Page 12 of Wicked & Wildflower

I make Ryan station one of his officers outside their house overnight, just to be safe.

Then, I stay up far too late, waiting for a text message that never comes.

7

Wildflower

What A Cluster

I pull up tothe curb and shut off my car in front of Monica’s bungalow.

I guess their family lived only a few houses down from my grandmother—where I live now—but she and her husband, Carlos, decided to sell once their kids grew up.

The bungalow they live in now looks like something out of a beach bum’s dream. It’s small, with only one bedroom and an office, but it’s perfect for a retired couple. They live in a private community with direct beach access, and they even have a view of the water from their back porch.

I don’t knock as I step inside the light pink home. Monica has been expecting me. She set me up with a number of apartment tours in the area today, and I knew it would bore Lou out of her mind to come with me. Monica offered to babysit, and I insisted she didn’t need to spend her entire Saturday with my nine-year-old, but she told me she was painting her office anyway andneeded the help. I couldn’t imagine how my wild child would be of any help at all in a project like that, but I didn’t argue.

I took the day to myself, touring four apartments that were all just okay. I didn’t love any of them, but I don't want to overstay my welcome in my sister’s home either, so I submitted an application for two and then read a book on the beach while I stuffed my face with a burger. I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal or read a book in solitude, and while I don’t want to continuously burden Monica with babysitting duty, it was really fucking nice.

“Lucille!” I call as I shut her front door behind me.

Natural light filters through the quiet living room, so I follow the hallway that leads to the kitchen, where I find Monica standing over the stove, stirring a pot of something that smells incredible.

“I had her take a shower because she was covered head-to-toe in Timid Absinthe, and I didn’t want to risk her bringing it home in your car.”

I chuckle. “So I suppose she was more trouble than help, then?”

Her eyes light up as she spins to face me. “She was perfect. We got the office painted. We just decided to have some fun after too.”

“I’m glad you had fun. Thank you for watching her.” She gives me a pointed look, and I know she’s about to start lecturing me on why I need to stop thanking her for everything, so I quickly nod to the food on the stove. “That smells amazing.”

That look forms into a smile, and she opens her mouth to say something but pauses as we both hear a door close from the front of the house. “Mama?”

The smile she gives me is midnight in comparison to the way her face brightens at that voice. She lights up in a way that’s only possible when a mother hears her child call out for her, anexpression I’m sure has never graced my own mother’s face at the sound of mine or my sister’s voice.

I’ve done a decent job over the last two weeks trying to forget the fact that the stranger who unraveled me in a bar happens to be my brother-in-law's brother. I’ve fought harder to forget that he’s the son of the only friend I’ve made in town. The friend who was babysitting my child while her own kid railed me against a door. The friend who set me up on the date with the man I bailed on so I could fuck my brother-in-law…in-law? In a bar.

What a cluster.

All the effort I’ve given to shoving those thoughts from my mind fails me when Monica calls out, “In the kitchen, baby!”

My whole body goes stiff. I haven’t spoken to Everett since that moment in the surf shop. Leo gave me his phone number that night and told me to reach out to him if my dad showed up at the house. My father called several times that same night and again the next morning. He asked me to meet him for coffee and promised a cordial conversation in a public setting. I ignored him, knowing he’d fly home that afternoon. It has been a week since then, and luckily, I haven’t heard from him at all. Even if I had, I wouldn’t drag Everett into it again.

I know I can’t ignore Everett forever, especially if I want to try and settle down here in California. For the first time in my life, it’s starting to feel like I could have a real place to call home. Darby and I have always done a decent job of blocking out the toxicity in our lives and relying on each other to feel whole. Our house in Crestwell did feel like that at times: a home.

Truthfully, though, we didn’t have a support system outside of each other. We got by, but I’m not sure either of us were ever truly happy. And while I haven’t spent much time with her and Leo together, I can tell just by the sound of her voice on the phone that she’s the happiest she’s ever been. I can tell she’s feeling settled, complete with him.

I want that too. I don’t need it with a man; I know I can find that with my daughter and my sister, and Pacific Shores is the closest I’ve ever found to that feeling. Building that life with Darby and Leo—with Monica—means Everett is going to be a part of it too. I just think I need a little more time to erase the fact that I also know what his dick looks like.

You can’t see someone as a brother-figure if you think about how hard they made you come every time you’re in the same room as them.

I hear his footsteps echo across the wood floors and, unsure what to do with myself, I grab Lou’s backpack off the dining room table and sit down. Monica picked up registration papers for the local youth soccer league after Lou expressed interest in playing last week.

I feel his presence wash over the space like a wave. My head is lowered, pretending to look through her bag for something, but I watch Everett from the corner of my eye.

“Hi, Mom,” he says as she steps up to him. Monica raises on her toes to press her lips against his cheek. He hands her a bouquet of flowers. “The market had the lilies you like.”

The deep baritone in his voice rakes down my body the way it did when he was whispering in my ear that night.

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