Chapter 6 #3
“I’m a liar, but so are you,” I breathe out, shoving past him and through the doorway, down the hallway, and toward the dining room. If there was another way to leave, I would’ve chosen it. The last thing I want is to be catapulted into family dinner.
“Auntie Wyn” my nephew, Nash, yells out, stopping me in my tracks and causing everyone to look my way. Shit.
“Wyn, you better sit that pretty ass next to me right now,” my brother-in-law, Theo, says.
“Did you ditch the nerd party and go on a bender?” my sister Stevie asks. Eyes widening, she takes in the mess of my appearance. When she reaches my bare feet, she looks at her husband. “Please ask her where her shoes are, Theo.”
“Wyn, where?—”
Stevie cuts him off. With her eyes closing with exasperation, she says, “Where are my favorite Tecovas, Wynnie? You will not get back the chartreuse Manolos if you’ve lost my favorites.”
I give my sister a look that says, Now is not the time.
“She looks like she just got a nice railing, honestly,” my mother says, as if this conversation needs interjection. “Are you feeling rested, Wynona?” she asks with a smirk playing on her red-slicked lips. “Or well worked?”
That gets her my leveling glare. Nice, Mom. I know she has to be clued into the fact that I was just passed out in Birdie’s solarium for hours. It’s a packed room with more faces than the usuals sitting around the table—because, of course, this moment needs an even bigger audience.
On the other side of my mother is my Uncle Tommy, who quietly observes the chaos around him. My father’s brother has been putting up with our family for my entire life. He made it his business to step up into the role our father stepped out on.
Next to him is my youngest sister Jo, as she adds, “Nobody cares about the boots right now, Stevie.” She smiles at me like the damn Cheshire cat, knowing all too well that she’s going to badger me for details about what our mother is talking about later.
My sisters are good at getting details. But nobody at this table knows everything—only the pieces I’ve allowed.
Stevie and Jo are aware of what happened to me, the abbreviated version, but they don’t know the timeline of it all.
Julian knows the woman who built herself up and landed as someone else entirely.
But now, in the aftermath of it all, there isn’t a single person here who knows my entire story. It’s safer that way.
Next to Jo is Jameson Bishop. My brother-in-law’s father and someone I know my sister trusts.
Having a contact within local law enforcement is protocol for returning from WITSEC, and Jameson now leads the county sheriff’s homicide team.
He knows the formalities, the details of what the U.S.
Marshals and authorities filed about my case.
He never asked why I didn’t return sooner.
It’s one of the things that’s always been likable about Jameson; he observes and rarely judges.
“You alright, Wyn?” he asks, brow pinched.
“She’s fine,” Birdie says from the head of the table, sipping casually on a glass of red. “Got swept up with something or . . .” she pauses, seemingly to search for the right word. “Someone.”
And as if she summoned him, Julian walks up next to me with his hands casually slung into his pockets, his hair swept into a half-up man bun, wearing a too tight T-shirt with The Whispering Fool logo splashed across the front of it.
Goose bumps fly up my arms at his proximity.
He’s tall and broad, which adds to the appeal, along with that sexy, smug look framed by his meticulously managed facial hair.
A current of warmth runs through me and settles at my center.
Theo stands up and starts a slow clap. “Wyn, on behalf of all of us . . .”
“Jesus, Theo,” Jameson says to his son, trying to cover up his amusement.
But both of my sisters join in with the clapping and exchange wide-eyed looks.
Stevie turns to Theo and mouths, What the fuck?
I know! he mouths back.
Everyone’s attention is on Julian when he says, “I am, disappointingly, none of the things Birdie just listed off, but it is nice to meet you all.” With his hand to his chest, he says, “Julian.”
“My name is Nash Thomas Crowne. And I like your hair,” my nephew chimes in. “Did you do that bun yourself, or did my mom help you? She’s really good at hair.”
“Thanks, baby,” Stevie says to him, and then raises her eyebrows at me.
“She was going to be a hairdresser,” Nash says over a mouthful of meatloaf. “That was after she was a country singer, but before the bar entertainer.”
Jameson, who’s usually fairly quiet when he comes around, sniffs out a laugh.
Stevie isn’t going to let that go. There’s something about Theo’s dad that sets her off like nobody else. “I’m sorry, is something funny about a woman changing her career to suit her lifestyle?”
“Dad . . .” Theo tries to get his dad to hold back, but Jameson keeps his attention on Stevie when he says, “I just hadn’t heard the term ‘bar entertainer’ before.” He winks at Nash.
“I’m not sure you would know what entertainment looked like even if it was naked and prancing right in front of you.”
My mother claps her hands, because obviously there wasn’t enough attention on her.
“Next to me, handsome,” she says, patting the empty chair I started moving toward.
Why are she and Birdie allowing Julian to join family dinner?
I rub at my forehead and close my eyes, trying to navigate the varying levels of shit I’ve been dealt today.
The last thing I need is my mom reading between lines, the way she so stealthily does.
