Page 10 of Riptide
Her stomach growled. Traitor.
"I brought reinforcements." Reagan held up the bag. "We need to talk."
"It's late."
"It's nine-thirty. Piper said you looked wrecked today." Reagan pushed past her into the apartment, and another wave of that heavenly aroma followed.
Cara tried to remember when she'd last eaten something that wasn't a broken croissant or a spoonful of frosting straight from the bowl. Her stomach growled again, louder this time.
Reagan set the bag on the kitchen table and started unpacking containers. "So we're talking. Now."
Cara closed the door, resigned. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Really?" Reagan gestured at the paperwork spread across the table. "Because that looks like someone having a crisis."
Cara quickly gathered the inheritance documents, shoved them in a drawer. "Just bakery stuff."
"Stop." Reagan's voice was sharp. "Just stop. We skipped the meeting tonight because you weren't there. The whole point of the team is being a team, and you're shutting us out."
"I told you. I have bakery?—"
"Bakery nothing." Reagan crossed her arms. "I've been where you are. Drowning and pretending you're fine. Lying to the people who care about you because you think you're protecting them." Her expression softened. "But Cara, you'renot protecting anyone. Whatever’s going on, you're just making it worse."
"You don't understand."
"Then help me understand." Reagan sat at the table, unwrapped the sandwich and pushed it toward the empty chair along with a napkin. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me. Even if it takes all night."
She nudged the fries closer. “Eat.”
Cara remained standing, arms wrapped around herself. "We have rules. Don't dig into each other's pasts. Don't investigate each other."
"I'm not investigating. I'm asking my friend what's wrong." Reagan's tone gentled. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." Reagan met her eyes. "Because I'm not going to dig if you don't want me to. But I can't watch you fall apart without at least trying to help."
The kindness was almost worse than suspicion would've been.
Cara sat, pulling the sandwich toward her, though her stomach was in knots. She picked at the crust, tearing off small chunks to have something to do with her hands.
"What if..." She stopped. Started again. "What if the thing that's wrong can't be fixed? What if telling you makes it worse?"
"Then at least you're not carrying it alone."
"What if carrying it alone is the only way to protect everyone?"
Reagan was quiet for a moment. "When my ex went dirty, when I found out he was taking cartel money, I had that same thought. If I told anyone, it would destroy him. Destroy us. Destroy everything we'd built."
"What did you do?"
"I told anyway. Turned him in. Lost everything." Reagan's smile was sad. "But here's what I learned. Secrets that big don't stay buried. They always come out. And when they do, the explosion is worse than if you'd just dealt with it from the start."
"Not always."
"Usually." Reagan leaned forward. "Cara, whatever this is—whoever's threatening you, whatever they want—we can help. That's what the team is for."
"Not with this."
