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I lift my chin toward Remy. “You and Griff are tight. Been friends a long time?”
“Since forever,” Remy confirms.
“So, you know he’s a good guy. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be friends, right?”
“Yeah,” he answers slowly.
I shrug. “Then mind your own business.”
“Well, fuck.” Remy plows his hands through his hair. “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”
Teller laughs. After a second or two, Remy joins in.
Murphy turns the corner and lifts his chin when he sees us. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I answer. “Your brother-in-law was explaining to Remy how he wishes he’d stayed out of his sister’s business—”
“That’s not quite what I said,” Teller grumbles.
“Close enough.” Remy shrugs and grins.
“Careful,” Teller warns, slapping my arm. “Dex can give me shit. We’re equals. You, not so much.”
Remy narrows his eyes. “That’s how you wanna entice me to support your club?”
“Hierarchy is important,” Murphy says, completely ignoring everything else about our conversation. “Keeps things running smoothly. Most of the time.” Murphy bumps his shoulder against mine. “Come on, G’s eager to show off the garage.”
The four of us head upstairs. Everyone else has already moved outside. Through the sliding glass doors, I spot several bright floodlights around the outbuildings.
The house, the party, my rowdy brothers. It’s all getting to be too much for me.
The ol’ ladies seem to have congregated in the large front living room. Serena’s decorated it in soft pinks and tans. Not sure if that’ll remain so pristine as Lincoln gets older. Large, overstuffed chairs, a plush carpet, low lights. Everything is designed to make it a comfortable place for friends to hang out and catch up, without the distraction of a television.
It’s an open room. Impossible to casually walk by and sears for Emily without drawing everyone’s attention.
Libby and Shelby are side by side on two large floor cushions, flipping through their phones together. Libby’s breathing fast, eyes wide and sparkling, as if she might pinch herself any minute. My lips curve. I’ll have to thank Shelby for being so sweet to Libby, even though I’ve witnessed firsthand how people fangirling over her can make her a little uneasy.
My gaze quickly searches every corner of the room. No Emily.
I’m almost about to disappear the way I came without anyone noticing me when Serena calls my name.
I stop and force a quick smile. “Grinder wanted me to ask if you need anything?” Small white lie. Grinder didn’t ask me to do shit.
“No, we’re good,” Serena beams. “Thank you.”
Great. Now if I can escape without anyone else noticing me, that would be ideal.
I stop in the kitchen. Emily had been here earlier.
No sign of her now.
I slide the patio door closed behind me and step into the crisp night. I miss having vest pockets to jam my hands into. I should’ve changed out of this damn suit earlier. It’s uncomfortable, like a version of me from a different timeline should be wearing it. For so much fabric, I feel naked.
Dewy grass wets my shiny, slippery dress shoes. Hate these things too. It would be smarter to cut to the gravel driveway near the outbuildings. But bright yellow lights bathe the entire area. Grinder’s showing of his garage and workshop. I head for the darkened area behind the fence enclosing the pool. Behind their pool house seems like a safe, secluded spot. Well, unless I run into one of my brothers fucking their old lady up against a tree or something.
I step out of the shadows around the pool house and stop cold. The area’s clear, except for some tall trees. Old wood. Surprised Grinder hasn’t cut a few of them down. If a storm knocks one the wrong way, it’ll probably take out the pool house, maybe worse.
Ah, that’s why he hasn’t chopped down the trees. Someone installed a swing from a high, thick branch. Not some cheap-ass rope and wooden board contraption either. Well, maybe that’s rope but it’s thick and sturdy. Metal glints from the branch it’s attached to. The wide red seat was clearly designed for an adult or two. It’s pretty. Like something you’d find in a wholesome Hallmark movie—or a haunted house horror movie—depending on your outlook on life.
But that’s not why I can’t move my feet.
Emily’s tucked into the swing, hands wrapped around the ropes, lazily swaying back and forth, dragging her shoes through the grass.
My heart jumps. Like it’s had enough of my pining and brooding and wants to leap into action. My dick has a slightly different agenda—but it still involves getting closer to Emily. Thankfully, neither of them is in charge. My brain is. Sort of.
Melting back into the shadows, I watch her like a creepy ass fucking stalker. Soak her in. Let my greedy gaze roam over her the way I wanted to earlier but couldn’t without drawing everyone’s attention.
Frustration, anger, and just general annoyance at her buzzes through my veins but they’re background noise compared to how much I love her. How much I want to go to her and wipe that sad expression off her face. It’s there because of me. Well, because of her. Both of us. Does it even matter?
