Just when I’m about to lay into him, a few men I recognize walk through the door. First in is Bear—whose name I only remember because he’s one hairy motherfucker—and then Jeremy, who I have on good authority is everybody’s favorite prospect. Except for Grady’s, of course. The kid reminds me a lot of Wyatt before he got into the drugs and women. He’s handsome as hell. No wonder Grady’s daughter fell in love with him.
Next in is Diesel. I smile to myself, but it falls when I see the black and purple bruises around his left eye and the bridge of his nose and the large cut on his bottom lip.
“You look a little rough around the edges,” I say. He lifts his uninjured eyebrow and grimaces. This ass-beating is obviously fresh. The bruises from when he told Wyatt about what went down with Rig had finally started to fade just a few days ago. And now this. I’m normally of the mindset that brothers fight and sometimes they get some nasty merit badges for their efforts. But this is different. Wyatt’s anger is misplaced. He’s angry with Rig and himself and even me. Not Diesel. I just hope this fresh set of bruises is from something else.
“Talk to your old man.”
Well, there goes that hope. I’m just going to have to talk to Wyatt about laying his anger on Diesel.
“Asshole’s got a temper,” I say and give him a sad smile. Wyatt losing his shit on him the first time made sense—he’d given him some seriously bad news. And it happened right after Wyatt found out about Zander. But this? This is bullshit.
“Where’s Wyatt?” My hands are on my hips, and I’m getting more irritated by the second. Diesel shrugs and wanders into the kitchen where he starts disassembling the highchair with ease. My head falls to the side in wonderment. He’s done in half a minute and has moved on to the cupboard where I keep Piper’s plastic dishes.
“Up until about a month ago, Chel, Xavier, and I were roommates. Ain’t my business how you run your shit, babe, but you should call your sister. She misses you. Needs you now. Your sister and my woman don’t get along, and it’s driving me fucking crazy—but they both love you.” My stomach drops. I haven’t seen her since that first day back. I’m such an asshole. So caught up in my own shit, I totally blew her off. It wasn’t on purpose, there’s just been so much going on and . . . I don’t have an excuse. I just suck at being a good sister. I’m an even worse aunt. I’ve never met Xavier, but apparently Diesel’s stepped up for the kid.
I nod and leave him to the kitchen, deciding that the last thing I want to talk about is Chel. I love her. She’s my sister. I just don’t understand her, and it makes me feel judgmental, and I hate feeling that way. In the living room, Bear is tossing toys in a trash bag. I remind myself that I could fight this whole moving-to-a-place-I-don’t-know thing. It won’t do any good, though, and I know that, so I just take a deep breath and go with the flow. If I pitch a fit, Wyatt will show up and threaten to tan my hide in front of the boys. Then Zander will get pissed when he finds out and pick a fight with his dad over it—and he will find out even if it’s not from me, because he’s nosy like that—and that’s two relationships that really can’t handle the strain. So I bite my tongue and thank God my boy is at school right now.
Heading down the hallway, I note that Dad’s bedroom door is open, and thank God he’s off doing something I’d rather not think about. Not that he’d interfere with club shit—and this is definitely club shit whether I like it or not—but he’s a grouchy motherfucker, and I don’t have the patience to deal with his commentary right now. He’d tell me to be grateful that Wyatt’s trying and not to fight with him about this moving stuff. It doesn’t matter that I came to that decision on my own. I don’t want my father telling me to do it. Piper’s and my room is at the end of the hall, with Zander’s bedroom door just a few feet from it on the right. He hasn’t done anything with his room, even though I told him to get comfortable. I realize that, for once, it’s a good thing he rarely listens to me as I watch Jeremy take his two duffel bags out of the room with ease and toss them in the living room.
A loud, high-pitched scream comes from my bedroom. I pick up the pace and rush through the open bedroom door at the end of the hall to find the issue. Piper is standing up in her Pack ’n Play with tears falling down her face like a waterfall, holding on to the railing, and screaming at the top of her lungs. My attention shifts to Ryan, who’s in the corner of the room frozen in place. One eye is bigger than the other, and he’s staring at my kid like she’s a two-headed monster—which she sometimes imitates—and holding her favorite stuffed dog in his hand. I weigh my options and decide to make this a teaching moment.
“She doesn’t know you, and you have Barky. He’s her favorite.”
He stares at me stupidly, so I nod to the dog in his hands. He eyes the dog questioningly and walks it over to the portable crib, bends at his knees, and shows it to her.
“It’s okay, Pippy,” I say in a gentle voice and move to stand next to Ryan, bending at the knee, too. Slowly, the tears stop and all that’s left is a crusted mess of boogers and tears on her face. “This is Ryan.”