: Chapter 5

I don’t realize I’m speeding out of the Bay until I run over a pothole and nearly hit my head on the roof of the car.

I slow down, checking my rearview mirror like I pissed off Macon in some way and he’ll send someone after me.

Why was he looking at me? That’s not a good sign.

Not that it would be unpleasant to have the attention of someone who looks like him, but I don’t think anyone has ever given the impression they want to be on Macon’s radar. In fact, I’m pretty sure his usual avoidance of making direct eye contact is a mercy on his part, because he knows he scares people. If he gives you his attention, you immediately worry you’ve been caught misbehaving.

Did I say something? I don’t even remember.

Just then, my phone rings, and I snap my attention back to the present. Steering the car with one hand, I dig in my purse with the other. I finally find my phone, glancing at Paisleigh in the back seat. Her head sways against the seat, her eyes starting to fall closed.

Marshall’s name shines on my screen, and I swipe, answering it.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m on my way. I have dinner.”

“Can you come and get me?”

The car veers into the wrong lane, and I jerk the wheel, correcting myself.

“What? Where are you?”

I check the clock on my dad’s dash, but it still reads 2:04 from when it stopped running years ago.

“Fox Hill,” he replies.

I clench the phone. No one’s playing golf this late. And the family men are home at dinner.

All that’s left are the plotters, pushers, and playboys—and twelve-year-olds who have “victim” written all over them. Dammit. “Be there in ten.”

I hang up before I scream at him. “Shit!” I whisper-yell, tossing the phone and kicking the floor. I hit the gas, flying to the country club and slowing down only while on Main Street, because a speeding ticket will just delay me more.

The highway curves to the right, but I keep straight, coasting between the two large stone pillars and down the dark drive. Trees line both sides of the private entrance, immediately secluding visitors in a quiet landscape that makes you feel like you’re deep in the country.

Without slowing down, I race past the guardhouse. The security detail checks in members as they arrive, but after six o’clock on a Sunday, it’s empty.

Cruising up to the clubhouse, I pull in behind a black Audi that I know belongs to Clay’s father because it’s new, and apparently a source of friction between him and her mom—his soon-to-be exwife. Something about frozen money until they decide how much belongs to who. Why do divorcing couples think that’s a good time to go buy a flashy car? I hope she takes it. Go, Mrs. Collins.

I crack my window, turn off the engine, and tilt my mirror, seeing Paisleigh’s head hanging off her neck like a tetherball. Taking my phone and keys, I climb out and close the door, dialing my brother.

He breathes hard in my ear.

“I’m here,” I tell him, checking that my sister is still asleep through the window. “Where are you?”

“Upstairs.”

“So come down.”

“They won’t let me.”

I freeze. “Who?”

But he just snickers. “Do you seriously have to ask?”

He hangs up, and I stick my phone in my pocket as the sprinklers kick on out on the course. The doorman peeks around the corner to see if I’m coming or not, but I just stand there.

I know who’s up there, and have a vague idea of what he wants. I also know that while he’s a little stupid, coercion is his strength.

Milo.

I lock the car doors and stalk up to the clubhouse. Rafe rushes to open the door, tucking his other hand behind his back as he smiles at me.

“Keep an eye on my sister, please?” I tell him.

He shoots up straight, glancing at my car. “Huh?”

“She’s asleep in the back seat,” I call out, running inside and up the stairs. “I’ll be quick! I promise!”

“Ms. Conroy!”

But I ignore his protest, swinging around the banister and down the hall to the right.

Mahogany paneling on the walls gleams in the soft light of the sconces, and I brush past the painting of my grandfather holding a cigar and standing next to a silver-haired Great Dane. He doesn’t have a Great Dane. Never did. He has four King Charles spaniels. And cigars make him sick.

Deer antlers jut from the wall, and I jump out of the way before I’m stabbed in the eye. I push through the closed door at the end of the hall, letting it fly open as I enter the Wainwright Room, and stare at my brother where he stands next to the two-seater table, waiting for me.

