Page 26 of The Prodigal

I toss the ball again, and Vance manages to snatch it midair. “You’re already making me consider drinking this morning. Get off the island. This isn’t one of your sleazy motel rooms. We have a sofa if you want to lie down.”

I turn my head, tracking the esteemed thirty-eight-year-old plastic surgeon through the kitchen, where he pauses by the trash can, dropping my ball in like a dick. “That wasn’t even my ball, by the way.” I tsk. “Tatum is going to be very upset when she visits and realizes her uncle Vance tossed her favorite toy.”

Vance lets out a long-winded sigh and steps on the pedal, opening the lid to fish out the ball for his almost-two-year-old niece. And I enjoy the pain on his face for all of two seconds before I crack up laughing.

“Something is wrong with you,” he snaps, pinning me with a glare as he steps away from the trash can, pissed off for even having to get close to it.

“Something is wrong withyou,” I pop back between snorts of laughter. “I can’t believe you were willing to dig in the trash for a twenty-five-cent rubber ball. I’m honestly disappointed in you, Vance-hole.”

“You said it was Tatum’s!”

I shrug. “And you believed it.” I catch his furious gaze. “She’s a toddler, Vance. She still puts her toes in her mouth, for fuck’s sake. Do you really think your brother would let her play with a ball she could swallow?”

He flips me off without another word and proceeds to pretend like I’m not here.

Tsk-tsk, Vance-hole. I can read you like a coloring book.

“So…” I say to his back, “you want to tell me why you’re digging toys out of the trash and not at the office seeing patients?” Vance lives for his practice. There are only two reasons he would reschedule patients at a brand-new practice he and my father just opened. One of those reasons is probably still in his bed, and the other is on his island.

“Don’t tell me you and Dr. Drab are still conspiring with the exposé reporter to uncover my secret.” I flash him a grin. “Let me guess. Duke’s ex-girlfriend has information, and you’re meeting her at the quaint little coffee shop a mile from campus.”

Unlike my father, Vance doesn’t treat me delicately. It’s the thing I admire most about him. “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but your father and I don’t have time to chase down your past felonies. As long as it doesn’t cost us money or jail time, bury as many bodies as you want.”

He’s lying, but damn if it doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies that he hides his concern behind rudeness.

“Cool,” I lie, jumping off the counter. “Glad we had this talk.”

Vance shoots me a glare that makes me smile. He may talk shit about not caring about my past, but I know he and my father are here in Georgia for one reason only, and it’s not to expand their practice farther south. They, just like everyone else who meets me, know that the secrets I keep will destroy them. As doctors, they want to stop it from spreading. But they can’t because it’s already infected our family. It started when Halle found me at the motel over two years ago.

Halle brought me into her life, only for me to destroy the one thing that ever meant something to me.

My peace.

My family.

“You coming by for dinner?” Vance’s hard tone pulls me out of my head.

“Probably not.”

His eyes narrow. He can smell a lie from a mile away. “You seeing someone?”

I belt out a laugh and clutch my hand to my chest. “Aw. Are you jealous, Vancy-Poo? If I had known you felt that way, I would have asked her how she felt about threesomes.”

A slight grin tugs at his lips, but he fights it back. “Your father should be proud that you’re more of a shit than he is.”

“My mother says it’s part of our charm.”

“It’s also the reason you’ll get punched one day.”

I wink. “We do like it rough.” I tip my chin and step back toward the door leading to the garage. “Tell Hal to call me when she’s coherent enough to speak.”

“And dinner?” he prompts, sounding like the old man he’s becoming. “Are you coming or not?”

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “You’re sounding desperate, sugar. I told you, next time.”

Wrenching open the door, I chuckle, which was the wrong thing to do. Vance isn’t known for his patience. He tries, and with therapy, he’s become better, but not when someone pushes his buttons.

And pushing his buttons is my favorite thing to do. So, when the rubber ball narrowly misses my head as it bounces off the wall, I take my cue and leave.

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