Page 69 of Tell Me Something True

Just another Sunday morning in Mount Laurel.

Rick Morris drove past, giving them a beep of his car horn and a friendly wave. Miles lifted his hand in return, then stepped into the overgrown yard. Mr. Roberts usually kept it neater, but he’d been struggling to keep up with the maintenance of his rentals since his wife was diagnosed with cancer a few weeks back. Then she’d fallen two days and broken her hip, which meant he wouldn’t have any free time for weeks, if not months.

After giving Ian’s hand another squeeze, Miles let go and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Unlocked the screen and immediately saw the picture Verity had sent him of Tabitha standing in the sun, her hair pulled back, her face clean of makeup, looking so pretty.

So much like the girl he’d once known.

Exactly like the girl he’d once loved.

When he’d first opened the text, he hadn’t been able to stop looking at the picture. Had caught himself opening his phone time and time again just to sneak another peek at it. At her.

He couldn’t stop himself.

And that would not fucking do.

He’d told her he wasn’t the same boy she’d known. He needed to stop acting like he was.

His finger hovered over the trash icon at the bottom of the picture.

He wanted to push it. Needed to, for his peace of mind, the protection of his ego, and the preservation of his goddamn pride.

But he couldn’t.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to question why not.

Instead, he brought up his text thread with Urban and Toby, sent a message asking them if they could pitch in with him to help Mr. Roberts with the yard work at his rentals for the next few weeks.

Putting his phone back in his pocket, he and his two sidekicks rounded the rear corner of the house. The back door leading to the upstairs apartment was open and the dog raced inside. Miles was a few feet away when he heard the same thump he’d heard minutes ago followed by Verity’s voice.

“All I’m saying is that if there ever was a perfect time for me to yell pivot… pivot! this is it.”

He stepped forward only to stop when a familiar laugh rang out, the sound light and joyful.

It had been a long time since he’d heard Tabitha laugh.

And he realized he was standing there, absently rubbing his hand over the ache in his chest, hoping to hear it again.

Looked like his peace, his pride and his ego were fucked.

“Less talking,” Walsh ground out, and Miles dropped his hand and started walking again. “More lifting.”

“Uh, I’m actually not speaking to you,” Verity said. “And, as per the stipulations of our recent agreement, you are not to speak to me. Seeing as how you usually only grunt out a word or two when forced to—or are insulting me—I’d think you’d be able to manage to just. Be. Silent.”

“Up,” Walsh growled as Miles stepped through the open doorway.

Verity and Tabitha, on one end of a large, dark blue sofa halfway up the steep, narrow staircase, and Walsh, at the bottom, all moved up one step.

His sister—who’d sent him a picture of Tabitha along with the following text…

Satan’s here! Get over to Kat’s ASAP!

…was helping Tabitha move her couch.

What the fuck?

“What is going on?” he asked.

But despite his quiet tone, despite him thinking he’d asked that question rather calmly given the circumstances, Verity jumped and lifted her hands in the air like she’d been stealing the couch and was surrendering.

---