Page 117 of Lucky's Trouble

“That’s the other thing,” she starts, right back to being pissed off. “I told you to stay away from her. We were friends, Lucky. Good friends. And when a good friend tells you to back the hell off their sister, you fucking do it, but you went after her anyway. Then, instead of fessing up like a man, you hid it from me.”

I hold up both my hands in surrender. “She wanted to be the one to tell you. I can’t help it if she went and got herself kidnapped before that happened.”

The room falls silent, and I realize it might’ve been too soon for that joke. I would’ve thought the same thing had someone made it yesterday, but each time we stopped for gas or to eat, Tinleigh worked hard at making me okay with what happened, because she’s okay.

Tinleigh moves behind me and places her hands on my shoulders, resting her head on top of mine. “Myla, I’ll try harder next time to give you the details of my love life before I get kidnapped.”

I grab her arm and pull her onto my lap. “We already talked about this. It won’t happen ever again because I’m not letting you outta my sight ever again.”

“Gross. If this is what I have to look forward to, I’m moving in with someone else. Who has a free room?”

Tinleigh and I look at each other and together say, “Judge.”

“That sounds like the start of a bad joke.” She uses a mocking tone. “A prostitute moves in with the priest. . .”

Though she didn’t say it to be funny, I find that shit hilarious as fuck, and so does Tinleigh because we both burst out laughing.

“On that note, I’ll leave you to get settled. Cy should be done fucking Char by now, and we have Church.” I stand, forcing Tinleigh to stand as well. After dropping a kiss on her lips, I turn to leave.

Somehow, in all my teenage fantasies, I never pictured living in a house with fine-as-hell twins. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have thought this is how it would go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

TINLEIGH

Four weeks later. . .

“You don’t need to leave,” I say, watching as Myla packs up the last of her things.

“Yeah, I do. If I have to listen to you and Lucky have sex one more time, I will lose my mind.”

“We try to be quiet.”

“If that’s quiet, then remind me to call before I come over next time. I wouldn’t want to walk in on your normal volume sex.” She stuffs her phone charger in a tote bag before plopping down next to me on the sofa that’s not pulled into a bed for the first time in a month.

I rest my head on her shoulder and take her hand in mine. A lot of healing has happened in her time living with Lucky and me—mostly physical, but some emotional, too. She’s still angry about what happened, but she’s coming around. Much to her dismay, Judge has played a role in that. The same way that he’s helped me, he’s helped her too, both with old wounds and new.

Bones has contributed, too, but his help comes in the form of a blunt to calm her anxiety and help with the lingering pain. In his own way, Lucky has even been part of her healing, mostly through back-and-forth banter. I love their friendship, and it means the world to me that my sister likes my boyfriend.

“I don’t like you going back to your apartment alone,” I say.

“There’s no reason not to. Neal’s dead, and from what Lucky’s heard, no one misses him. Some douchebag took over his business, and all’s right in the skin trade once again.”

“I know. And I also know he wouldn’t let you leave if he thought there was even a possibility someone wanted payback for Neal’s death. It’s just, I don’t know. The world doesn’t feel safe anymore. Why it took Jeremiah to make me feel that way, I’ll never know.”

“Right? Like you were okay with child molesters and violent rapists, but you drew the line at kinky wackadoodles.”

Is developing a dark sense of humor a healthy response to anger? I’ll have to ask Danielle at our appointment next week.

Navy gave me her therapist’s number after Rigger told her the details of my abduction, and Lucky hounded me until I finally called and set up an appointment. Joke’s on him, though, because I’m still not working, which means he has to foot the bill each week. I don’t think he cares. He just wants me to be happy.

Speaking of Danielle. . .

“I tucked Danielle’s card in your wallet. You should call her,” I say.

“I’m good, thanks.” She stands abruptly, leaving me to topple over.

“I also stuck your severance paycheck in there.”

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