His blue eyes raise just enough but then drop quickly again. He knows he fucked up. I jerk my chin at him. “How did you get here?”

“I picked him up.”

Milo sits at the table, doling out a hand of solitaire like he’s a king hovering over maps and planning a war.

Or like he has any idea how to play anything other than Go Fish.

My former boyfriend decided not to attend college right away, either. Instead, he’s been interning at his older brother’s law office, but probably using most of his mental capacity on just learning to tie a tie every morning.

“So this is your life now?” I ask him, glancing at his friends, whom I don’t know, who are sitting on the couches near the fireplace. Two guys, one girl. New faces, because nearly all of our high school friends went off to school this fall. “Taking your petty pleasures wherever you can get them?”

Milo smiles, his black hair combed and shiny, not a strand out of place. “I just wanted to lure you back to your side of the tracks tonight. Where you belong.”

How did he know I was in Sanoa Bay?

I step closer, glaring down. He still hasn’t looked at me.

“You don’t give a shit about me,” I say in a low voice. “You never did. Your pride is hurt because I like them more than you.”

His small grin locks in place as he stares at the cards, and for a moment, everything stops, because I know that look. The look of him angry and on the cusp of violence.

I shouldn’t have said that. It’ll only bring attention onto Liv’s brothers.

“Did you know your sister is in bed with a Jaeger?” He looks up at Mars.

But instead, I order my brother, “Let’s go.”

“In a year, they’ll be gone.” Milo continues placing cards. “The government will declare eminent domain and sell the land out from under them because it’s more valuable as a resort. Tryst Six will end.”

I shoot my brother a glare. “Now.”

But when he meets my eyes, I notice his pupils. They’re huge. The blue is barely visible.

I lean over the table, swiping my hand over the white residue on the glass.

My heart pounds in my ears.

“You son of a bitch,” I whisper.

“He wanted some,” Milo explains.

I tremble. Macon would handle this beautifully. Like a fucking Spartan. And all I can do is swear at him? I want a knife. A weapon. Something.

I swing my arm across the table, sending his cards to the floor, and get down in his face.

Slowly, he rises, and I know everyone in the room is watching us. We stand toe to toe, his eyes cast down at me, only slightly taller as he grins.

And then …

He swings his hand out, and I twist away, rearing back to shield myself from the blow.

But it doesn’t come.

He drops his arm, chuckling as his friends join in and the room fills with laughter.

I drop my hands, steeling my jaw.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he taunts me. “You have all the power in the world. Not me.”

He grabs me between the legs, and I yell, pushing him, but he pulls me in, holding me tight.

“You could stop all of this,” he breathes down on me. “If you learned to use your head, you’d already see that. You have all the power and no clue how to use it.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“But you were never that bright.” He kisses me, his wet mouth making me gag.

I twist away, pushing him off, and charge for the door. “Mars!” I yell.

With my brother behind me, we leave, but I refuse to give Milo the satisfaction of seeing me run. I grip my brother’s wrist, damn near digging my nails into his skin.

“Krisjen,” Mars says, but it sounds less like he’s trying to slow me down and more like an apology. I’m not even that mad at him, although he knows Milo and I ended things badly. He doesn’t know most of it, but he knows enough, and he never should’ve taken his call or gotten into his car tonight.

But it’s not his fault. It’s mine. Iron was right.

I drag my brother down the stairs and across the lobby, but I hear a male voice behind me. “Ms. Conroy.”

I stop, remembering Clay’s father is here. But when I turn, I see it’s not him after all. Jerome Watson walks up to me from the lounge, every seat at the bar behind him nearly full, and every one of them men.

He looks at me with a gleam in his gray eyes, and I keep my hand on my brother’s wrist. I wish it were Clay’s dad.

