Chapter 16
THE SUN HAS DIPPED below the tree line, leaving the sky a bruised-
purple shade of twilight. I’m sitting on the deck stairs, watching the fireflies begin their nightly dance over the lawn.
My skin still feels tight from the lake water and sun, but my chest feels tighter.
I keep replaying the moment the tube rope snapped taut and Cara went flying.
In the moment, it felt like a victory—a little bit of karmic justice for everything she’s stolen from me.
But now, in the quiet, I just feel… small.
I haven’t acted this petty since I was in league with Mary Moore on the Miss Georgia Teen pageant circuit.
I pull out my phone.
Nikki: Tell me I’m a good person. Even if you have to lie.
Sybil: You’re the best person I know. Who do I need to fight?
Willow: You’re literal sunshine, Nik. Why? What happened?
I start to type I may or may not have tried to drown my brother’s fiancée, then hear the screen door creak and the rhythmic thwack of flip-flops on wood.
“Ma’am, I think we’re going to have to revoke your boating license,” Nate says.
I bury my face in my hand and let out a groan. “I’m sorry again.”
“You turned her into a human skipping stone,” he says with a wry grin. Then he comes to sit next to me on the steps. “Look, I know she’s… a lot. And I know there’s a whole history there that involves people behaving badly. But she’s my sister, Nikki. She’s the only one I’ve got.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just… I hate who I am when she’s around.
It’s like I spent all this time out in LA building this version of myself—Nikki B.
, the TV personality, the entrepreneur, the girl who has it all together—and then I cross the Georgia state line and suddenly I’m a petty, insecure teenager again. ”
Nate gazes out at the water, his expression unreadable in the deepening shadows. “Home can do that to you. People expect you to act a certain way, and eventually, you just… do. It happens to the best of us.”
“That’s exactly why I need to get back to LA as soon as possible,” I say. “I’m regressing here.”
Nate leans back on his elbows, the wooden step creaking under his weight.
“I don’t know. You call it regressing, but maybe it’s just…
honesty? You’re allowed to be messy, Nikki.
Especially at home, with your family. It’s okay to just be a person for a week.
” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “Even if that person is currently a little bit of a menace.”
I want to argue—to tell him that being a “person” doesn’t pay the bills or keep the FitGirl partnership alive—but instead, I just look at him.
He seems so comfortable in his own skin, sitting on these weathered steps in his beat-up flip-flops, perfectly content with the life he’s built for himself in his own hometown.
He’s not worried about who he’s supposed to be.
He’s just Nate. And for a split second, I’m almost jealous of it.
He doesn’t look away. He just watches me, his eyes searching mine with a quiet intensity.
The silence stretches out, getting heavier with every second, until the air between us feels thick and charged, like the moments right before a thunderstorm breaks.
I try to think of something to say—a joke, a deflection—but my mind is a total blank.
All I can do is sit there, my heart thudding against my ribs, waiting for him to be the one to break.
A moment later, he does.
“Come on, your mom says food’s almost ready.” He stands up and offers me a hand. His palm feels warm in mine, and I leave my hand clasped in his for a beat too long before awkwardly taking it back and shoving it in my shorts pocket.
“And hey, look on the bright side,” Nate says, as we walk through the double back doors. “If you really are regressing, maybe we’ll make it all the way back to age five, and you can start a food fight! I’ve been looking for an excuse to throw mashed potatoes at Cara for years.”
WE EAT DINNER OUT on the screened porch again—barbecued chicken, a celery slaw with a shallot and Dijon vinaigrette, and one of my mom’s famous tomato salads.
Nate showers Mom with compliments, and I watch her blush from the praise even though her replies are mostly to the tune of, “Oh, stop, for heaven’s sake. This was nothing.”
Still, she’s obviously pleased. And maybe even a little flustered.
For someone so unpolished, Nate seems to have that effect on women, even my mom.
He’s not wrong though. We really are lucky to be fed this well; my mother’s no joke in the kitchen.
“So,” my dad says while everyone is in the midst of digging into their food. “I hear y’all went out tubing today. What fun! Cara, I hope you enjoyed the view from out there on the water. We always say there’s no better view of the lake than from the lake.”
He’s grinning so widely and so cluelessly I almost feel bad. He has no idea Cara face-planted out there—or that I had anything to do with it.
“Oh, I got a great view,” Cara says. “Of the bottom of the lake.” She laughs. “Nikki really helped me out with that.”
I squirm in my seat, keeping my eyes on my salad plate.
