Page 119 of So Steady

Noah glared at her. “No one’s taking over.”

Tabby threw up her hands. “I’m just offering to help. You know, Nix already fucks you, you don’t have to impress her.”

“Aren’t you single?”

“Aren’t the sausages burning?”

Noah returned his attention to the barbecue. Tabby was fucking with him, the sausages looked fine, browning nicely, although maybe that was just on the outside? Who the fuck knew what was going on inside them.

Tabby patted him on the back. “Don’t stress. Dad burned everything to shit and we never complained.”

Noah nodded, then remembered his ongoing effort to verbally respond whenever anyone talked to him. “Thanks.”

“No probs.” Tabby tipped her purple snapback at him. “Like my hat?”

He squinted. “Is that one of Gil’s?”

“Sure is.”

“Shouldn’t it have gone up in the sale?”

“It wasn’t a sale; it was a boutique lifestyle experience.”

Noah rolled his eyes. Tabby had taken the wheel in pawning off Gil’s things, posing in the clothes and auctioning them off two at a time, claiming she was doing a Marie Kondo cleanout. That made no fucking sense considering it was all men’s clothes, but it worked. The returns had been twice what Nikki had predicted. Nowhere near eighty grand, but combined with the sale of the Fat Boy, it went a long way toward filling the money pit Gil had dug for them.

Tabby pulled the hat off her head and showed him the lining. “I couldn’t have sold the hat. It’s a fake. See?”

He couldn’t see shit but he trusted Tabby’s judgement. “Huh.”

“Yep, ole Gil wasn’t as classy as he made out.”

“He never made out classy.” It felt like too long since he’d turned a sausage, so he turned a sausage. He’d forgiven Tabby for believing he was a bikie. As Nicole pointed out, her little sisters anger had been about not tweaking his secret as much as anything else. Tabby liked to be the one with all the information and solutions. He wondered if Toby had figured that out yet.

“Any word on what Gil’s up to?” Tabby asked.

“Nah, far as I can tell he’s not inking right now.”

Tabby gave him a hard look. “Would that be because someone by the name of N. Newcomb called the places where Gil was inking and told the owners he’s got light fingers and expensive taste?”

Noah turned another sausage, feeling fully justified in staying quiet.

Toby walked toward them carrying a big stack of plates. “Sam wants to know if you’re ready for the chicken?”

“Jesus, I don’t know.”

Noah studied the barbecue, panic rising. In the months that Nicole had slipped into his heart, his feelings had changed. Or more accurately, thewayhe felt changed. Art used to be the only thing that got under his skin, now hefeltthe little stuff. When Nicole didn’t call, he got nervous. When he inked an important piece, his nerves pounded. When Lilah got an ear infection and had to get a white cone around her head, he felt so fucking bad for her, he bought her a whole bag of chicken necks. It was fucking unnerving, feeling so much shit, but it was worth it. He was painting like a fucking virtuoso and he got Nicole in his bed every night.

Yesterday she’d turned to him, sweat glossing her perfect breasts, and moaned, “How is it alwaysso good?”

“Um, Noah?” Toby said. “The chicken?”

He shook his head, snapping back into the moment. “Bring it out. Not like this situation can get any more fucked.”

“Sure.”

He expected Tabby to say something, but she wasn’t listening. She was opening a cider she’d pulled from nowhere and staring at Toby’s ass. He wanted to call her out, but he knew she’d deny looking. No one knew what her and Toby’s deal was.

“Should we be worried?” Nikki had asked him a week ago. “Tabby might destroy him. She does that, you know, and Toby’s sonice.”

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