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“Oh, shit.” I shove backward from the chair to my feet instantly, panic close to the surface. “Lucy.”

Briggs straightens. “School pickup?”

“Yes. I completely lost track of time.”

Ashby stands immediately. “You’re still fine. It’s only a ten minute drive.”

“I know, but if I’m late she’ll think⁠—”

I stop myself.

She’ll think I left too.

Torin reaches for my coat before I can, and I even let him hold it while I slip into it. “Hey, don’t stress,” he says gently, settling it around my shoulders. “You’re on your way, okay?”

The steadiness in his voice calms me down.

Briggs grabs his keys from the counter. “We’ll get there with time to spare.”

There’s that we again.

I follow him outside, wondering what the hell has happened to me that the small word should bring me such comfort but thankful for it all the same.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ashby

By ten in the morning, I'm parked half a block from Mick and Sophie White's house, a cold coffee in the cup holder and three pages of notes spread across the passenger seat.

Tom White has been inside for almost an hour.

Long enough that whatever conversation they're having stopped being casual twenty minutes ago. I write: Extended family meeting. Stress related.

Then underline it once.

At 10:14, Sophie White appears at the front window, wringing a dish towel in both hands. I lower the notebook slightly to watch more closely. She doesn’t notice me from this distance, but I can see her mouth moving quickly, like she’s biting out the words. Tension sits visibly in her shoulders even through the glass.

Mick enters the tableau, heavy and slow, Tom following after him, his body visibly rigid with tension. Their mouths move as what appears to be an argument moves up a gear.

Sophie gestures toward the hallway. Tom says barks short in response. Mick cuts in almost immediately after, palms raised in what appears to be either mediation or exhaustion.

Then Sophie points toward the living room again with the kind of force normally associated with courtroom objections.

Tom scrubs both hands over his face.

Stress sits all over him, tangled up with anger… and possibly guilt.

At 10:21, the front door flies.

Automatically, I shift lower in the seat.

Sophie steps onto the porch first, dressed for the rain. Tom follows her outside, while Mick waits near the doorway. The conversation continues there instead. Annoyingly, their voices are muffled by distance and rain.

Tom’s body language changes completely outdoors.

Inside, he radiated agitation, defensiveness. Now, he seems relaxed as he speaks to his mother. Sophie stops and listens, folding her arms tightly across her chest. Tom speaks for almost a full minute before Mick says something that visibly irritates him. He snaps off an impatient response, then stops and looks away, fists clenching at his sides.

“You caught yourself, didn’t you?” I mutter to myself.