Page 80 of Love Notes & Lifelines
Will he feel any guilt at all?
Silas still doesn’t. I know because he texts me out of the blue with threats from time to time. It’s not enough that he ruined my teaching career. Not for him. I’m not sure anything will ever be enough.
Beck is not Silas, and Danica is not you,my consciousness reminds me.He’s doing this to protect the girls.
Now. Now he’s going after her to protect the girls, but what about before? Will destroying her career be enough? When will he stop?
“There they are,” a woman exclaims. My internal battle drops its swords and I quickly place an arm around Emmy, who is positively glowing with happiness as the strangers approach.
It takes me two more seconds and blinking like a maniac to recognize Beck’s cousin, Tabby. The anxiety that had crept into my shoulders relaxes, and I release Emmy.
If Tabby was so close to Cally, why wouldn’t Cally have left the girls to her?
Beside her is a man I haven’t met yet, but from his broad smile and open arms, I’m guessing he’s part of this community too. His hair is a little too long and it blows in the breeze. He wears flowing yoga pants even though it’s chilly out, and he has a distinct surfer vibe about him.
Tabby stops when she’s in front of me, holding Emmy’s hand, and the man reaches for Ruby in the stroller, but I’m quick to wheel her behind me.
“This is Leo,” Tabby says in greeting. “He’s safe, I promise. Even Beck would vouch for him.”
The sweat from earlier tickles my spine in its descent south. “Ah…”
Leo holds up his hands in surrender. “I totally get it, Stella. You don’t know me. These little pipsqueaks are lucky to have you.”
Emmy turns to him. “’Lo,” she says with a hand on her hip. “I’m four.”
“Ah, gotcha,” he says with a kind smile. “So that means you’re too big to be a pipsqueak?”
“Mm-hmm. Right, Stella?”
My instinct is to possessively tug her back into me, but she’s comfortable with them, so I try to be reasonable.
“So,” Tabby says in a tone that raises the hairs on my arms.
A thicker sweater would have been a great idea. I can’t tell if I’m shivering in reaction to the situation or the weather.
I tug the collar of my sweatshirt closer, and without breaking stride, Tabby reaches into her enormous bag and pulls out asweater, which she hands me. I stare at it, but the alternative is to return to the house, and I’m not ready for that yet.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” Tabby’s laughter is infectious, so carefree and happy.
I busy myself putting on her sweater so I can gather my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. Confusion must show on my face when I glance up, because she’s wearing the kind of smile that can make you believe there’s still good in the world. When her lips curve up, her cheekbones rise and even her eyes crinkle with happiness.
Leo must sense my hesitation because he says, “We parked on the street so we could walk the beach before dropping in for a visit. We’d just gotten out of the car when Delacruel”—he winks and my defenses lower a little—“slammed on her brakes to ask if we knew.”
“So we did the only reasonable thing,” Tabby says, grinning ear to ear while bending down to kiss Ruby. “We lied—told her we were on our way to help you plan the wedding.”
“Um, yeah. We haven’t really—it sort of happened—we need to talk.” It all comes out in a rush, and Tabby almost knocks me over with a hug. “What are you doing?” I wheeze. She’s a heck of a lot stronger than I gave her credit for.
“You needed a hug,” she says when she pulls back, but hangs onto my biceps and studies my face. Her inspection unnerves me, and her assumption has me fighting back tears because I do need a hug. I always need a hug.
She nods, then angles her head toward Leo, but never takes her gaze off mine. “Leo, I think our girls could use a session.”
Tabby pats my biceps like a mother would when the final decision has been made, and my jaw hangs open. What session? What is she talking about?
She doesn’t give me a chance to ask any questions.
“Oh, good. There he is.” She points to the house. I don’t mean to follow her finger. I know who’s up there—Mr. Grumptitude himself—but my stupid eyeballs seek him out anyway.
Beck.