He stops, his white shirt wrinkled but still tucked into his black suit pants. His tie and jacket are probably discarded somewhere in the bar. He smiles, only a few dark blond hairs out of place at his temple. Still a full head of hair, though. At least there’s that.

“I missed you at church this morning,” he says.

He glances at Mars and then reaches into his pocket, pulling a twenty and holding it out to my brother. “Here, why don’t you get a snack?”

But I push Mars toward the door, handing him my keys. “Paisleigh’s in the car. Wait for me there.”

He casts a worried glance between Jerome and me, but he does what he’s told. I face the older man again.

His lips curl into a smile. “Your TikTok was cute.”

I arch an eyebrow. He has TikTok? Yay.

He inches closer, and while I would never back down from Milo, I have no problem backing up from this guy. I retreat a step.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he tells me. “I hope you’re going to be the one who knows me best.”

My tongue feels like sandpaper. I don’t want to get to know him. He looks at me, and I feel like I’m naked. I know what he wants. I know what my mother is promising him. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. That’s a fact.

But it’s also not a solution.

He lowers his voice. “May I see you sometime?”

I open my mouth to refuse, but then I close it again. What had Milo said? You have all the power in the world. I don’t know what he meant, but I’m sure he meant something.

Jerome Watson is connected to everyone capable of making and breaking the Bay.

Before I can dwell too long, I hear myself tell him, “Maybe.”

Maybe he’ll be useful after all.

He smiles as he cups my cheek. But he doesn’t kiss me.

He walks back into the bar, and I wipe his touch off my face as I leave the club.

Rafe opens the door for me, and I head out into the middle of the driveway. Mars sits in the passenger seat, playing on his phone, while Paisleigh’s dark form is still passed out in the back seat.

I don’t go to the car, though. What did Milo mean?

I need to think.

I walk onto the green, between two trees, and stand still as the long shot of the sprinkler passes over my head. Water rains down on me, and I close my eyes and let my head fall back. A couple of nighthawks sing in the woods far ahead of me on the other side of the course, and I stay there as the sprinkler makes another round, and then another.

There’s a way out. That’s what Milo meant. For me, for the Jaegers, I don’t know, but if he were lying, he wouldn’t have been vague. He was being vague to taunt me.

The problem is I’m actually not that smart. I could have an aneurysm trying to crack this.

“I hate these people,” I say to myself. So many games. I hope Clay keeps Liv far away from it, because I would pity anyone marrying a Saint. Especially a Jaeger.

“Krisjen?” someone calls out.

I pop my eyes open and spin around as Army Jaeger emerges from the shadow between the trees.

I square my shoulders, watching him approach with his hands in his pockets and his eyes always steady. Like he never blinks.

He wears a forest-green T-shirt, the muscles in his chest just visible underneath, and I’ve always liked how his hair perpetually looks like he’s just a week or two overdue for a haircut.

What is he doing here?

I wipe the water and hair away from my eyes, glancing at Rafe still by the door, but I don’t see anyone else. I look back to Army. “Are you guys on call or something?” I grumble. “Someone needs an emergency lawn mowed in the middle of the night?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch.”

But I can see the smile behind his feigned offense.

“Sorry,” I chuckle.

Iron’s got my claws out today. And then Milo. And then Jerome. He pulls out a wad of cash and hands it to me. “I just wanted to give this back to you.”

I take it, puzzled. I recognize the torn five-dollar bill as part of the tip money I gave Macon earlier tonight.

I try to hand it back. “I want to pay for the repairs.”

“You did. You worked. That’s all we needed.”

“And my Rover?”

He’s quiet, as if he’s waiting for me to answer my own question. My dad’s car only had a flat tire, but according to Iron, my Rover has a lot more that needs to be done to it. It’s going to cost a lot.

Then it hits me.

“I’m not working at Mariette’s full-time,” I tell him, slipping the money into my pocket. “I don’t belong there.”