It annoys the hell out of me that she seems more impressed at the insinuation that I was with Julian than when I had earned my PhD.
“Not so boring, after all, apparently,” she says to me with a side-eye, drumming up a reminder of the argument we had last night.
I might kill her.
“Lu,” Tommy says with a shake of his head.
He tries to be a buffer, but Tallulah Crowne can be a real asshole when she wants to be.
My mom knows exactly how to wield her weapons.
She declared to my sisters and me at a very young age that Crowne women have superpowers in the form of great tits, snarky wit, and a knack for speaking truths with facial expressions alone.
But now, I don’t think she knows what to say to me.
A part of that is my fault, for not trusting her with all the details of what happened to me when I was gone.
The truth is, I’m not sure she’d be able to handle it.
Before Julian moves to sit, he says, “Nash, it’s nice to meet you, man.
” He holds out a fist for Nash to bump. “To answer your question, I did my hair myself.” Then he nods to me.
“But your Aunt Wyn likes to play with it. Mostly mess it up,” he says with an audacious fucking smile on his face as he glances back at me.
Both of my sisters' eyes go wider than they already were. Wordlessly asking, What the hell is happening? I curl my lips in and just shake my head, trying to keep it together.
Julian shifts his body closer, I flinch slightly as his hand finds my waist. I’ve gotten better with being touched, but along my left side, it’s still a sensitive spot.
A phantom pain any time something brushes against it.
He must notice because he lets go almost immediately and instead just leans close enough to whisper, “You have so much explaining to do.”
Dammit, the way he says it makes a shiver run through me.
“Wyn, are you just going to stand there?” Birdie asks, even though every seat in the room is taken.
“Wyn, you can have my seat. I need to head out anyway,” Jameson says as he wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands.
“Jameson, I feel like it’s been too long since we’ve all been able to have a meal together. When will you be back?”
“I should be leaving tonight,” he says, looking at Nash, and then Theo. “I have a case that’s been keeping me on my toes, but the sheriff called my team in, so I might be here a day or so longer.”
Birdie turns her attention to Julian and feels the need to add, “Jameson is a homicide detective for the county sheriff’s department.” She raises her glass to Jameson. “Very busy. We enjoy his company whenever we get the chance.”
“Nash,” Jameson says to my nephew, circling the table and holding up a fist for him to bump. “Love you, kid.”
“Can you please butter this for me, Sonny? You do it the best,” Nash asks him. So instead of moving toward the door like he planned, Jameson shares the chair with my nephew. Nash looks at the side of his head and says, “You have more grays now than last time.”
Jameson only nods trying to keep from smiling as he helps butter his roll.
“My mom says gray hair just means that?—”
“Bah bah bah,” Stevie cuts in. “Nash, out of context, it’s not a good idea to repeat the things I ramble on about.”
Jameson turns to look at her, eyebrow quirked just slightly. “Now I’m interested, what does gray hair mean?”
Theo snorts out a laugh as Stevie tries to find words. It’s rare that my sister is left speechless, but my nephew has gotten good at calling her out lately.
There’s history there, more than my sister’s willing to share, but I know her relationships with the Bishop men are complicated.
“Dad, when's the next guys’ night?” Nash asks, moving on.
Theo leans over to ruffle his son’s hair. “We’ll make sure it happens. Just need to coordinate it with your mama when she’s busy or working at night.”
“Mom, aren’t you working tomorrow?”
And I don’t even realize I’m smiling as I watch the exchange until Stevie claps her hands at me. “You can have guys’ night whenever you want, baby. Speaking of work . . . Wynnie?—”
I glance at Julian, whose eyes seem to have stayed on me. But I ignore it and shake my head at my sister, knowing what she’s going to ask.
“Don’t say nooo,” she says dramatically, throwing her head back.
Jo rolls her eyes and proceeds to ignore all of us while she keeps eating.
“Jo, tell her that we need another set of tits behind the bar,” Stevie adds.
“You literally just said it. I’m not repeating it.”
I smile at Stevie, but then Jo adds, “Wyn, if you’re not busy, I wouldn’t mind the help. Aside from one of the shot girls always calling out sick, and then our newest bartender disappeared and just stopped showing up, I can never catch time off.”
Stevie exhales and glares at Jameson. “Missing people is quite the trend around here.”
“Technically, not my department,” Jameson says without interest. He glances at me, knowing all about my missing persons case.
When I look over at Birdie, she’s having a quiet exchange with my mother. For as loud as this dinner table is, there’s plenty unsaid.
Jo kicks her feet up on the table. “All of my inspiration has been coming at night, which really is incredibly inconvenient if I want to duck out and paint. There’s no one to cover for me. Wyn, do me a solid here?” She takes a bite of her piece of bread. “I know you hate bartending, but?—”
“Huh. You hate bartending?” Julian leans back, seemingly entertained by this family dinner.
I close my eyes, just as the chatter from the room goes quiet. Fuck me.
“She’s a fantastic bartender,” Julian adds, crossing his arms.
If I could make him shut up right now, I would.