Page 23 of Nash
The phone buzzes again. East, in the officer thread.
Did she just announce a goat baby shower? What the hell Nash?
I stare at the screen. That fucking goat. My mouth pulls before I can stop it.
I pocket the phone and walk the corridor back to the private rooms. The doors are closed. Locks are set. The monitor room hums with blank screens. I stop in the hallway. My hand flat against one of the heavy doors. The soundproofing absorbs everything.
Ruby on her knees. Looking up at me the way she looked up at me today in the back hallway at Amaranth, chin tipped, lips parted, daring me. Except in this room, there's no client to get back to. No counter between us. No joke to reach for. Just her eyes on mine, my hand in her hair, and the word sir in her mouth. Only meaning it this time.
My hand presses harder against the door.
I pull it back. Walk to the front. Take the wall.
The sweep starts over.
Chapter 7
Ruby
Ihavebeenplanningthis for three weeks, and it is going to be magnificent.
The pastel balloon arch alone took four hours. It's pink and blue and lavender. Twisted into a frame I anchored to the clubhouse doorway with zip ties and sheer determination while Candace held the ladder as Sloane read the instruction video out loud from her phone like a woman narrating a hostage negotiation. The banner reads IT'S A KID! in hand-painted letters, because it is a kid, technically, and because specificity is the backbone of comedy. The gift table is draped in a pink tablecloth I liberated from a baby shower at the WillowridgeCountry Club six months ago, and on it sits a stack of tiny onesies I modified by hand to fit a pygmy goat.
Nasty Nash Jr. is in his sparkly collar, tethered to the leg of the picnic table in the yard, eating a paper plate.
The clubhouse is losing its mind.
"I am NOT holding that animal," Kyle says. He's backing away from the gift table as Nasty Nash Jr. strains toward him with the single-minded focus of a creature who has identified his nemesis and will not rest until every pair of boots in that man's closet has been consumed. "Ruby. Ruby. Get your goddamn livestock away from me."
"He's a baby. We're celebrating him. Show some respect."
"THAT ANIMAL IS DRAWN TO EVIL AND I'M NOT FUCKING AROUND."
"He's drawn to you, Kyle. Make of that what you will."
Rider is next to Kyle with his arms folded, shaking his head slowly, doing absolutely nothing to help.
Darla is laughing so hard she has to grab East's arm to stay upright. The pregnancy is visible under her sundress but not slowing her down yet. East has one hand on her shoulder and the other wrapped around a beer. His face caught between genuine amusement and the kind of helpless glee that happens when the woman carrying your children is laughing too hard to breathe.
Knox is standing by the grill with his arms crossed and a look that says he is above this, which is a lie, because Knox Turner has never been above a damn thing in his life. Sloane is already handing him a spatula. Malachi sits at the head of the long table with Candace tucked against his side, his mouth doing that thing where it goes completely flat because he's fighting a smile that would damage his presidential gravitas. James and Maggie are in their usual chairs, Maggie already unpacking enough food to sustain a small country, James watching the chaos with the quietamusement of a man who has seen everything and decided to enjoy it.
Frankie is sitting cross-legged on the bench with a coffee, grinning into the mug every time Kyle screams. Amelia is beside her, laughing openly, her phone out like she's documenting the whole thing for blackmail purposes. Victor is leaning against the fence with Olivia tucked under his arm, both of them watching the goat situation unfold with the expressions of people who have seen actual criminal enterprises and find this somehow more chaotic. Arden is at the edge of the yard near the tree line, arms crossed. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's amused, but with Arden it's hard to tell because his face has two settings: still and stiller.
And Nash is at the wall by the clubhouse door, arms at his sides, watching me. His cut hangs open over a black T-shirt that fits him in a way I'm going to need to stop noticing. The fabric pulls across his chest and shoulders every time he shifts his weight. His jaw is set. His eyes are on me. I hold his gaze across the yard, and he doesn't look away. Doesn't blink. Just holds, steady and warm until my stomach flips and I'm the one who breaks first.
My face hurts from grinning. The plan came together, everyone I love is in the same place, the balloon arch is holding, and the goat is alive. This is the best day I've had in weeks.
My eyes drift back to the wall. Nash is still watching me. My grin widens before I can rein it in.
"Okay!" I clap my hands. "Baby shower games. First up. Pin the tail on Nasty Nash Jr."
"That's not a real game," Knox says from the grill.
"It is now. I made the poster." I hold up the hand-drawn poster of Nasty Nash Jr. in a diaper and a crown. "Candace, you're first. Sloane, blindfold her."
Candace pins the tail on Kyle's back, which I am choosing to count. Darla wins the "guess the goat's weight" game by being the only person who picked him up, which East objected to on the grounds that she should not be lifting things. Darla overruled him with a look that could have dissolved steel.
"Musical chairs," I announce, dragging folding chairs into a circle in the middle of the yard. "Kyle, Rider, Frankie, Amelia, East. Five players. Four chairs. Let's go."