“Too low-class for you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He narrows his eyes, takes a step into my space, and I back up, but he keeps coming. “Let me tell you something, Conroy.” He’s never called me by my surname before. “Mariette has been working that joint since she was eleven. She’s never left the state, much less the country. She had no choices, so you know what she did? She played the hand she was dealt. She’s there seven days a week and has created a fucking culture inside those four walls. It’s not a restaurant. It’s a home. Kids have celebrated birthdays there. Couples have laughed through wedding receptions there, and a shit ton of people have lost their virginity either in the bathroom or in the parking lot, so I’m not going to stand here and listen to a rich girl tell me that where Mariette has spent three-fourths of her life is worthless and that she’s too good to be a waitress there.”

He raises his eyebrows, challenging me as he looks down like he’s waiting for me to get a clue.

I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until it goes dry, and I have to swallow to generate saliva. He’s always so calm. “I meant … the Bay.” Heat breaks out across my neck. “I don’t belong in the Bay, because I’m using you to hide from my responsibilities. And my future. I like it too much there, to be honest. That’s what I meant.”

He stares down at me.

I would never think I was too good for Mariette’s. I’m positive I want to do something else with my life, but it’s not like I believe waitressing is beneath me, either. I just need to get serious and find a way to escape my parents without abandoning Mars and Paisleigh.

Army finally lets out a quiet laugh, his expression softening. “And we like you there,” he tells me. “You fit in. Most of the guys you served at lunch today are next door at the bar right now, talking about your smile. One called you ‘damned cute.’ Another said ‘pleasant.’ I even think the word ‘delightful’ was used at some point.”

I smile, laughing under my breath. It feels good to hear that.

“And a few are talking about your legs,” he adds.

His eyes drop to them, and heat rises to my cheeks.

Does he notice my legs?

Out of all the brothers, Army is the one who puzzles me the most. He has no hobbies. No interests that I can tell. No friends of his own that he doesn’t share with his brothers. He doesn’t hunt. Fish. Read. Brew his own beer or weld weird garden sculptures. He doesn’t ride like Iron. Kill time on boats like Trace. Party and party some more like Dallas.

He’s at work. Or home. Always ready for when he’s needed. Like a firefighter.

Exactly like a firefighter, in fact. He’s indispensable.

Macon takes care of the land, the finances, and holds all the power, because he has the will to do what no one else will. Not even Army.

But the younger siblings talk to Army.

He’s the one they tell bad news to, and they entrust him to tell Macon, because Army is the only one who can face their older brother. He holds him back. Calms him down. Puts it into the right words so that it deals the smallest blow. He mans the bomb. Army has to stay calm, because the house needs one emotionally stable adult.

Who does he talk to?

I cross my arms over my chest and look away, uncomfortable under his constant gaze.

“It’s too late in the semester to start classes,” he points out, “so join us until you start college in January.”

I chew the corner of my mouth. I’m not sure I’m going to college, but it’s a possibility.

“We need you.” His voice is firm. “I mean, when you don’t know what you want to do for yourself, be useful to someone else. It’s better than lazing about, right?”

He sounds like my teachers.

I love it across the tracks, but what I said last night still holds true. There’s nothing over there that’s good for me right now.

But I do need a job. I don’t want to be around my house all the time where Milo, my mother, or Jerome Watson knows where to find me anytime they want.

I don’t want to shop or go to the beach or catch up on Netflix. I want to be around people.

It’s better than doing nothing for the next three months. Just while the kids are at school. It’ll give me time to find out how to stay close to my siblings on my terms. Not my mother’s.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

A job is a good idea, but I’ll get one here in St. Carmen instead.

Army nods slowly, looking like he knows I’m just being nice, but what can he do? They’ll find help. I’m not sure why he’s trying to convince me to come back.

He turns to leave, but I stop him. “How did you know where to find me tonight?”

