Page 37 of The Players

I wasn’t sure, but one thing was clear, she made enemies wherever she went. Mills seemed upset with her. Even her brother had come to warn me about her. If she had so few allies, how hard could it be to take her down? Sure, she was smart and rich, but that hadn’t stopped me before.

I pulled out my phone and texted Randy, Hector, and Lowell. I’d never gotten the three of them together before, but I needed all hands on deck.

Me:Emergency meeting. Five PM. Meet at the Gazebo in Harris Park.

When I hit send, my stomach lurched a little, but I knew one thing was certain. We had to take Savannah down for good, and we needed everyone to do it.

Chapter sixteen

Isatontheworn slats of one of the gazebo’s interior benches picking at my nails and wondering would any of them come.

Once I’d sent my text asking for an emergency meeting of those closest to me, I’d had hours to stew over it. I hadn’t talked to Hector or Lowell all weekend. I’d been distant ever since things had started with Savannah, and one of them had already turned their back on me. What would stop the other two from simply ignoring my text and staying home to watch football?

Randy might come. She hadn’t seemed pissed at me, just worried. And I knew the word “emergency” would get her attention. But was it fair to involve her? She had a lot to lose, and I’d already put her family and their livelihood in danger. Yet, lately, I felt like keeping her in the dark was not the best approach. If the roles were reversed, I would want to know if my best friend was attempting to keep my family business afloat. And keeping her out of it hadn’t stopped her from worrying. It had done the opposite.

So it was time to tell Randy everything. I’d tell them everything. Then we’d make a plan.

That is if they showed up.

The park was busy because of the unseasonably warm weather. It was the day before Halloween, and yet my cable-knit sweater felt hot and confining around my neck, but I didn’t take it off. It was a second skin, a protective layer that I was not willing to shed. Still, the weather made the park busier than I’d anticipated. Children played on the swings and slides. Parents pushed strollers around the path or walked dogs on leashes. The smell of fallen leaves was in the air. It was my dad’s favorite time of year. He loved cider mills, mugs of tea, wet leaves, and pumpkin spice.

It was the time of year I missed him the most.

I chewed a fingernail and tried to think of something,anythingelse.

Footsteps on the gazebo boards drew my head up. Hector walked up the stairs.

He was the hottest guy in the park by a country mile in his black slacks, crew neck sweater, and dark sunglasses. His perfect, black hair and five o’clock shadow made him look like a male model. I watched several young moms and some not-so-young ones clocking him as he walked towards me.

“You’re early,” I said, feeling butterflies dart around my abdomen.

“My dad always says if you’re not early, you’re late. He also says Mexicans are better than Whites, so you can’t take a lot of his advice seriously, but I do try to abide by the first one.”

I winced at his comment. Lowell, Hector, and Easton all seemed to suffer from Asshole Dad affliction. Mills’ father had been the only one who wasn’t a narcissistic, money-hungry, douche. Money hungry, maybe. Evil, he was not.

“Thanks for coming,” I said, patting the wood next to me. “I’m hoping there will be two more.”

Hector sat his big frame down on the seat beside me. I didn’t know if he’d reach for my hand, but there seemed to be an unspoken tension between us that neither of us could breach.

“We were worried about you last night,” he said, his eyes on a little boy pumping higher and higher on the swings. The bottom of his shoes lit up in a multitude of colors as he kicked them.

I chewed my lip. “I’m okay. I’ll fill you all in when they get here.”

“We got a text from Mills.”

My eyes darted over to him. “You did?”

“He let us know that Easton was taking care of you.” His hand gripped the bench with white knuckles when he finally looked at me. “Easton? Really? It was all I could do to stop Lowell from riding over there and kicking the door down.”

I pushed out a breath. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” he said, turning toward me. “You don’t tell us anything and then we get a random text from Mills that you are at the Hills’. How do you think that felt?”

I wrung my hands together. “I’m sorry.”

Hector was about to respond when heavy boots shook the board beneath us.

Lowell tromped up, his shit-kickers thundering with every step. He wore his battered leather jacket with a metal band t-shirt beneath. His hair was uncombed and wild, but no wilder than his eyes. I wondered, fleetingly, if he'd been drinking, but I didn’t need to wonder that. I needed to wonder how much.

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