Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“That’s bullshit,” Quinn says with a huff behind me as we descend another switchback. “You were only defending yourself!”
I stop at the creek crossing to splash some water on my hot face. At least I got out of the police station with enough daylight remaining to take Quinn to my favorite mountain lake.
“Why tree planting?” Quinn asks.
“It was that or a two thousand dollar fine.” The assistant D.A. had at least been nice about it.
Quinn jumps across the creek. “I think you should take out a restraining order.”
“What about when we have to work together?”
“Take it up the chain. Maybe they’d be willing to make sure you guys worked different routes.”
“I’m not risking my job.” Especially not after my mistake. I got off with a warning, but no way am I sticking my neck out right now.
“They couldn’t fire you.”
Technically, she’s right, but Russel has plenty of allies. Why is he working so hard to make my life miserable? He fought me every step of the divorce, but it’s over. We’re over.
“Could you press charges against him?”
“He didn’t hurt me.”
“Any unwanted touching is considered assault.”
When I talked to Deputy Hayes, I got the feeling he was pushing me to fight back. But I just want to put it all behind me, not spend energy tangled up in legal actions against my ex.
Russel and Eric were clearly leaving The Limelight with those two women, so why that lewd invite to go back to his hotel? Talk about frustrating.
When we get back to the house, Linden’s lights are on but he’s not outside, and his place is quiet.
I only got a glimpse of him in the police station earlier, but his hunched shoulders and that lost look in his eyes has been spinning through my mind ever since.
I still haven’t forgotten how he took care of my split knuckles last night.
It doesn’t fit with the jackass I’ve been living next to since last fall.
Quinn’s why aren’t you getting some of that? keeps popping into my thoughts.
After Quinn and I both take showers, I’m slicing up veggies for our stir fry when Greta appears outside the screen door.
“Hey, Greta, come in!” I call.
Kody leaps from the couch to greet her.
“Hey, boy,” Greta says, scooping him up.
He starts purring, his eyes closing in bliss as she scratches behind his ears.
Greta rubs her cheek against the top of his head before setting him back down.
She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts and an oversized, pale green t-shirt, her honey-brown hair loose about her shoulders, the tips dyed a cotton-candy pink.
I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and reach across the island to the envelope stashed next to my sugar bowl. “Thanks so much. ”
“Anytime.” She tucks the envelope into the back pocket of her shorts.
Quinn saunters into the room, her hair still damp from her shower.
I introduce them, and Quinn’s eyebrows arch up. “Great to meet you. Want a beer?”
“Quinn!” I warn.
“Kidding,” Quinn sings.
“Dirty soda?” Quinn asks.
Greta gives her a curious look. “What’s that?”
“You’ve never had it?” I ask as Quinn shoots her a grin. “Hang tight, buttercup, Ima gonna blow yo little mind.”
Greta laughs. “Um, okay?”
Quinn fills three glasses with ice, then adds the coconut creamer she drop shipped from Target just for our weekend together, diet Dr. Pepper, and a lime squeeze.
“Cheers!” Quinn says, handing Greta her glass, then the three of us touch rims.
Greta takes a tentative sip, her short turquoise fingernails flashing in the soft lighting. Her eyes widen. “Ohmigawd that’s good.”
“Told you,” Quinn replies.
Greta inspects the bottle of creamer, then snaps a photo of it with her phone.
Quinn carries her drink to the couch and perches on the edge. “What grade are you in, Greta?”
“I’ll be a sophomore next year.” Greta lowers to the floor so Kody can curl up in her lap.
I get back to chopping.
“Boyfriend?” Quinn asks Greta. “Or girlfriend?”
Greta laughs. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
“Do you have a summer job?” Quinn asks.
“I help out at gymnastics camp a couple times a week. ”
“You’re a gymnast? Cool. What’s your favorite event?”
“Floor. And beam.”
“I got too tall, so I switched to cheerleading,” Quinn says.
I shoot her a pointed glance. “Like a coach told you that you were too tall? That’s B.S.”
She shrugs. “No, but there is a reason most high-level gymnasts are no taller than you two.”
Greta shoots me a grin. “I guess that’s one advantage to being short, huh?”
I give her a wink.
Greta sips her drink then glances at Quinn. “What was it like to switch to cheer?”
“I was lucky,” Quinn says. “We had a really solid coach who was serious about safety, and she didn’t stand for any of the catty bullshit girls like to stir up.”
“That’s good to hear.” Greta sips from her soda, then goes back to petting Kody. “A couple of the guys from the cheer team have been coming around to watch our practice. They keep bugging me to try out.”
“Are you interested?” I ask. Though I was never a cheerleader, I know plenty about it thanks to my family.
