A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

FINLEY

H e isn’t talking to me. We’re back to square one. Only this time, I’m the person to blame. Not Drew. Only me and the baby in my uterus. I stand in front of the mirror and press my hand to my lower stomach. It doesn’t look any different. Doesn’t feel any different. If I hadn’t heard the baby’s heart beat, I wouldn’t believe it myself. A small part of me still doesn’t believe it. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t be. It’s like the size of a blueberry. So small and inconsequential, yet earth-shattering, too, and I know my world will never be the same.

“Knock, knock!” someone calls.

My attention flicks to the locked door. I lower my T-shirt and open it.

“Hi,” Ophelia greets me. She’s sporting her dad’s baseball hat, her messy, strawberry-blonde hair falling around her shoulders.

“Hey.”

“So, Dylan and I were thinking…” Her voice trails off.

“Yes?”

“Well, since the girls’ side of the duplex is officially done, and you’re moving out next weekend, what if we have a girls’ night tonight? Maybe a sleepover in the family room? The boys are leaving for a couple of away games, so the timing is perfect. Maybe you can convince Grandma Taylor to give you the famous chocolate chip cookie recipe, too?” Her eyebrows bounce up and down, making me laugh.

“Sure. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yes!”

When she pulls me into a hug, I return it, letting my body sag against hers.

“You good?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah, just tired. Once I know Frankie isn’t across the hall, I’ll sleep better.”

“You sure living with Everett and Raine won’t be worse?”

“To be fair, I’ll have a couple weeks of freedom before they move in, but even without the freedom, I think I’d still prefer my brother and his girlfriend living across the hall over Dylan’s slimy, green soldier.”

She laughs. “Aw, come on. You two didn’t bond while we were away?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a little bit?” she prods.

I shake my head and shiver. “Not in the slightest.”

With a grin, she tilts her head. “How ‘bout you and Griff? Things at the party seemed…good, I think? And then…not so good.”

My lips bunch on one side. “Is this your attempt at sleuthing?”

“Hey, not all of us are as talented as you, Miss Detective.”

“Well, at least you admit it.” I pat her shoulder. “And, yeah. Griffin and I are fine. ”

“You sure? Because he was wearing his pissed-off face this morning, and I have a feeling it wasn’t from the extra shots last night.” She steps a little closer and glances over her shoulder, confirming we’re alone. “Not to sound like a creepy stalker or anything, but I may have noticed how you gave him the cheek last night.”

“Pretty sure the Game Night rules applied,” I remind her. “Yes, a kiss was part of the rules to win game night, but I got to pick where, and I chose the cheek. So what?”

“Not arguing about the rules, only the reasoning behind them.” She hesitates, and a divot forms between her perfectly shaped brows. “I thought you and Drew were through.”

“We are through.”

“So why not kiss Griff?” She nibbles on the edge of her bottom lip, hesitating. Again. “You and him used to kiss all the time until you started dating Drew.”

“We didn’t kiss?—”

“During game nights, you did,” Lia argues. “Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven.” She lists them off, one by one, and I press my lips into a thin line.

“I also kissed Mav and Archer and Everett’s other friends during the games, too,” I remind her.

“Yeah, which is why it’s weird that you didn’t kiss Griff last night,” she pushes. “You’re proving my point for me.”

Well, shit.

The girl might be onto something. I’ve never struggled with meaningless kisses. It’s all fun and games. All insignificant. Until it isn’t.

“Maybe I’m maturing,” I offer.

“Or maybe kissing Griffin isn’t a game to you…or him .” She rocks back on her heels and tucks her thumbs into the front pockets of her jeans. “Just a thought. ”

“Aaaand, I think you’ve done enough sleuthing for one day.” I fold my arms. “Besides, you’re terrible at it.”

“Or maybe I’m too good at it,” she counters. “I did learn from the best.”

“Oh, did you?”

“Mm-hmm.” She bounces her eyebrows up and down. “What happened on your little road trip, Fin?”

Not gonna lie. The old me would’ve told her everything. And maybe I should. But then, I’d have to admit I’m pregnant. Am I so wrong for wanting to keep the lid on that particular can of worms for now?

“So, about our girls’ night…” I announce. “Are Raine and Dylan joining?”

Ophelia’s lips bunch to one side, mirroring my expression from moments ago, and I have zero doubt she’s debating whether or not to let me change the subject.

Try me.

“Fine,” she humphs. “I’ll drop it. For now.” Her gaze narrows. “And heck yes! Of course, Raine and Dylan are coming. We missed you on our trip.”

“I missed coming on your big vacation. Trust me,” I admit. “But I’m excited for you to tell me all about it tonight.”

“We’ll give you all the gory details, I promise. I’ll even let you pick the movie if you convince Grandma Taylor to let you bake her famous cookies tonight.”

“You know, she’s your grandma, too,” I point out, though it’s not like she needs the reminder. Her dad is my dad’s little brother.

Duh.

“Yeah, but she likes you more,” Ophelia argues.