At first, I thought he was here for something relating to the landscaping and the work their business does, but he said he came to give me back my tips. Wouldn’t he have just gone to my house?

He twists back around, looking like he’s holding his breath and trying not to grin.

He closes the distance between us, his words a whisper as he leans down to my face. “We have cameras in the clubhouse,” he says.

I gape at him. “Are you serious? And you’re just telling me that? Like you can trust me?”

Why would he admit that? My family comes here. Or we did. I’m sure my dad can still afford his membership.

But Army just studies me. “Maybe we have dirt on your crowd. On Milo. Garrett Ames.”

I take the last step up to him. “And my father?”

He smiles. “Maybe,” he taunts. “Who knows?”

Oh my God. They could have stuff I might be able to use.

Or stuff I’d want deleted. Especially if it’s about my family. A lot of talking goes on at Fox Hill. They might’ve picked up a lot of useful info.

My chest rises and falls.

He plucks my phone out of my pocket and taps his number into my contacts.

I gaze up at him and then down to his chest at my eye level. His sternum dips underneath his T-shirt, and I get warm everywhere.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I tell him. “You’re too old for me.”

Just so we’re clear.

We both know that any woman around his family, and not related to his family, is on the menu. If I’m coming over there every day, I want it understood that I’m not. Women love a hot, single dad, but it’s little weird that his son’s mother is never mentioned.

He doesn’t say anything or even look at me, just fights a smile tilting up his mouth.

“What?” I ask.

He smiles like he has a secret.

He shakes his head, but he starts smiling more. “Nothing.” He hands me back my phone, and I take it, brushing his fingers as I do.

Time slows as the wheels in my head turn. I don’t think it would’ve been Army last night. He’d said “I can wonder if it’s my son he’s playing Daddy to.”

Army already has a son, so wouldn’t he have said “one of my sons” instead?

He starts to walk away, my gaze lingering on his back.

It’s really not a good idea for me to be over there five days a week, eight hours a day.

I hesitate a moment before saying, “I need to help get my brother and sister off to school in the mornings,” I inform him. “Tell Mariette I can be there by seven thirty.”

What the hell am I doing?

He looks back at me over his shoulder. “Okay.”

“I’ll talk to her about my schedule tomorrow,” I add. “And I keep what I earn. Plus the repairs on my car.”

He nods once. “Deal.”

Five days a week. Eight-hour days. That was optimistic of me.

Almost a week later, I still haven’t had a day off. And every day gets longer than the last. I was here for almost twelve hours yesterday, but my brother and sister went to a birthday party at a trampoline place with our aunt and cousins, so I didn’t feel bad about staying late. There just always seems to be more to do here. Every day. Deliveries need to be unloaded, inventory stocked, someone’s sick, someone left early and couldn’t clean their stations, the soda’s out, a tour bus is coming in, my relief needs to be trained … by me. When I just started days ago.

And occasionally, very special customers have the privilege of getting their food delivered to them, which isn’t something Mariette’s does for everyone.

I even helped in the kitchen before the lunch rush today. Pretty sure she almost kicked me out when I asked, “Aren’t key limes just limes?” Twenty minutes later, I left sweating and fully aware that they were absolutely not.

Quite honestly, I love working here, though. I can get a clean fork, refill a drink, remember all the orders for a table of six without writing anything down, carry five plates at a time, and deliver the shrimp bisque to table eight, the beef tips to table one, and the beer to table eleven in one magical and beautiful dance through the room. I’m finally good at something.

“Krisjen!” Mariette shouts through the window between the kitchen and the server station. “I warned you about the roller skates!”

I coast down the aisle, a plate of food in each hand like a pro.

Mariette mutters something in Spanish, and I’m probably glad I don’t understand.

“Where does this go?” the new girl, Summer, asks.

I drop the burger in front of Bud Kyler and take the platter from her in my free hand. “Davey always has the crawfish.” I set it down in front of him and his friend who have stopped here every day this week on their lunch breaks.

