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He hung up on me, and I shook my head, not sure why he kept asking me to tag along. Then I went to erase the texts he’d sent, only to discover they weren’t from him. All three were from Sticks.
Hey, just checking in to make sure you made it home okay and your dad didn’t sneak in and suffocate you in your sleep last night.
The next : This is where you answer and tell me you’re fine. You can even add a “now fuck off” if my worry irritates you.
And finally: Seriously, man. Are you dead or just pissed at me?
Having pity on him, I typed back. Not dead, just sleeping.
He shot back an immediate reply. Shit, sorry for waking you. Forgot you work so late. But glad you’re alive. Try to stay that way. We kind of need you next Saturday for the Chicago gig.
Grinning, I shook my head and told him I’d see what I could do. Then I tossed my phone back onto the nightstand and rushed to yank on some clothes before Pick showed up. I snagged an apple that I’d bought for Mozart and was just polishing it off when my brother pulled up to my door in his Barracuda.
“So which neighborhood are we going to this time?” I asked as I slid into the passenger’s seat.
When Pick answered me as he shifted the car into drive, I gave a low, impressed whistle. “Nice.”
A proud grin twitched across his lips. “Nothing’s too good for my family.”
“Which reminds me,” I said, settling deeper into my seat and tipping my head back to close my eyes. “Don’t you think you should actually, I don’t know, propose to Eva first before buying a house with her?” They called each other husband and wife already, as did half the group we hung with, but they’d yet to tie the actual knot. “Or do you not go for that kind of traditional shit?”
“Oh, I’ve proposed.” Pick sent me a smug, secretive smile as he wiggled his eyebrows. “And we’ve even set a date...in about a month, actually. Which reminds me, you going to be my best man or what?”
I choked on air. After sitting upright and pounding on my chest with my fist, I sent him an incredulous glance. “What? Me? What about Mason?”
Mason would be the obvious choice. He was Reese’s man, and since Reese was Eva’s cousin and best friend, she’d no doubt be the maid of honor. Besides, the four of them hung out a lot, or so I’d heard. He had to be much closer to Mason than he was to me.
But Pick only shrugged. “I’m sure he’d understand that I’d rather have you stand up with me.”
Shaken by such a declaration, I rubbed my hands over my face. “You seriously don’t have a problem with who my dad is, do you?”
“What do you mean?” He glanced at me, clearly confused.
I sputtered out my disbelief. “What do you think? He...he killed your mother.”
After squinting as if even more boggled by my explanation, he murmured, “She was your mother too.”
I blew out a breath. He definitely wasn’t the type to put the sins of the father on the son, that was for sure. “I still can’t believe you know everything already,” I muttered, more to myself than him. “I kept wondering why you never asked about her.”
He shrugged and turned down a nice, quiet residential street that had me staring out the window and salivating at all the amazing houses. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
“It’s not a pretty story,” I said, watching a mother with two small boys open the door to one house and step outside. They looked like a happy, healthy family together.
I glanced away.
“I didn’t figure it was.”
“She talked a lot about you...and your dad. She told me all kinds of shit she probably never should’ve.” Like how she’d never forgiven my father for stopping her home abortion attempt that he’d walked in on in their bathroom when she’d been pregnant with me.
“But she loved him, if that’s any consolation.” I glanced his way. From the expression on his face, he was soaking in every word and wanted to hear more. “She was sixteen and he was nineteen. All she ever called him was Chaz, so I don’t know his full name, sorry.”
Pick gave a small shrug, letting me know that was okay. He was learning more about his sperm donor than he’d ever heard before.
“Her family didn’t approve of them being together. He was a high school dropout who drank a lot, and it didn’t look as if he’d ever aspire above the mechanic job he had.”
Pick glanced at me sharply. “Mechanic?”
I nodded. “Yeah, he was into cars too. So, anyway, when Mom—Polly—left home to be with him, her family cut all ties with her. She got pregnant almost immediately, and then went into labor on the same day your dad was
