Through the dirty window pane, I can see Nic. Stupid woman directly disobeyed her old man’s orders. Fucking A. She’s wearing one of her tight strappy tank tops that shows off Duke’s good work. She started showing a while ago, and it seems like she’s just getting bigger every week. I don’t really know how pregnancy works. I mean, I know how it happens. I’m not that stupid. But as for how this shit works while the kid is baking, I’m at a loss. All I know is that she’s not fitting into her clothes anymore, but she wears them anyway. Her face is relaxed as she rings up a customer at the register and then gets to work on their coffee. I don’t want to fuck up her day, but I don’t have any more time to waste.
Just as a customer opens the front door and the overhead bells chimes, I slide in, completely ignoring the customer who is next in line. I lean against the counter, still struggling for air and say, “You seen Sweets or Bean?”
Nic’s eyes travel over to mine, and she purses her lips. She narrows her gaze as she works on the drink at hand, and it’s only when she’s done that she looks my way. Irritation radiates off her as she says, “No. Miss Perky Face never showed up for her shift. I’m fucking tired, and I think I’m going to barf at some point. I wasn’t even supposed to be here today.”
And just like that, the bitchy sister I don’t miss and kind of fear makes her return. I knew the last few months were too good to be true. She was all in love and shit and acting happy. I was almost worried this baby business had resulted in a personality lobotomy. But nope. She-Demon is apparently alive and well.
“Speaking of that—your old man told you to stay home,” I say loudly and hope she knows I’m using my Forsaken voice—the one where I talk a little deeper and with more purpose.
“That’s not what I heard,” she says and shifts her eyes across the counter with a raised brow and a dismissive tone. She knows damn well what he meant, but fucking typical Nic. She don’t care.
The customer at the counter clears his throat behind me and grumbles, “Can I get some help, please?”
Nic takes a deep breath and puffs her cheeks out, like a squirrel who’s hoarding for winter, and then blows it out. I’m getting antsy with every wasted second. My neck cranes in the customer’s direction. He’s a middle-aged man with a distended gut and a button-up that doesn’t stretch well enough to fit his midsection. He taps his leather wallet on the counter top impatiently like he’s the most important fucking person in the room.
He’s not.
“Hang on a minute, buddy,” Nic snaps at him. Her eyes flit to mine. “And for the record, I can’t abandon Eileen, because somebody made me leave work so many times I’m on thin ice as it is.”
“Don’t blame me because you’re unprepared for motherhood,” I gripe. Her left nostril lifts in irritation. “But seriously, I need to find them. Like now. It’s important.”
“Come on. I’m running late to a meeting,” he says. He pauses before continuing, but he doesn’t get the rest of his complaint out.
“Step off,” I yell as I close the distance between him and me. I’m not looking for a scene any bigger than we’re already making, so I do him a favor and give him a foot of space. “You think you’re late now? Keep fucking talking.”
He backs up from me, his eyes flicking to my leather vest, and heads for the door. I don’t bother discouraging his exit. I’ve wasted enough goddamn time in here.
“Shit.” Nic walks around the counter, gets close, and whispers, “What’s wrong?”
“That visitor from New York?” I say in a whisper-shout. “In town. Had some trouble. Jim’s got reason to think that’s why nobody can find Bean or Sweets.”
“Great,” she grumbles. Her bitchy mood is slowly sinking into a quiet fear. I’m not a fan of Bitchy Nic, but I’m even less excited to see Sad Nic. “Tell me if you find Minds, ’kay?”
“Sure,” I say and head for the door.
“Boy,” a voice shouts from behind me. I turn around to find an old dude who’s staring at me from a nearby table. He’s got a newspaper opened up before him and a mostly empty mug of coffee in his right hand. Giving me a slight nod, he says, “You looking for the Mercer girls?”
“Yeah,” I say. This guy is clearly a local with how he’s made himself at home in the shop and the way he’s addressed me. Tourists are usually pretty easy to spot. “Who are you?”
“He’s kidding, right?” he asks. The old man’s look transforms into disbelief as he redirects his attention to my sister.
“He’s an idiot,” she states.
“I own the hardware store your dad used to take you to all the time. Every time you left, my store was a candy bar lighter than when you came in.”
“Oh, hey.” Now I remember him. Dad was always taking me to get shit for the house. It was either paint or new cabinet door knobs or other shit Mom wanted for her showplace. Dad would get to buying stuff for the house, and I’d get to deciding which candy bar I wanted to shove in my back pocket on the way out. “Huh, thought I didn’t get caught.”
“Your father’s a good man. He always paid for the candy you thought you were stealing.”
What a dick. Makes me want to go in there now and lift something and see what the fuck he does about it.