Giggling, Nova rapidly shakes her head.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t like porridge.” I lower her to the ground, and she toddles over to where Butterscotch is snoozing.
“Hey, Aramis. Wasn’t expecting to see you until later—when I pick up Nova.” I hug Olivia and give her a friendly kiss on her cheek.
Lance squints up at us, the sun in his eyes. “Do I get a kiss on the cheek?”
“Man. Didn’t realize you felt that way about me.” I start to lower to my knees, knowing full well he doesn’t mean me.
An abrupt laugh erupts from him. “Not you, dumbass.” He looks up at Olivia, the grin back on his face. “You.”
She rolls her eyes as I straighten, and she gives him a quick peck on the cheek. He smirks at her, but I swear he’s blushing under his tan.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Her question is directed at me.
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
“I meant in private.”
“Sure. Let’s go inside.” I turn to Lance. “You okay with Nova for a few minutes?”
The owner of the house we’re renovating doesn’t have any kids…just lots of breakable items they probably wouldn’t appreciate Nova’s fingerprints on.
“No problem, Boss.” He gives me a swift salute, then offers his palm for a high five from Nova. She smacks him one and grabs a dandelion from the grass. She hands it to him, seeming much more interested in him than her mother was a moment ago.
Olivia usually laughs when the guy we’ve known since elementary school calls me boss. She doesn’t so much as crack a smile this time. “Be good for Uncle Lance, sweetheart,” she says to her daughter.
“We’ll be fine.” Lance exchanges a quick glance with me. Uncertainty wars in his expression, but I don’t think it has anything to do with Olivia leaving Nova with him.
I take Olivia into the house. We go into the partially renovated kitchen and stop next to the cabinet doors stacked on the newly installed green tile floor. “So, what’s up?”
She scans the room, checking it out, before returning her attention to me. “I heard you brought Jess with you last Tuesday when you and Nova went to the beach.”
I shrug, not getting why she wanted to talk to me about that in private. “That’s right. We built a large sandcastle.”
Olivia folds her arms across her chest. “That was supposed to be your quality time with Nova. Not time spent with your girlfriend at my daughter’s expense.” Her tone isn’t annoyed, but it is venturing close to that territory.
“I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it. Jess likes kids, and she’s great with Nova.”
Olivia chews on her bottom lip the way she does when she’s stressed about something. Colton used to say it made her look sexy. I’m not as easily distracted by it as he was.
An uneasy feeling pokes at my gut. “Spit it out. What aren’t you saying?”
“I don’t feel comfortable with my daughter being around your girlfriend.” The snappish tone to Olivia’s voice is one I haven’t been on the receiving end of for a long time. The unease poking at my gut switches to the sharp press of a knife blade.
I frown. “What are you talking about? You’ve met Jess. You didn’t have any problems with her when she was interviewing you for the article. Why the change of attitude?”
Olivia and Cora have always been close as sisters. If Cora thought Savannah was a risk to Nova, Cora would have said something when she’d first suspected Savannah was Jess—wouldn’t she?
“God, Troy. When were you going to tell me that your girlfriend”—Olivia practically spits out the word—“spent the past seven years in a maximum-security prison?”
“It was five.” My voice is low and thick with warning. Not that it makes a difference if it was seven or five years. Either number will be bad in Olivia’s eyes. “What does that have to do with anything? If you know about that, then you know Jess wasn’t the one who murdered herabusivehusband.”
“Doesn’t matter. She still spent the last five years in that prison, fighting to stay alive. Fighting, Troy!” Olivia stabs me in the chest with her finger, punctuating each word.
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I suspect whatever it is, is based on lies and half-truths.
“Jess was a victim of a system that was supposed to protect her,” I say. “But instead of protecting her, it did nothing but fail her. You want to know how she ended up with PTSD? That’s how. She was abused by her husband and she was abused by inmates. Why? Because she never fought back. You know what would’ve happened if she had fought back in prison?”
