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When she's done, she takes a healthy drink of her iced latte. I'm sure the ice has melted, but she doesn't seem to mind as she downs half of it in one go. Her shoulders drop like she's a wilting flower, like the emotion she kept under wraps in her retelling is too heavy.
“So what happens now? I call the cops and do this all over again?” she asks, looking at me.
I'm already shaking my head when Silas says, “No, no cops.”
Her brows sink together over her eyes. “But if I don't call the police, then I can't file a claim with my insurance.”
“So, it's about the insurance money then?” Silas asks. His posture is deceptively laid back. The man doesn't do bored and definitely not whatever faux-boredom bullshit is pinching his face like that. Especially not during club business. And like it or not, what happened at Magnolia Lane is club business.
At least until we can prove otherwise.
Evangeline's back snaps straight. “What? Of course not. But these areNana Jo'sthings. They're memories and keepsakes and reminders of her. And they're not just mine—they belong to my family.”
“We'll take care of it, Evangeline.” I infuse as much promise as I can.
She folds her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes. “How?”
“We have an understanding with the sheriff's department, remember?” I remind her. Something flashes across her gaze, too quick for me to discern it. “Sometimes they need us to help protect Rosewood. And sometimes we do that by not involving them unless we need to.”
“But you're not cops. You're mechanics and you're an artist,” she says, pointing at the three of us. “So how are you going to find them?”
My gaze ping-pongs between her wide eyes. “Trust me?”
She doesn't answer me right away, and I see Nova leaning toward her from the corner of my eye. She shakes her head slowly, regret tipping her beautiful mouth down.
“I don't know you well enough for you to ask me that.”
My gaze bounces to Nova, then Silas, before settling back on her. This could go either way, but something Nova said earlier struck a chord inside of me. We have too many secrets between us. We're just asking someone to pick us off and pit us against one another.
And this secret? It feels stupid to keep it from them now. My only regret is that I should've given her a heads up first.
I tip my chin up and hold her gaze. “Eight years should be long enough.”
13
EVANGELINE
I feelthe air leave my lungs as I look at him. It's not like it was some big secret, but I was hoping to have time to process everything on my own first.
Shit—Nova.
My gaze flies to him, and I can feel myself tense up, bracing for whatever his reaction is.
Nova's brows pull together, and he leans back in his chair. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but I'm certain it's a sharp turn from his usually happy disposition.
“We're putting it all out there now, are we, Bane?” Silas asks.
I spare him a single glance. It's hard to tell, but he doesn't seem all that surprised. My gaze strays back to Nova like some kind of gravitational force.
“Eight years? Explain.” He looks at Bane, his jaw hard like he's clenching his molars together.
My gaze drops to the table and I shake my head. I don't think I want to sit here and listen to Bane tell them we hooked up. That I gave my virginity to a virtual stranger on the beach one night.
I can't decide what would be worse—Bane brushing it off like it wasn't a big thing or him making it sound like an event. The former would probably make me feel like burying myself in a pint of my favorite ice cream—and I hate being cliche.
But the latter might hurt Nova and damage the fragile truce between Silas and I.
“Evangeline and I met eight years ago,” Bane says.