He smiles, and I wink.

“You need a refill?”

He nods. “Coke.”

I take his cup, hand it to Summer, and push off, cruising toward the window and skidding left.

“She can move in those skates!” Miguel Padron says.

I race behind the counter, stuff more straws into my apron, and fill a third Coke, grabbing the two others off the soda fountain. “Yeah, they make me faster, Mariette.”

“Let her wear ’em, Mariette!” someone else calls out.

“So she can sue me when she breaks her leg?” my boss spits back.

I drop off the Cokes at table three and twirl around, skating backward. “Actually, I’d be suing Macon, since he technically owns the place, and even I’m not that stupid.”

Hands suddenly grab my waist, catching me, and I jolt, looking over my shoulder.

Macon looks down at me, and the heat from his body instantly hits me.

I gulp, just as the screen door flaps closed behind him. I almost crashed into him.

Tingles spread under my skin, and a jolt hits low in my belly. I stop breathing for a second.

He’s never touched me. Not even a handshake or a brush of his shoulder.

I hold back my nervous laugh and turn around. “I have your lunch,” I tell him.

I start for the counter to grab the to-go box under the warmer where I packaged the bun separate from the meat, so it wouldn’t get soggy, but he stops me before I get there.

“I’m not hungry,” he says. He pulls the mail out of the slot on the wall and starts flipping through. “Reheat it for dinner and drop it off when you leave today.”

So he can just throw it away again?

I slip my hands in my pockets. I didn’t think much of it when I noticed all the uneaten food in the garage trash can last week, but he’s taken his lunch only twice while I’ve been working here. The other times it’s left on the worktable in the garage, untouched. He hasn’t joined the guys for dinner, and I haven’t been taking him anything then, either. Nor has anyone else from Mariette’s that I can tell. No idea if he’s eating breakfast. His brothers are big eaters. What’s going on with him?

He scans the envelopes, stuffs them back into the holder, and heads for the kitchen door. I slide out of the way, seeing his eyes briefly look down at the skates before he disappears.

Trace and Army stroll in next, the former shouting, “Food!”

“How you doing?” someone asks them from a table as they pass.

“Hey, man.” Trace shakes a hand.

A round of shouts goes off.

“Hey!

“What’s up?”

“Tomorrow, right?”

“Pregaming all day, baby!” Trace claps the air above his head.

They’re having a party tomorrow. Iron’s last night. Halloween.

I look toward the door, trying to see if he’s with them.

And then he’s there. Charging in, jeans and black T-shirt, dark hair covering his temples, and his sun-kissed skin glowing with water that I know isn’t sweat. He jumps through the spray of lawn sprinklers everywhere he works to cool down. I smile to myself, picturing it.

He heads for the kitchen, glancing at me and then away. He’s been acting like he doesn’t notice me, but that’s only after he looks to make sure I’m here.

I watch him stroll through the kitchen, toward the back.

“You stay out of there!” Mariette yells at him.

I arch up on my tiptoes, watching him shrug at her in the kitchen. “Just one.”

“A whole one!” Trace yells through the warming window.

“Iron Jaeger!” she growls.

“You’ll miss me!” He grins at Mariette and dives into the walk-in.

I hesitate, proud of myself for staying out of that house this week.

But he’s alone, and he’s rarely alone, and I need to know when my car will be ready, and I’m not asking Macon. I don’t want to bug him.

I roll through the kitchen, past the grills, and sneak into the cooler, seeing him scan shelves for the key lime cheesecake that’s not on the menu.

He doesn’t look my way, but he knows I’m here.

He offered a ride along the beach a few nights ago, and I kind of regret turning him down.

But I knew what would happen when we got there. It’s safer now. In two days, he’ll be gone for three-plus years.

I’ll miss him.

Somehow their table out there never seemed like it was missing someone without Macon there, but I’m going to hate only seeing three at that table for dinner very soon.