“I’m jealous,” Pete says. “We’ll have to go out again before the week’s out.”
“For sure,” Cara agrees. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.” And to my shock, she actually looks like she means it. “I see why y’all love it so much. Definitely gets your adrenaline going.”
Tripp, who’s sitting next to Cara, leans over and grins. “Well, if you really want to get your adrenaline going, you should try playing board games with these people. They’re on another level.”
“Oh yeah?” Cara asks, intrigued.
“I’m so glad to have another in-law on my side.” Tripp says, then looks over at Linney. “Graham’s a dear, but he doesn’t have the ruthless edge needed to keep up with the Bennets.”
Cara’s eyes flash to mine. “I think I might be able to help you there.”
AFTER WE CLEAN UP, Mom brings out more sweet tea while Linney finds Ticket to Ride and sets it up on the table. A favorite board game among my siblings. The kids like it, too, helping us organize and count all the little trains, keeping track of the cards for us.
The cicadas sing, and every now and then, there’s the thrum of a boat driving by as I happily shuffle and deal out the train cards. I love a good board game. (Except when I lose.) Nate’s fingers brush mine as I hand him his initial pile of cards.
“Thanks,” he says. “You’re going to have to show me how to play though.”
I blush, for reasons unknown. It’s not like he said anything overtly flirtatious.
“I can show you!” says William proudly, running over to Nate’s chair and launching into a complicated and confusing explanation of what is actually a quite simple game.
I laugh softly to myself and start drawing my route cards when Cooper’s phone gives a loud ping, and he guffaws with glee.
“Holy sh—holy cow. Leg Tears is on for the wedding!” Cooper announces, tossing his phone on the table and raising his hands in victory.
I practically spit out my tea. To be honest, I’d suggested it mostly to embarrass Cooper, not thinking he’d actually take it seriously.
My mom drops her pile of cards, then fumbles to pick them up. I watch her reassemble her face into politeness. “Cooper, you don’t want to be drumming during your own wedding, though, do you?” she says placatingly, but there’s an underlying note of panic in her voice.
“I’ll just play a few of the hits.” He taps out a riff on the table with his fingers. “And then Bryan’ll step in on drums.”
“Leg Tears like…” Nate is clearly trying to figure out what liquid is causing the leg tears. Which, ew.
“Can someone just take their turn?” Linney says, gesturing at the messy board game. “Nikki, isn’t it yours?”
I smile at her and draw two train cards, then turn to Nate. “Cooper has always said the ambiguity of the band name is what makes the name so good,” I explain.
“Ah,” Nate replies diplomatically. “That’s… very open to interpretation. Very cool.”
“Yeah,” Cooper cuts in, oblivious to the fact that we’re ragging on him. “Like, are you scared of how good we play, or turned on? Is it pee, or is it—”
“Cooper.” Mom’s voice cracks across the table.
Cooper clears his throat. “You get it.” He lays down six black trains, totally blocking my path to Kansas. Ugh, rude.
I glance over at Cara, expecting horrified disgust, but instead she has a look of charmed amusement. “That’s hilarious, babe.”
Is it just me or did she direct her comment more my way than Coop’s?
“Thanks, babe. I’ll play you some of our recordings later. It’s your turn.”
“I’d love that.” Cara looks like she genuinely means it, and I can’t keep the horrified disgust off of my face. She must really have it bad. Or she’s an excellent actress.
Then she looks right in my eyes as she lays down four red trains… exactly where I was going to go next.
Bitch! I think. Then internally tell myself to calm down. It’s just a game. A game I happen to be pretty damn good at. I take a swig of sweet tea and try to guess at what her route must be.
“Uncle Coop,” William cuts in while I’m concentrating on the board. “Are you and Aunt Cara having a baby?”
“William!” He ducks as Linney swats a card at his arm. “Honey, what did I say about that?”
“I’m just asking!” he protests. “Because you and Uncle Pete said that may—”
Linney flushes to her hairline and throws a glance at Pete, who is trying not to laugh. “We said no such thing, William. That’s enough, or no dessert.”
“You have to be married to have a baby,” Anna Carol says, playing with two pink trains, pretending to make them kiss.
“That’s absolutely right,” Linney agrees, with a stern glance around the table as if daring any of us to contradict her.
“No, you don’t,” William pipes in. “My friend JD told me that sperm shoots out of—”
“Who wants ice cream?” Linney stands so abruptly that a bunch of the train routes fall over on the board.
“Oh, me! Me!” the kids both shout, following her into the kitchen.