Page 5 of When I Had You

Murder is probably not the appropriate answer here. “Nothing. Just enjoying the warm weather.”

“If you don’t want to discuss it, that’s okay.” Coming around, he hugs me to him. “I love you, little sis.”

I rest my head against him and give in, wrapping my arms around his middle. I haven’t noticed how closed off I’d become or how disconnected I am from everyone I care about until now. “I love you, too, big bro.”

We step back from each other, and he smiles at me. “So I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”

“Yep.” I grin and start backward to where the car waits. “I’ll be fashionably late, so start without me.”

“We’ve learned our lesson.”

I’m quick to add, “Congrats on the qualifying race.”

“Thanks.” He swings the door back open and chuckles. “Hey, and maybe don’t give our drivers such a hard time when you see them. They’re prickly at best.”

“Assholes at worst.” I laugh. “My mistake for thinking we were in the big leagues. If they can’t handle little ole me—”

“Not many men can, Marina.” His chuckle rocks his shoulders. I still don’t think I’m fully accustomed to all of us being adults, but here Noah is looking the part with his lanyard and embroidered name on his shirt. Khakis. He’s all in on the work these days, and into dad mode dressing. It suits him because happiness is the most obvious thing about him.

Teasing, I fluff my hair on one side. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Never a bad thing when it comes to my sister.” Nodding, he adds, “Stay away from race car drivers, though. They’re nothing but bad news.” The warning doesn’t hit as hard when he says it so passively, but I get his drift. Harbor and Loch may not have picked up on anything more than a conversation I was having with that driver in the paddock, but Noah’s tone echoed in caution when he walked in.

I took it as a pat on the back that he was worried more for the driver than me.

I duck into the back of the Town Car. Leaning against the vinyl, I release a deep breath as the car pulls away from the track.

“Traffic is bad,” I say, peering up at the driver in the rearview mirror.

“It’s always rush hour in Miami.”

I check the time on my watch, realizing I should have left earlier. “How long do you think it will take?”

His eyes glance down and then into the mirror again. “Forty-five minutes to an hour.”

“Really?” I tug on my lower lip and glance out the window. “I have a video call. Do you mind me taking it in the car?”

“I’ll raise the privacy glass for you.”

“Thank you.”

I open the email my agent sent and read through the questions, trying to come up with answers that don’t make me sound so pathetic. I’m struggling since I still can’t wrap my head around what happened myself.

A text vibrates my phone, and I look down. Lauren.

Can you talk?

I take a breath before facing my fears—my agent—and replying.

Yes.

She’s a badass, and no one fucks with her in Hollywood. She does the fucking . . . Ummm . . . I laugh, which feels good after the heaviness of the past few days.

Lauren is fiercely protective of her clients. She’s the perfect one to have my back in the middle of this mess.

I barely have time to send the text before the phone rings. The privacy glass slides up, and I answer. My agent is usually impeccably put together, but I can’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes and strands of hair that have fallen in front of her face. She swipes them back and then leans forward on her desk. “How are you, Marina?”

“That feels like a loaded question.”

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