Page 136 of Driftwood Daffodil 2

“With you?” Atlee clarified.

“Yes, she’s seen her with me.”

“Were you fucking her at the time?”

Why did his mind always go there? “No.”

“That’s too bad. I do enjoy a good cat fight.”

“A cat fight is the least of our worries…”

“I’m going to cut you off right there.” Atlee pointed his finger at me. “Cat fights are never a worry, they are a must. There is nothing hotter than two girls clawing at each other.”

He did have a point, but still. “Not when Aldo is in town.”

“Why would…” Atlee stopped as the pieces clicked together. “Carissa will be at the dinner.”

“Exactly.”

All of our parents would. Aldo’s arrival was always a formal affair.

“So,” Atlee shrugged. “Tell Darry. Problem solved. He hates his fucking mother.”

It wasn’t that simple. “That won’t stop Nova from saying something.”

“Who cares if she does?”

“My dad will.”

Atlee snickered out a snort. “No he won’t. Darry’s dad might, but your dad won’t give a shit.”

That might be true, if… “It started when I was fourteen.”

Atlee looked at me.

I looked at him.

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “Your dad’s gonna kill her. Her husband might kill her.”

“You see the problem.”

I knew what it was like to lose a parent, and while Darry may not like his mother, I couldn’t be the cause of that kind of pain. I’d betrayed him enough already.

Atlee blew out a breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…”

NOVALEE

“This is more like it.” I sighed and shuffled to the left of my bed, away from the spring biting into my ass.

Comfort was overrated. Who wanted a mattress that was all soft and shit, like they were sleeping on a cloud? Where was the challenge in that? Sure, when Gio went to bed, he probably drifted off right away, but I bet he couldn’t fall asleep in dirt and rocks.

I could. Hell, once I passed out for three hours with my feet in the swamp.

My toes were extra wrinkly when I woke up, but I wasn’t tired like everyone else. I was ready to continue the hike with Memphis’s drill sergeant dad. I’d like to see a Mancini’s pampered ass do that.

I didn’t need fancy memory foam or sweet smelling jasmine scent. Nope, I preferred stiff and springy, with regular old fabric softener.

I looked down at the faded comforter underneath me. Although I wouldn’t argue a new blanket. One that maybe had enough padding to muffle the ding of a text on my phone, perhaps.

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