Greta shakes her head. “I’m not…I don’t think I’d fit in. I’m not girly, like the cheer girls are.”
I slide the chopped peppers into a bowl. “Sounds like they don’t need girly. They need talent. Can any of them tumble like you can?” Greta has showed me a few clips of her floor routines, so I’ve seen her in action. She’s downright fearless, and strong.
Her eyes light up with a competitive gleam. “No.”
“What’s the harm in trying out?” This feels borderline pushy, but I’m sensing her need for a little encouragement.
“I dunno.” She releases a soft sigh.
Hmm, what’s holding her back? Cost, maybe? Cheer is pricy. The cost of the uniform alone can be prohibitive. Could Linden be hard up for cash? Is that why he always fixes everything himself?
“Cheer tryouts are usually in the spring,” Quinn says.
“They’re holding a special one in a few weeks. I guess when the team went to cheer camp, they got their butts kicked, and they’re willing to make a few more spots on the team to fix it.”
“What’s the tryout like?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral while my stomach pinches.
“We have to learn one cheer, one dance, then there’s an optional tumbling pass.”
“Optional?” Quinn asks. “Even though that’s clearly what they’re after?”
Greta pets down Kody’s back and he arches up, purring. “It’s to make it fair, I guess.”
“Sneaky.” Quinn shoots me a questioning glance. “Didn’t your mom coach cheer?”
Damn it, Q . I look past her so I don’t give myself away. “Yeah.”
“You were a cheerleader?” Greta’s look of awe hits me like a lightning strike.
“No,” I manage. I always thought I would be, but then Mom got sick. I could have tried out for Meridian’s team, but without Mom, even the idea of it hurt too much. “I was a lifeguard.”
There’s no logical link connecting the two but whatever.
“I’d be happy to help you, if you want,” I add because that’s the obvious progression to this conversation.
And, okay, a part of me is jumping at the chance to help Greta.
Linden’s an involved dad but he’d have no clue how to help her get ready for a tryout like this.
Finn River High football is a big deal, and I’m betting the cheer team is just as high performing.
It was when my mom ran the program, and I doubt that’s changed.
Greta is studying me, like she’s trying to read my thoughts. “I’ll think about it.”
“What does your dad think?” Quinn asks .
Greta shrugs. “It’s not like that.” Kody curls up in her lap.
“Not like what?” Quinn asks.
“He never tells me what to do.”
Quinn balks. “Not even to clean your room? Do your homework? Get off your phone?”
Greta laughs. “The phone, yeah, he’s got rules about that. But the other stuff, he lets me figure out on my own.”
I’m tempted to ask how Greta feels about that. Like is it freeing? Scary?
“How about your mom?” Quinn asks.
She’s focused on petting Kody, but her lips tighten into a line. “It means she’ll have to find another Friday night babysitter.”
“You have siblings?” Quinn asks.
“My mom’s boyfriend has two kids. One’s five. The other’s two.”
This is new intel. Why doesn’t Greta talk about them? If she’s babysitting, does that mean the boyfriend is living with them? How does Greta feel about that?
From next to the cutting board, my phone screen blinks with an incoming text from Jordan. True to my word, I messaged him this morning asking if he’d be willing to attend Dad’s retirement party.
JORDAN:
Sure, I’ll be your wingman.
“Yess,” I mutter.
Quinn glances my way, but I shake my head. I’ll share this development later.
“What else is keeping you busy this summer?” Quinn asks Greta, crossing her legs. “Besides Kody, there.”
“I help my dad a lot, too,” Greta replies, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. In this warm lighting, her eyes look so much like her dad’s.
Quinn catches my attention with a cock of her eyebrow before refocusing on Greta. “What does he need help with?”
“Projects.” She takes a sip from her glass. “We’re rebuilding the dock next.”
I manage to hold back my groan. Just when I think Linden’s finished with that stupid nail gun…
“Does he pay you?” Quinn asks.
Greta gives her a curious glance. “Uh, no.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Quinn says.
“Welcome to my life,” she says with a good-natured grin. “I’m getting paid in experience.” She puts air quotes around “experience” with a trademark teenaged eyeroll. “He’s taking me up Liberty Spires for my birthday.”
Quinn cocks her head in confusion. “What’s that?”
“It’s a 5.8 climb in the Bitterroots,” Greta replies.
Quinn nods but from her blank expression, I don’t think she knows what any of that means.
I unfasten the twine around a bunch of carrots. “It’s a rock climbing route. Nine pitches, right?”
“Yeah. I’m stoked.” Greta sips from her soda, then gives me a shy glance. “Is it true you decked your ex?”
Heat rises up my chest, prickling my face. “Uh, decked is taking it a bit far.”
“Solid.”