Page 104 of So Steady

Tabby rubbed her chin. “I won’t deny Sam is capable of some crazy shit, but she wouldn’t do that. She’s making you a pie.”

Nicole froze. “An apology pie?”

“Yeah, mint chocolate. Your fave.”

The backs of Nicole’s eyes burned. Her twin wasn’t great with words or feelings, but her pies were magnificent. Better than apologies really, because you could eat them. She wiped her eyes. “Okay, let’s go upstairs. But I don’t want anyone to mention me sleeping with Noah. It’s not important right now. We need to focus on the problem, which is Gil.”

Tabby grinned and wrapped her arm around her waist. “Sure, though once we clear Noah’s—well notgood name, semi good name, maybe—can we discuss the possibility of him becoming our brother in law?”

Nicole shook her head, sadness welling like a little pool at her center. “He said he’s not the right guy for me. He doesn’t want kids.”

“Ah, that’s a load of shit,” Tabby said comfortably. “He’ll cave in.”

“Thanks, Tabby, that’s what I always wanted, a partner who caves.” She was being sarcastic, but she did feel oddly better as they headed for the back door.

“Sorry Greyson gave you the clap, by the way,” Tabby said. “What a shit cunt.”

“Yeah.” Shame at the memory of that bright, awful experience flickered through, but it didn’t sting as much as she thought it would. A small miracle on a day full of bullshit. She flicked Tabby’s ear. “The clap is gonorrhea. I had chlamydia.”

“Like the koalas?”

“I guess.” A burst of defiance flared through her and she grabbed the tail of the comet. “You know, it’s common. Chlamydia. One in five people get it.”

Tabby considered this. “I can’t say that’s a good thing, but I do know you have nothing to be ashamed about. Also, you’re way better than one in five people. You’re like…one in five billion people.”

Nicole didn’t say anything because she wanted to stop crying for at least a thirty-minute period, but she hugged her sister closer as they headed upstairs to Sam and her pie, the puppies surging around them like living water.

Chapter 19

Stasis was never Noah’s thing. Fitz, the road captain of The Rangers, used to call him Recovery for the way he bounced back after hangovers. It could have been nature, nurture, or both, but shit just didn’t seem to stick to him the way it did to other people. And when it did, it never seemed to be for long. Easy come, easy go. Or so he fucking thought.

It had been twenty-four hours since he’d left his van at the DaSilva house. He couldn’t eat, still hadn’t slept, hadn’t showered. He couldn’t get out of bed and that didn’t make sense because, again, he wasn’t sleeping. He was just lying there staring at the ceiling, feeling stupidly grateful that Shredder hadn’t slashed his mattress or taken a shit in his sheets. He wondered if that was Paula’s influence, some warped kind of parting gift.

All in all, he’d rather have his paintings.

He’d assumed he’d get up when the nicotine cravings kicked in, but as the day wore on, it became clear that wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t thirsty, he didn’t need the bathroom. His human instincts seemed to have abandoned him.

Nicole would have made it better, but that was a dead end. By now her sisters would have spoken to her and she’d think he was a thieving asshole, too. He’d never get to kiss her, or fuck her, or take her out for dinner. He wouldn’t work another shift at Silver Daughters, or have another beer with Sam. His life in Melbourne was done. If he was smart, he’d get out of town before he found himself in front of the cops explaining that yeah, he’d once kicked the shit out of someone for a bikie gang and gone to jail for it, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

He didn’t have the energy to leave, though. Not one bit.

As the afternoon sun faded, an itch spread through his hands and legs. He wasn’t antsy enough to get up, but he knew he’d have to do it soon—at least to shower. His vasectomy appointment was due to kick off at nine. He’d have to go to that. If he didn’t, he’d lose his deposit. It was one thing to lie around like a corpse not eating, drinking or smoking. It was another to let a ball sac clinic steal two hundred bucks.

He was turning on his side, wondering what Edgar was doing, when he heard a hard knock at the door. Who the fuck was that? Couldn’t be Shredder; he wouldn’t fucking knock. The cops? He didn’t move. If they had a warrant to arrest him, they could force their way in. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway.

“Noah!” called a woman. “Open up.”

The voice was familiar. Someone he’d fucked? Did he have an outstanding date? They weren’t in for a good time, if that was the case. He doubted he’d be able to get a hard-on for anyone that wasn’t Nicole for at least a year, and even after that, he’d probably think of her.

“I know you’re there, you big dildo,” called the woman. “Come to the door or I’ll murder you!”

“Tabby!” a man scolded, and the mystery was solved.

Noah rubbed at his right eye, his exhaustion doubling over on itself. He thought about Newton’s first law of motion; that an object at rest would stay at rest unless it was compelled to change that state by an external force. He’d been hoping the force would be getting the snip. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Tabitha DaSilva.

There was another knock, this one harder, more authoritarian.

“Noah, if you’re there, we’d like to speak with you.” It was a second man, his voice clear and British. Scott Sanderson, Sam’s boyfriend. Jesus, they’d sent a whole crew to deal with him. He swung his feet out of bed, feeling heavy and useless.

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