Chapter 3
three
Charlie
“M a’am!”
I flinched and tried to pry my eyelids open, but the sun was blinding and I was too tired to care. But then, a hunger pang wrenched my stomach.
“Ma’am!” Thump, thump, THUMP !
I sat up with a jolt and winced. My ribs ached from the console being jammed into my side all night. I rolled over, squinting.
“Ma’am.” A police officer peered into my driver’s side window. He motioned for me to roll it down.
I pulled the handle and opened the door.
The man stepped back, shaking his head as I got out of my car. “I don’t need you to get out!” he said in a gruff voice. “Didn’t anyone teach you that when a cop comes up to you, you don’t exit the vehicle unless he asks you to?”
My hands shook at my sides. “Sorry. No. No one taught me that.” Not true. My adopted dad, Ashton, had taught me.
“Get back in the car and roll the window down,” the officer ordered, his hand on his gun holster.
I stared at him, tight-lipped, my eyes trying to fill with tears. What is it about having a cop approach that instantly makes a woman want to sob? I blew out my breath and mustered all my courage.
“I can’t,” I said, faking my confidence. “I’m sorry.”
“Get in the car and roll the window down,” he said a third time.
“Sir. My car won’t start. So, I literally can’t.”
“It’s too early for this.” His hand dropped from his gun and his head fell back, staring up at the sky. “You can’t sleep in your car.” He glanced past me to the Pacific Ocean. “Not in this parking lot. If you don’t move your vehicle, I’m going to have to have you towed.”
My hands started their stupid shaking again. I jammed them in the back pockets of my jeans to make them stop. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. I don’t have money to pay the fee.”
He folded his arms across his chest, looking put out. “License and registration."
“Yeah. Okay.” I dove into the car, rifled through my glove box and purse, and handed him what he’d asked for.
Looking at my license, his eyebrow crept up. “Virginia, huh? What’re you doing in L.A.?”
I nodded to the back seat, at my guitar case, and lied. “You know, just trying to make it big.”
He huffed. “Of course.” Then he climbed into his car.
I leaned against the hood of my beat-up Civic and pretended to study my fingernails. They were actually disgusting. I needed to wash my hands. I sniffed my right armpit. And take a shower. I ran my fingers through my hair. It was greasy-gross. Past the point of dry shampoo doing any good. I didn’t have money for a can anyway.
Every few minutes, I’d glance over to see if the officer was almost done. He was taking way too long. Great. Now he was on his phone. Laughing all twinkly-eyed. Was he flirting with the dispatcher?
When he returned, his joy was gone. He was all frowns now. “Your uncle is Ford Dupree, the country music star and actor, and your other uncle is Blue Bishop, former NFL QB for Kansas City.” Blue was my cousin actually. By marriage. Blue was married to Ashton’s niece, Anna. “ And your parents are the authors of that Spy series.” Did he run my license or look me up on Ancestry.com? “What’re you doing living in your car with a family like that?” He held out my license and registration.
I snatched them from his hand and glared. “Just because my last name is Dupree doesn’t mean I’m related to those Duprees.” That’s what I got for not getting a new license after marrying Lorne. “That’s kind of a ridiculous assumption, don’t you?—”
“My wife is probably the biggest Ford Dupree fan known to exist,” he mused like I hadn’t said a word. “If my marriage wasn’t so solid, I’d never let her go to his concerts. He’d steal her with one glance.”
I snorted. “Fat chance. Ford loves Aunt Peyton way too much to ever look at —” I clapped a hand over my traitorous mouth.
The officer smirked. “That’s what I thought.” His chest heaved with a sigh. “Zoe—that’s my wife—follows you on TikTok. Actually, she follows the entire Dupree family. She says no one’s heard from you in like a year. Is that correct?”
My shoulders fell in defeat. “Yes, sir,” I forced through clenched teeth.
“Would you like me to help you jump your battery?”
“It’s not the battery. It’s the transmission.”
He bomb whistled because, yeah, fixing a transmission costs thousands of dollars and right now, I couldn’t afford a stick of gum.
He peered around me to take in my car. “No offense.” He chuckled. “But that, as my thirteen-year-old son would say, is what we call a hooptie. It’s probably time to just get a new car.”
“I don’t have the money,” I said through gritted teeth.
He shook his head. “The Duprees must be real pieces of?—”
“Watch it,” I growled.
“Interesting.” His eyes narrowed, studying me. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, Charlotte.”
“Charlie,” I corrected.
“Okay, Charlie . You caught me on a good day. The weather is perfect. I’m having breakfast with the wife as soon as my shift’s over, and tonight we’re going to a Dodgers game. So, I’ll tell you what.” He tipped his head toward my vehicle. “We’re going to tow the Bluesmobile here—” He cocked a brow when I opened my mouth to protest. “—take you to the police station, get a little food in your belly—because you are way too skinny—let you shower, and then—” He lifted a finger to show he wasn’t fooling around. “We’re going to call someone with the last name Dupree. Or Bishop, if you’d rather.”
Panic fisted around my throat but I managed to get out an emphatic, “ No . That’s not an option.”
His head tilted, studying me. “Help me understand this. Are they abusive? What’s going on here?”
That was the last thing I needed getting around. “ No . They’re the best family in the world.”
He sighed. “Then why won’t you ask them for help?”
“B-because.” My voice trembled. “Okay? Just because.”