With a laugh, I counter, “Only because I play the epilepsy card anytime I ask for the recipe.”

Our grandma’s a crazy person who refuses to let anyone have her top-secret recipe. I’d say it’s old age making her a little looney, but my mom swears she’s always been this way. Thankfully, I’ve made the infamous cookies a time or twenty, so I’m pretty sure I have the recipe memorized, even though I’ve been sworn to secrecy. In fact, my grandma’s so protective of the recipe that she’s made me pinkie promise to never write it down for fear of it being stolen. Even though I know the thing by heart, I still call her whenever I’m craving them. Call me a sucker for my childhood, but the cookies will always remind me of summer sleepovers and Mama Taylor’s house. Ophelia has the same memories, but since she isn’t as interested in baking, she usually leaves the process to me, bless her soul.

“Come on, please?” Lia presses her hands together in a prayer gesture. “I have practice today, so with the hour-long phone call we both know it would take to convince Grandma to give me the recipe in the first place, there’s no way I’d have time to make them anyway.”

“Fine,” I cave. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Perfect. Oh, and do you mind if I invite Tatum and Squeaks?” she adds. “They’re kind of…in a weird place, and I think the social time might be good for them.”

Yeah, I think a weird place is an understatement.

Tatum is Ophelia’s little sister. She’s a couple years younger than us but has been taking Maverick’s twin’s death really hard. To be fair, we all have. But I think everyone knows Tatum was in love with Archer, even if he was always too hung up on Ophelia to notice her little sister’s affection for him. Not that it mattered. The results are the same. Ever since the accident, Tatum’s been spiraling. Hard. With Archer’s passing and Tatum holding a grudge the size of Texas against Ophelia and how she treated him, I’m not sure she’ll ever stop spiraling. Her parents have tried everything. Therapy. Space. Time. Nothing has worked, and I’m not sure anything will, especially not hanging out with her older sister when she’s so pissed at her.

As for Squeaks? Well, her real name is Rory. She’s Maverick’s and Archer’s little sister and is the caboose baby for our entire friend group. Recently, the girl has basically refused to show her face around anyone. I think it has something to do with Griffin’s and Dylan’s older brother, Jaxon. Why? Because Rory’s been Jax’s shadow since she could walk, and lately, the girl’s been nothing but a ghost.

So the real question is, what made her disappear? Not gonna lie. I’m curious. So curious I have no problem agreeing to Ophelia’s suggestion. I could use the distraction from Griffin, anyway.

“You know they’re always welcome,” I tell her. “No big deal.”

“Perfect.” Ophelia sighs in relief. “Now to see if I can twist their arms into coming.”

I bite back my scoff. “Good luck.”

Go figure. On my one night off, the girls want Rowdy’s. It wasn’t Dylan’s idea, either. She’s also a waitress at the steakhouse and didn’t plan on coming to work on her night off. To be fair, Tatum and Rory are both underage and don’t have fake IDs like the rest of us. So it's not like we could go to SeaBird. Still. I’ll take what I can get. Even if the ambiance is all too familiar, it’s nice to have a night off. A night away from Griffin. A night where I can bury my head in the sand for a little while longer until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do on the baby front or how the hell I’m going to tell my best friends I screwed up. Twice. Er, three times if we count the whole rejecting Griffin on New Year's bit, but who’s counting?

Besides, it’s still a toss up on that front. It was a mistake.

Wasn’t it?

Honestly, at this point, I have no idea.

As I sit in the passenger seat, munching on one of the chocolate chip cookies Ophelia insisted I make, Dylan turns down the song on the stereo and lifts her chin toward the front door of Maverick’s parents’ house. Ophelia and Raine are on the porch, and Raine lifts her hand, knocking on the solid piece of wood.

“Sometimes I forget Raine knows the Buchanans,” Dylan says.

She isn’t the only one.

“Yeah, it’s sort of weird how her parents are kind of close with Mav’s,” I murmur.

“Right?” Dylan shakes her head and snatches a cookie from the glass container resting on the center console. “Talk about a small world.”

Sometimes too small , I think to myself, but only nod as my Aunt Mia opens the door and pulls Ophelia and Raine into hugs.

Minutes later, Maverick’s little sister appears. Ponytail swinging, the middle schooler jogs toward us with an awkward wave and climbs into the backseat.

“Hey, Squeaks!” I greet her.

“Never gonna live the nickname down, am I?” she grumbles.

I grin back at her. “Probably not. But hey, I say own it.”

“Own me being a whiner?” She rolls her eyes and pulls her phone out. “Gee, thanks.”

Giving me a side glance, Dylan mumbles under her breath, “Teenagers.”

She’s not wrong .

The back door opens, cutting off my response as Ophelia and Raine join us in the car.

“You good if we pick up Tatum, too?” Ophelia asks. She leans forward and grabs a cookie from the container. “I know we’ll have to squeeze, but my mom can’t drop her off.”

