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Even after she visited me at work and the girls were a little catty to her, Emily didn’t give me the feeling she was insecure about it. “It’s not Crystal Ball. At least, I don’t think so. It has more to do with the responsibility of raising her sister. She doesn’t think she can do two things at once.”
Trinity nods slowly. “She’s a good sister. It’s obvious how much she cares about her and that she takes her responsibility seriously. Shit, she’s a better mom than mine was. By the time I was sixteen, she’d already pretty much relinquished any parental role in my life.”
Trinity doesn’t say it with bitterness. Just stating a fact while letting me know she respects Emily. “Her loss,” I say.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
I stare at the clubhouse, going over the possibilities. “For now, give her space.”
Trinity tilts her head as if she disagrees with that approach. “You know her best.”
I don’t know if that’s true. “I don’t want to make things harder on her when she’s already going through a rough time.”
“She’s been on her own for a while, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Accepting help is a skill of sorts.” Trinity lifts her hand and glances at her phone. “I’ll keep in touch with Serena. See if they need anything.”
“You don’t have to do that. I know you have enough on your plate.”
“I want to.” She flashes a quick smile.
“Thanks.”
After she leaves, I’m too keyed up to work on anything. I should go for a ride to clear my head. But there’s a good chance I’ll end up at Emily’s and I don’t think that will help.
A soft voice accompanied by notes strummed on a guitar drift through the trees. I cock my head, trying to pinpoint the sound. Farther back on the property behind the garage? Curious, I continue walking toward the path between the two garages that leads into the woods.
The club built a cabin back here for Sparky. To give him a safe place to experiment with creating edibles without contaminating the clubhouse’s kitchen or risking one of the kids eating a pot-laced treat. I’ve visited once or twice when Sparky had something he was really excited to show us, but otherwise don’t give the fancy little shack a lot of thought.
I recognize Shelby’s voice before she comes into view. A rough chuckle ebbs out of me when I finally find the impromptu performance. Shelby in a sweatshirt, jeans, and her usual cowgirl boots. An acoustic guitar in her lap. Not an unusual sight around here. Sparky sitting next to her with one of his pot plants between them so Shelby can lean over and sing to it—that’s a new one.
“What in the pot-fueled fever dream did I walk up on?” I call out when I’m closer.
“Shhh.” Sparky presses a finger to his lips. “This one’s struggling and Shelby said she’d help me out.”
I slant a look Shelby’s way and she shrugs. “How could I say no?”
“I’m naming this strain White Knight after her biggest song,” Sparky adds.
Shocked he can even name one of Shelby’s songs, I blink a few times before settling on a response. “Rooster okay with that?” I ask.
Sparky rolls his eyes at me. “I won’t use Shelby’s name.” He winks at her. “It’ll be our secret.”
“You got it.” She chuckles and turns to set her guitar in its case.
“I’m going to put this one to bed.” Sparky jumps up and carries the plant inside.
“You know what you’re getting into there?” I ask Shelby, nodding at the screen door that already has a few dents in it.
She stands, stretches, and hops down the few steps, landing on the gravel path with a thud and crunch. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she steps closer to me and curls her finger for me to lean down.
“Rooster says Rock wants Sparky to get outside more,” she whispers. “I think they wanna condition him to the outdoors and sunshine before y’all head on down to Tennessee for Digger’s funeral bonanza.”
I snort with laughter and nod. “Sounds about right.”
“Were ya lookin’ for some edibles?” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “He was cookin’ up something that stunk to high heaven earlier.” Her nose wrinkles but laughter ripples over her expression.
“Fuck no.” I nod at her guitar. “I heard music and followed your voice.”
Pink spreads over her cheeks. “Aw, I was tryin’ not to be too loud.”
“You sound good. Miss being out on the road?”
“Not yet.” She tips her head back, staring at the trees and sky. “Soon, though.”
“I bet.”
The door bangs open—explains where the dents came from. Sparky holds up a small tray of individually wrapped brownies in the air like a trophy. “First dibs.”
Shelby holds up one hand. “Pass. I can’t do sweets when I’m gettin’ ready to record.”
“You headed to Tennessee again?” I ask.