All the kindness that had been on his face a moment earlier vanished. The way he was looking at me now—jaw clamped, nostrils flared—had to be his taking down the bad guys face. “Fine. Have it your way.” He reached for his handcuffs. “You have the right to remain?—”
“Let’s go with the first option!” I yelped.
He nodded, no smile. “I thought you’d see it my way.” He tipped his head toward his cruiser. “Let’s go.”
“I need to grab a couple of things. My guitar. And my purse.”
The entire ten-minute drive to the police station, I prayed like I never had before, asking God what to do. Should I really go home? I’d fought so hard not to have this be my outcome.
But I was so incredibly tired. Tired of scraping just to buy one burger a day. Tired of sleeping in my car, having nowhere to shower.
I’d be better off living in one of the ranch hand trailers on my grandparents’ land than what I was doing now. But Gramps would never let me live in one of those. He’d tell me I was too good for that. Then he’d make me go home and live with my parents. And that was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
An hour later, showered and wearing Officer Riley’s wife’s sweats, I sat staring at my phone. My hands trembled in my lap.
Officer Riley watched me from behind his desk. “You can use the station phone, if you’d rather.”
I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “No. I’ve got it. I just need a minute.”
Earlier, he’d observed me, with a sadness in his expression, as I inhaled a Snickers in three bites. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of water and a granola bar. Then he slid them across the desk and stood. “You’ve got ten minutes to make the call.” His tone was kind but firm.
The second he was gone, I tore the granola bar open and scarfed it down in four large gulps. Then I guzzled the water bottle, the entire time my mind racing. My gaze darted around the room. Officer Riley had stepped into someone’s office. And it seemed like no one was actually paying attention to me. I could probably slip out unnoticed.
But should I?
Turns out, getting your car towed makes you extra homeless.
Was Officer Riley right? Was it time to go home? And if so, which family member should I call?
I swiped to TikTok, as if that might give me an answer. I don’t know why. TikTok was probably the last place God would leave me a sign.
The first thing that popped up on my feed was none other than I Am Not Your Cousin, aka Dollar Bill Dupree. My heart fluttered at the sight of him. All muscles and broad shoulders, perfectly shaped curls, stupidly beautiful Dupree-blue eyes, and a grin that belonged in movies. He wasn’t the twerpy kid I used to tease mercilessly.
Hmmm. This wasn’t his account. Unless he had a second account I didn’t know about with the handle @MillionFollowersMillie. Only Millie didn’t have a million followers. She had twelve thousand. Give or take. Whoever ran this account must believe in manifesting.
Cash laughed at someone off camera and my breath stuttered. But then a gorgeous blond skipped onto the screen and kissed him on the cheek. Jealousy roared like a wild beast and my fingers curled into fists. I turned the volume up a smidge.
The girl I assumed was Millie had on about a pound of makeup. “Babe,” she tittered, rolling her shoulders back to make her chest look bigger than it was. “Tell them about your concert.” She fluffed the roots of her hair on the left side, tilted her head, and pushed her lips into a dramatic pout for the camera.
Red alerts went off all over my body.
The Duprees had been infiltrated.
“First concert, guys,” Cash said. My hand pressed to my heart. He was actually doing it. Living his dream. “I’m opening for my?—”
“How sweet is this, y’all?” Twelve Thousand Followers Millie interrupted while rubbing his right pec. “Cash is helping out his dad by bringing in a younger audience!”
A squeak escaped my throat. A younger audience? Uncle Ford wasn’t that old. The man played Jack Steele for crying out loud. Women still asked him to leave Peyton and marry them daily. I knew because I read it in the comments of every reel his social media manager posted.
Oh, I did not like this girl. And I could not imagine Aunt Peyton did either.
Her fingers toyed with a curl over Cash’s ear. “You can see him play on the twenty-first at the Sailor's Creek University football stadium in Honeyville, Virginia. Tickets are almost sold out, y’all.” She needed to stop with the forced twang and the southern slang. She was a northerner if I’d ever seen one. If her fake accent hadn’t clued me in, her cowgirl boots, which looked like they’d cower in the face of an actual cow pasture, would have. Pretty sure those had cost more than three pairs of the worn-out Ariats sitting in my closet back home in Seddledowne.
This had been posted two days ago. I looked up the date on my phone. Oh. The concert was tonight.
“Tickets have been sold out for months,” Cash said with a soft smile. “But I can’t wait to?—”
“Sorry, babe.” She cut him off again. “I’m just so excited for you.” Then she shrugged at the camera, a snotty expression on her face. “You snooze, you lose, I guess.”
As Cash waved goodbye, she took one step back so Cash was in front of her and said, “For those of you who did get a ticket, there might be some surprises at the show.” Then she had the audacity to point to the ring finger on her left hand. I gasped as the reel started over.
Oh. Hell. No.
I stared up at the ceiling. “You were supposed to protect them. And really?” I huffed. “I asked for a sign and you gave me that ?”
I sat there for a moment, staring at Officer Riley’s desk, replaying that terrible reel in my mind. A laugh bubbled in my chest. Because you know what? Seeing DeluluMillie with her hands all over Cash was the fastest way to get me on the Going Home train. Then I laughed harder, a lightness filling my entire body. Because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this kind of passion about anything.
I glanced up at the ceiling again. “Touché. You win.”
Looked like it was time to go home after all.
Officer Riley walked toward me, a look of disapproval on his face.
“Calling right now,” I said as I searched through my contacts. I put the phone to my ear.
She picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” Her voice was panicked. Or maybe a little shell-shocked. “Charlie? Is that you?”
“Hi, Aunt Peyton. It’s me.”