Page 56 of SALT

"Everett." The sound of my name being called and the front door closing has us both momentarily freezing, unsure if what we heard was real. "Everett," Moira's voice grows louder as her heels click up the steps, and I dart out of bed like the damn house is on fire as Cameron pulls the covers over her head.

I've just pulled on my briefs when the knob to my door turns, and I rush to meet it as it opens. "Moira, what are you doing?" I demand, blocking her entry.

"I came to talk?—"

"You don't live here anymore. You can't just walk into my house," I interrupt the second it becomes clear this isn't an absolute emergency. Her eyebrows rise as the vexation in my voice catches her off guard, and she attempts to look past me, to which I lean into view, cutting off hers. I step toward her, pulling the door to my bedroom closed as I do. "I'm going to need that key back." I hold out my hand.

"Do you have someone in there?"

"The answer to that question has nothing to do with me asking for my key back. Our son is an adult who no longer lives in this house, and you are married to another man. You have no reason to have a key to my home."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had someone in your bed. I didn't see a car outside."

Shit. I don't need her drawing conclusions about who is in my bed. "Did you ever drive anywhere when we were together?" I try to thwart off any further inquiries.

"You must like her if you're still in bed at noon on a Sunday."

It's noon? Fuck. I don't think I've slept in until noon since high school. Good thing our tournament started early this week. All games wrapped up yesterday, otherwise today would have been a game day I would have slept straight through. I keep my face impassive. "I'm not discussing my sex life with you." I hold out my hand. "Key," I demand once more.

She shakes her head and reaches into her pocket, handing me her ring of keys. "You put it on there. You can take it off." I quirk a brow, unsure where this sudden sentiment is coming from. This keyring is the same one I gave her the day I drove her here and handed over the keys to her dream house. Nothing I ever did was enough for her. I know now it couldn't be. I wasn't her person, but it doesn't make the sting of all those years hurt any less.

I take the key off the ring and hand it back. "You said you wanted to talk. What was so important you had to barge in unannounced?"

"Lauren Rhodes is back in town."

Seriously, this now! Of all the fucking times. To Parker's credit, Moira has been notably absent. It's why I haven't had a chance to address Lauren's claims with her. I should be the bigger person and state firmly what I know, but she just walked in my house and pulled me away from the only place I want to be. Not to mention, she fucking lied to my face for over a decade.

"Yeah," I say slowly. "This isn't news. Lauren and your niece, Stormy, both work at the stadium."

I know damn well Stormy isn't related to Moira. Lauren said as much, and I confirmed it, but it's a solid segue into the other conversation I want to have.

"Niece?" Her eyes widen. "Wait… back up." She brings her fingers to her temples. "Did I hear you right?"

"Yes, your niece, Stormy. She's been working at the stadium for weeks now."

Technically, I'm not one hundred percent piggybacking off Lauren's tale. It was Moira's name that rolled off Stormy's lips when she strolled into my office, catching me off guard. I had just finished practice when she knocked on my door and said Moira had sent her up and that I would find a job for her at the stadium for the summer. I wasn't in charge of hiring any of the staff. That was done before I stepped into Connor's role. It wasn't until Lauren asked me who hired Stormy that I realized her deception. The discovery was another detail that corroborated her story that she didn't know what Stormy was up to in her scheming. It also told me that Evan gave Stormy information about our family because Lauren wouldn't have known to tell Stormy to use those words when she saw me. Moira and I have worked together on side projects our charity work has brought to our door for years. We've discretely helped domestic violence victims find sanctuary and jobs while trying to start over. My initial thought was Stormy was another one of those individuals. I assumed I had an email in my inbox waiting to be read from Moira detailing who she was.

"Everett, this is all news to me."

"I can see that. How about we take this to my office?"

Her eyes trail down my body. "Did you forget you're still in your underwear?"

"Nope. I'm very aware. I'll swing by the laundry room on the way down."

After throwing on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt, I enter my office to find Moira perusing my shelves. For the most part, the house is the same. I was never home enough after our divorce to care to change things aside from the two rooms I spend all of my time in: the master and my office.

"I didn't know you were a collector of first editions."

I close the door behind me. "I'm not. That's Damon's collection."

"Oh." She's quiet as she stares at the books. "How's Cameron? I know this time of year is never easy for her."

Damon's crash happened weeks after Cameron's seventeenth birthday. She's never truly celebrated a birthday since. The entire month, she's typically somber. The closer we get to the anniversary, the quieter she grows, choosing to reflect in silence and be alone. However, every year, her grief changes. I wouldn't say that time has healed her pain; healing only comes when we are ready for it, but time has taught her how to cope.

"Working at the stadium has helped busy her mind, but I guess we'll see how the next few days go."

She crosses the room and sits in one of the leather armchairs. "Well, maybe you can talk her into visiting Mackenzie that week. They've grown close over the past year and getting away from this place would be good for her."

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