“Sir, your fiancée is here.”
I would never get tiring of hearing that word. “You know you can just send her up.”
Bill harrumphed. “She is causing a scene.”
I laughed. “Her too?”