“No worries,” Dylan says. “We have time.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised she’s still coming,” Lia admits. “The girl’s been a recluse since…” Her attention darts to Rory, and she sniffs quietly before setting the uneaten cookie on her thigh as if she’s lost her appetite. It makes my chest ache. I don’t miss the sheen in Lia’s caramel-colored eyes or the way she pastes on a fake-ass smile as she shoves her emotions deep inside her. “So? Who wants to listen to some music?”

Aaaand, that’s my cue.

I reach for the knob and turn up the volume.

Thirty minutes later, the cookies are gone, and Tatum’s squished to one side of the cab, her shoulder pressed against the back passenger window as we make our way toward Rowdy’s. To say the car is eerily tense would be an understatement, and it takes everything inside me not to poke the bear or stir up shit simply for the sake of acknowledging it.

Hey, Tatum, how’s the broken heart?

Hey, Squeaks, why have you been MIA? It’s kind of lame, but no worries. Happens to us all.

Yeah, I can think of a dozen ways to spark the gasoline-soaked tension. Instead, I keep my lips zipped as Dylan’s knee bounces up and down like the Energizer Bunny. At least I’m not Ophelia. Despite the literal buffer in the form of Squeaks and Raine, Tatum looks like she could stab Lia a billion times, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Yikes .

As Dylan brakes at the stoplight, a motorcycle pulls up beside us, and Ophelia sighs. If I had to guess, she’s probably thinking about Mav and their daily rides on his bike. I don’t blame her. There’s definitely something to be said about a man on a motorcycle. I fight the urge to fan myself and announce it to the car, well aware it’ll only piss Tatum off more.

Peeking over my shoulder toward Tatum’s passenger window, I notice the guy’s wearing a leather jacket and a black helmet with the visor pulled down, shielding his face from me. I don’t need to see it to know he isn’t looking at me, though.

Nope. The guy’s attention is glued to Tatum. He lifts his chin as if to say hey, then motions to his face and draws a frowny face before pointing at her window again.

Is he trying to talk to her?

The cab of the car stays quiet, none of us wanting to spook an already grouchy Tatum. When he raises his hand and makes a fist, lifting it three times then doing a sideways peace sign, I realize he’s offering to play Rock, Paper, Scissors. I shift in my seat and steal a quick look at Tatum, curious if she’s being stubborn or giving this stranger the time of day.

No luck.

Interesting.

The light’s still red as I turn my attention back to the side mirror and the mysterious biker’s reflection. He makes another fist, and Tatum smiles in my periphery. Okay, smile might be a bit of a stretch, but still. Raising her fist into view, she gives in with a one, two, three. She flattens her hand into paper, and the guy shows rock, throwing his head back and shaking it in defeat. He lost. Paper covers rock. His helmet swivels toward Tatum again, leaving me on pins and needles, and I’m not even the one he’s paying attention to. Like seriously. Damn. Slowly, he draws an imaginary smile in the air and gives her a thumbs-up as if making her promise to smile every once in a while. Then, his hand finds the throttle on his bike, and he disappears down the road, his engine whirring and fading in a flash.

“Well, that was…interesting,” I decide. “Do you know him, Tate?”

The soft lift of her lips flattens, and she shakes her head, leaning against the window.

“You don’t, but I think I might,” Raine mutters as her fingers fly across her phone screen.

“Who is he?” Ophelia prods.

Raine hesitates. “Pretty sure that’s Pax.”

“Pax?” Dylan asks. “As in…?”

“My brother’s guitarist,” Raine finishes, though her eyes stay glued to her phone, her expression pinched. “It looked like his bike anyway. Hmm.”

“Pax has a bike?” I ask.

“The whole band has bikes,” Raine answers.

Ophelia shifts in her seat, the corners of her eyes creasing in concern. “Is Pax…trouble?”

“Pax is…Pax,” Raine finishes.

“Us Taylor girls.” Ophelia shakes her head and gives her sister a reassuring smile. “Seems we’re suckers for bikers.”

Leaning forward, Tatum glares at her big sister. “Trust me. Our tastes are nothing alike.”

I grimace and settle back in the front seat. Yikes. Don’t get me wrong. I get it. Tatum was most definitely in love with Maverick’s twin, Archer, before he passed. And even though Archer and Maverick were identical twins, they were pretty much opposites in every way, other than their love for hockey and a certain strawberry-blonde goalie who’s currently sitting in the back seat trying not to burn up on the spot from Tatum’s blazing glare. Yeah, Ophelia’s part in the whole… situation is a little complicated, and that’s putting things lightly. It’s also why Tatum’s been so distant since Archer’s death. Living in your sister’s shadow is one thing. Being in love with a ghost who was in love with said sister is an entirely different—and much more excruciating—story.

Dylan pulls into Rowdy’s parking lot and cuts the engine, leaving the rest of us drowning in a silence so thick I swear I could cut it with a knife.

Well, I was right about one thing. I was looking for a distraction from my own shitshow of a life, and apparently, I found it in spades.