Page 17 of Eight Years Later

“I do.”

“He did,” Dylan added, letting out a loud laugh when I hit him with a look of total betrayal. “I mean… do you think Layton’s still out kicking the ball around?”

Kat stood a little taller. “Yeah. I think I saw him out there still.”

He jumped up off the bed but looked down at his feet. “Uhh…”

We’d managed to pull together some clothes that fit him, but he was still only wearing a pair of socks.

Kat pointed back down the hall. “Del’s at the bar. She said she’d pulled some runners out of a cupboard that would fit you and are basically new.”

“Okay,” he said. He rushed over and wrapped his arms around Kat before ducking out the door.

Kat grinned and shook her head. “I really have no idea how you do it.”

I closed the distance between us, wrapping my hand around the curve of her jaw. “My charm is a gift. There really isn’t an explanation,” I teased. “But honestly, I think he needed someone to tell him that he hadn’t failed you by not standing up and fighting.”

She reached for my cut, grasping it tightly as her head shook back and forth. “Did you guys talk about what happened in church?”

“Yeah. We’re gonna drive to your place tomorrow and sort it out.”

Her eyes widened a little, as if it shocked her to know we were gonna go all the way down there to sort this shit out. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” I answered with a shrug. “Find this guy. Have a chat with him about proper etiquette when you’re in someone else’s house.”

She shoved my shoulder, but I barely moved. “Tally. Seriously.”

“Gorgeous, I’m as serious as a heart attack,” I told her, pressing my forehead to hers for a second. “The boys and I are gonna make sure you and Dylan don’t have to be scared. Whatever I have to do to make that happen, I’ll do.”

She leaned in, taking a deep breath and pressing her head to my chest. She was letting me hold her up, and I knew that was big.

“There is something kind of amazing about you,” she murmured, looking up at me through her eyelashes.

I was two seconds away from dragging her into a bedroom and letting her know in more ways than one that I felt the fucking same about her.

“Hey, Mom.” Dylan’s call had us both stepping back, though I fucking hated it. Dylan didn’t remember me from when he was little. I was a stranger to him and wanted to build a relationship with him, not have him see me with my hands all over his mother in the hallway. “Harmony said I should probably see if Tally has a jacket ’cause it’s really cold.”

“Yeah, I got you,” I answered, brushing past Kat with a smile. “Come in, let’s see what we can find.”

Chapter Seven

TALLY

“Nice place,” Wreck commented after he, Kit, Tie, and I pulled up to the curb outside Kat’s house and turned off our engines.

Curtains fluttered in the windows of surrounding houses, some with faces peeking through the cracks. The suburban street was obviously not accustomed to having four rumbling Harleys invade their quiet little neighborhood. There was no doubt in my mind that someone had their finger hovering over their phone, waiting for us to even breathe wrong so they could call the cops.

Kit removed his helmet and sat it on his handlebars, studying Kat’s house. “The police tape really gives it a little something extra.”

“Yeah, something like ‘no one is home, so please steal everything inside.’” I climbed off my ride and walked up the path to the front door of Kat’s house, tearing away the single strip of yellowDo Not Crosstape stuck to the front door. It should have never been left there, like a damn beacon to every criminal in the area. I tried the handle, but it was locked, so I shifted to the window a few feet away, and cupped my hands around my face to see inside.

It was a fucking mess.

The television on the wall was completely shattered, and from what I could see of the kitchen, every single cupboard was open, and their contents coated the floor. Broken jars and glasses, food that was probably starting to fucking smell.

Then there was the large blood stain coating the gray sofa. But what had me clenching my fists was the Christmas tree lying across the floor. There was torn wrapping paper tossed about, but from what I could see, not one fucking present remained.

They’d taken those too.

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