I step closer to him. The cool air feels good.

“Why doesn’t … Mariette own this place?” I ask him.

He pulls out a pink box, searching behind it. “She pretty much does. We don’t interfere with how she wants to run it.”

“But you take a cut.”

I slide in front of him, blocking his view. My chest touches his, and he looks down at me, heat filling the space between us.

“What’s your point?” he asks.

“I just think it’s interesting that she does the work of a business owner but isn’t the business owner,” I tease. “And then she has to share her profits with people who don’t work here. Do you have that kind of arrangement with a lot of businesses in the Bay?”

It’s not their style to take from their own people. I’m only half-serious with my underhanded accusations. I just want to spend a minute with him.

But there’s a reason the Jaegers insist on maintaining control of this restaurant and the bar next door. The rest make sense. An auto shop. A storage facility. A run-down drive-in up the coast a few miles, and lots of land where they collect rent from people parked on it.

But this place is Mariette’s. In every way but the one that counts. Why?

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask him.

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“If you don’t set me straight, I’m going to think you all are extorting protection money from that nice woman.”

“Like Al Capone?”

He digs in his eyebrows, his air of amusement making him look younger than Trace. I follow the line of his lips as they lift to one side, brushing the stubble on his jaw as something swims in my stomach. His face is more oval. Trace’s jaw is more square.

I guess I’m staring too long, because he shifts in a way that makes him seem closer, and he drops his voice. “I would actually love the opportunity to set you straight,” he taunts.

The pulse between my legs throbs just once, so hard that I expel the breath I’m holding.

He plants both hands on the rack behind me, walling me in with his nose an inch from mine. “Will Trace mind this?”

I haven’t taken my eyes off his mouth. God, I’m hot. My blood is rushing too fast. “Why don’t you ask me if I mind it?” I whisper.

A current flows between us, and I know he’s going to do it before he does. He takes my jaw in one hand, squeezing it lightly, and I suck in a breath just as he’s about to come down, but …

He doesn’t kiss me.

He stares into my eyes, smelling like grass and vanilla and the beer coming off his breath. “Mariette can’t own the restaurant,” he says. “Or rather, she doesn’t want to risk it. She’s off the grid.”

Off the grid?

“She would’ve needed a loan,” he explains. “To get a loan, she needs accounts. To get accounts, she needs identification. To get ID she needs a Social Security card. Get it?”

I stare at him. “Yeah.”

She’s undocumented.

He releases me and looks away. “And I don’t know why the fuck I told you all of that.”

It still doesn’t make sense. Business owners don’t need to be full-fledged citizens. “She’s been here since she was a child, right?” I press. “How has she not applied for permanent residency at least?”

“Because she would’ve been deported as soon as she applied, and she wasn’t young enough to meet the requirements for DACA.”

Right.

And by that time, this was home. She has family here.

Iron continues. “She stayed through several changes in ownership, one of them finally naming the place after her, because her key lime pie was the biggest draw to customers. About six years ago, after she’d worked here for thirty years, the current owner was about to lose it to the bank, so we bought it.”

“How’d you get that much money?”

It wouldn’t have cost seven figures, but at least in the low sixes.

Iron just sighs. “I have no idea. I was seventeen at the time. Macon took care of it.”

The old rumor about Macon and Army selling Oxy and Molly to the college kids back in the day to support their siblings after their parents’ deaths surfaces in my brain, but there were so many rumors about them that I never knew what to believe.

Iron states, “Mariette gets to stay in the place she loves, take care of her family, and we make sure she can do that.”

Got it. Not that I ever thought that they were taking advantage of her, but it’s one of the many reminders that the Jaegers bend and break whatever laws they feel are unjust, and that they are comfortable making that distinction on their own. What people don’t know until they spend time over here, though, is that it’s always in service to others. Macon could’ve taken that money and renovated the house. Bought a car. Moved. He stayed.

