My eyes snap to Sadie’s, and we’re locked in a stare before we both burst out laughing. “Her mind is like a steel trap.” I wipe my eyes, tears following, though they’re not from sadness. “I let that slip over a month ago, and she can’t seem to stop saying it this week.”
Sadie stands, taking the bottle of wine with her and the sandwich. “I’m gonna take the little trucker her sandwich.”
AFTER TAKING SOME time to compose myself, which means bawling in the bathroom, I make my way to the living room where the girls are. Sitting next to Tatum, I hug her to my side. She snuggles right into my arms, and I nearly burst into tears. It’s not even that I’m terribly sad over anything that’s happened. I know that might seem heartless of me, but maybe I’m still in shock? Numb? Confused? Now there’s a shitload of adjectives thrown at you.
About an hour into being on the couch with the girls, and most of that bottle of wine, Tatum is asleep on my lap. “Can you refill my wine?” I ask Sadie when she opens a new bottle.
Reaching for my empty wineglass, I lean forward, and my hand hits something squishy and wet. At first, I think Tatum’s taken off her pull up and stuffed it in the couch cushions. Moms of toddlers understand this. If they don’t, lucky you.
Pulling out my hand, I find her sandwich from earlier. Tatum loves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, in theory. But once you serve it to her, somehow, at least half of it ends up in a couch cushion. She’s like a squirrel, and she’s saving her food for winter. In my couch cushions.
I hold it up, laughing, my cheeks flushed with the alcohol swimming in my veins. “Think she’s saving this for later?”
“Prob—” Sadie’s cut off by another knock at the door. She looks over her shoulder, spills her wine, and then jumps up. “Ha. Only spilled a drop.” Leaning down, she licks it off the coffee table. “No sense in wasting any. I’ll get it.”
While I run my fingers through Tatum’s hair as she sleeps on me, I glance at the door, unable to see who’s there. “At least I know it’s not another death notice,” I tease, trying to make light of my situation.
Nahla shakes her head, pouring herself another glass. “Truth, girl.”
We knock our glasses together, just as Sadie returns with an envelope in hand. “Addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Greyson.”
I take the notice from her. Hmmm. And as I open it, I wished I hadn’t. Not only do I have no money and no way of getting into my accounts, it looks like Collin was avoiding another part of our lives he neglected to tell me.
Our home. Do you see what I’m holding there?
Foreclosure notice?
What. The. Fuck?
For the batter: when the count contains more strikes than balls. For the pitcher: vice versa.
CASON
“What took you so long?” I’ve been waiting on Ez to get out of the shower for an hour. How there was enough hot water for that long is a miracle.
Ez moves past me, a bowl of cereal in hand. “Drowning boneless babies in the shower.”
I stare at him and notice what he’s wearing. “What the fuck?”
He makes a jerking off motion and walks past me in a leopard robe. If you’re not 100 percent comfortable with male nudity on a daily basis, do not join a baseball team.
I scratch the side of my head, unsure if I want to ask my next question. “Why are you wearing a robe?”
“Because it’s classy as shit.”
I set the bag of jelly beans I was eating for breakfast on the couch. “No man should ever wear a robe. Ever.”
“Bitch, please.” He makes a tsk sound, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I look good.”
“No, you don’t.” There’s a door slamming outside, so I peek out the window to see his uncle Luca standing outside his dust-covered SUV with a blonde, scared-looking girl. I’ve been sleeping here long enough to know that Luca is about as unstable as Jack Nicholson’s character in The Shining. “Dude, what kind of shit is your uncle into? He’s either burying bodies in the desert or bringing them home.” Shit doesn’t add up. He’s got hiking gear everywhere but doesn’t hike. His car is constantly