“Not everyone can grow up in the fucking suburbs, Dylan.”
She snaps my name out like she’s been saying it for years when she only learned it yesterday.
“How do you have any clue where I grew up?” I hiss, using anger to cover my unease.
“You fucking told me,” she growls just before swinging the passenger side door open and climbing out of the car.
I scrape my hands down my face. We did talk about it, I realize as flashes of her leaning against my chest in my familiar room in the clubhouse filter through my head.
A grunt makes my eyes snap open, and I’m out of the car in the next second after watching the toe of her shoe get caught on some trash in the yard.
“Stay behind me,” I growl as I close the distance between us.
She shoves at me, her warm hands little, ineffective tornadoes on my arm as she tries to shove me away from her.
“She’s an asshole, but she’s family,” Sylvie snaps, her feet never pausing as she makes her way toward the tiny porch.
She snaps to a halt as her eyes land on several waterlogged boxes sitting out in the elements, ruined as far as I can tell.
“I’ll fucking kill her,” she snaps, her hand closing into a fist to bang on the front door.
Chapter 11
Sylvie
My hand shakes as I lift it to knock on the splintered front door.
The old cars and broken appliances littering the front yard are one thing. Those can be hauled off and even sold for scrap metal, but the boxes of my grandfather’s things ruined on the front porch makes me see red.
I pound on the door, doing it a second time when no one answers. I ignore the pain in my hand because it doesn’t even compare to the ache in my heart.
I’ve never really been a sentimental woman. Big Daddy always said love is all you need. This of course came after neighborhood boys burned down the tiny shed we had out back. I was nine, and my bike was in there. I felt like I was losing my entire world that day. Big Daddy carried me to one of the local shops in town, both of us thankful that it was the off-season and not too crowded, and he let me pick out a new toy. I chose a deck of cards rather than the electronic dog that barked and wagged its tail because I knew we didn’t have much money. I can’t even begin to count how many evenings I sat with him and played Go Fish until I was old enough to learn more games. I carried that deck of cards with me to college, and it’s on my bookcase at home. I feel the love he talked about that day every single time I look at them.
The spine of an old family photo album glares at me from the soggy box just as the front door slowly opens.
My cousin was never a beauty queen, although the potential was always there if she ever gave a damn about her appearance. The woman looking at me now with tired eyes and shaggy hair looks similar to that woman but at the same time, completely different.
“What the hell do you want?” she snaps, the twang in her voice roughened by years of yelling at cheating boyfriends and her pack-a-day habit.
She looks fucking horrible.
“I’m here about the house,” I say through clenched teeth, suddenly very glad Spade is here with me.
I’m embarrassed to my bones about how the house and yard look, but grateful I don’t have to face this woman and whatever man she has inside with her alone.
“Tony isn’t here,” Naomi says, not offering to open the door wider so we can get in from out of the cold.
“I don’t even know Tony,” I mutter. “You were supposed to transfer the deed to the house into your name. You promised Big Daddy you would.”
Naomi sniffles, using the sleeve of the old flannel she’s wearing to wipe under her nose.
“Aiden was supposed to do that.”
“Don’t know Aiden either.”
She frowns at me. “Did you just show up to give me a hard time about the men I date?”
I lean my head to the side, my eyebrows drawing together. “What? No, Naomi. I don’t give a shit who you date. Big Daddy needs Medicare and they won’t help him so long as this property is in his name.”