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What isn’t this girl dealing with?
The strange urge to take care of her thrums through me. Has anyone in her life ever bothered to do that?
There are so many adult responsibilities resting on her slender shoulders. A mountain of them, and all her father has done is sweep into her life and add more.
The older woman wags a finger at her. “I know we talked about it before, but don’t let them pressure you into making a decision. Do you understand?”
“Mama,” Lola murmurs. “We’re just going to hear what they have to say. It’s just dinner.”
Her mother snorts. “We both know that’s a lie.”
Lola’s shoulders wilt.
After a few more minutes, we make our goodbyes, and she closes the front door behind her before we walk in silence to the truck. There are so many thoughts crashing around inside my brain that they’re impossible to keep straight. Questions sit perched on the tip of my tongue, just waiting for the opportunity to burst free. I give her a bit of side-eye, realizing she won’t appreciate them.
Once she’s inside the vehicle, I round the hood and slide in next to her before starting the engine. She rattles off the address and I tap it into the GPS before pulling away from the curb and onto the street. With a glance at the estimated arrival time, I realize that her father doesn’t live far from us.
I rack my brain for something that will smooth over the rising tension, but my mind remains blank. Instead of trying to make small talk, I flip on the radio to fill the silence.
Twenty minutes later, we drive through a neighboring community. The restaurants and stores we pass are more upscale. Quaint lamp posts decked with holiday boughs and strung with colorful lights line the shopping district, giving the place a charming, small-town feel.
The closer we get to our destination, the more she fidgets with the hem of her sweater, twisting the fabric with her fingers. Her anxiety is palpable. Like a living, breathing entity that fills the vehicle. I hate that she’s being eaten up inside with nerves. More than that, I hate that the man who was supposed to protect her failed so miserably and is the one putting her through this emotional wringer.
She deserves better.
When I slip my hand over hers, she glances at me. I rip my gaze away from the road to briefly meet hers. In this moment, all I want to do is offer comfort. I’m just not sure how.
“You know that everything is gonna be fine, right?”
She chews her bottom lip as her brows slant together. “Do you really think so?”
“Yup, I do.” Because I’ll be there, and I’m not going to let anything happen to her.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I hope you’re right.”
“What don’t you know?”
Her normally strong shoulders collapse under the heavy weight of our conversation. “I’m not sure what to tell them. I need more time to think. Even though I haven’t made a decision yet, I feel like Mama is right, and that’s what they’re looking for.”
I give her fingers a little squeeze. “It doesn’t matter what they want.” Not that she needs me to tell her this, but I can’t resist adding, “What they’re asking for is no small favor. You should take as much time as you need, and if they can’t understand that, it’s their problem. Not yours.”
“I know, but...” Her voice trails off. “It’s all I can think about.”
“We’ll listen to what they have to say and that’s it. If the evening goes sideways, we take off. Easy as that.”
Another heavy silence falls over us. After a mile or so, she clears her throat. “Thanks for coming with me.”
I glance toward the passenger seat and find her staring straight out the windshield.
“You’re welcome.” There’s a beat of silence before I add, “Whatever happens tonight, I’ll be there. You’re not alone.”
As the words escape, I realize I’ve never meant anything more.
19
LOLA
Nerves skitter across my flesh as I stare at one ginormous house after another. As we drive further through the fancy neighborhood, searching for Tony’s address, they seem to increase in size. A couple seconds later, Asher pulls the truck to the side of the road as we stare at the sprawling stone mansion with white columns flanking the front porch. The roof line is made up of at least five different elevations and peaks, while the lawn is meticulously manicured with sculpted hedgerows running the length of a brick paver walkway.
The house is massive. At least ten thousand square feet.
This is where Tony lives with his family.
Nausea roils in the pit of my gut, threatening to shoot up like a geyser as my mind tumbles back to the few times I swallowed my pride and asked him for money to pay the bills. We’re talking heat or electric. The mortgage. Or maybe a couple of bucks for groceries when Mom’s check ran out at the end of the month. That question was always quickly followed by an uncomfortable silence before he told me that he was cash strapped.