“You can’t tell anybody, Krisjen.”

I dart my eyes up to him. “You don’t need to say that.”

“No, I do,” he states plainly. “Because if you turn on us, it’ll be my fault, because I trusted you.”

He trusts me. His brothers wouldn’t. They’d be pissed if they found out that he divulged that information.

But I’ll never tell anyone. Mariette’s worked hard, and she’s lived here longer than anywhere else. This is her home.

“When I come back,” he says, “I need this place to still be here, okay?”

I nod, a lump wedging in my throat at the reminder. “I really hate that you’re going there. How are you not depressed all the time? I would be.”

He laughs quietly, relaxed again, and I look up at him. “Are you going to be okay?” I ask.

But he ignores me, instead asking, “You coming to the party tomorrow night?”

“Who will be there?”

“Me.”

I snort, and we both smile at each other, but then he comes in close again, and I know what he’s going to want if I come tomorrow. I inhale through my nose, taking in his scent and seeing if I remember it from that night. He smelled like grease and wood and tasted like heat with a whisper of bourbon, but all I smell now is water and sunscreen.

Leaning down, his forehead nearly brushes mine. “Would you mind it?” he whispers.

The front of his jeans brushes mine, and everything feels alive.

“Do you mind it?” he teases.

I hear a bell ring outside, and I blink, remembering I have tables. Shit.

I push him away and start to leave. “Y’all are trouble.”

“And so are you,” he calls back.

I leave the cooler, hurrying back to the front.

I’m not going to go tomorrow night. The last thing I need is another party. Even if it’s Iron’s last for a while.

Whatever happens there won’t make my life better, and I have alcohol at home.

And I really don’t want to risk Aracely slashing my tires again. I can’t afford it.

At five thirty, I leave, carrying Macon’s reheated dinner down the road, but the garage is closed.

I knock on the front door, Aracely answering after a minute as screams go off in the background and Dex peals with laughter.

I hold up the bag. “Dinner for Macon,” I say.

I start to take a step in, but she moves in front of me, grabs the bag, and dumps it in the trash can outside, on the side of the porch. “They’re barbecuing tonight. You can go. Thank you.” Her face lights up with a self-satisfied expression. “Or … are you working the ‘night shift’ tonight?”

I back up, her meaning not lost on me.

I drop my eyes, seeing her long smooth legs in a beautiful line right down to the black ankle boots with silver buckles and a three-inch heel. “Cute shoes.”

She arches a brow and walks away, leaving the door open. I smile after her.

We’re going to be friends. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Trace swoops up, pulling me inside. I spot Army and Dallas, busy in the kitchen, and Iron on the floor, playing with Dex. My smile spreads at how cute they are, but then it falls. He’s spending time with his nephew while he can.

“Stay,” Trace tells me.

I shake my head. “No. You’re having a family thing. Besides, I’ve got to get home to my brother and sister anyway.”

“Bring ’em,” he says, excited. “This won’t be ready for an hour. Go get them and come back. They can play with Dex.”

Paisleigh has talked about Sanoa Bay all week. She’s dying to get back.

“Like, seriously,” Trace whispers, coming in close and putting his arm around me. “Macon is on a short fuse lately. We could use as many buffers as possible.”

Mmm, tempting.

Macon strolls down the stairs, hair wet from his shower and pulls on a T-shirt. He swings past us and into the living room like we aren’t even standing here, and I see faint circles under his eyes again. Army and Dallas pause their conversation as he enters the kitchen, and then I hear the clank of beer bottles and the fridge slamming shut.

Army looks over at me, tipping his chin in greeting, while Dallas stares at me like I should leave.

I don’t look, but I can feel Iron watching me.

“I have to get home,” I finally tell Trace and turn to leave. “You guys have fun.”

“Dress up tomorrow night!” he calls after me.

I suck in a huge breath all the way to my dad’s car.