Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones Book 1)(42)
What the fucking hell?
“I didn’t break up with Lilah,” I tell her. “And I can’t picture Lilah crying. She’d be beating my head in with a frying pan, but not crying.”
She makes a disgruntled sound. “She never wanted to date,” she says on a sigh. “This is all my fault. I kept pushing her into it. Now you’ve gone and ruined her. I doubt she’ll ever date again.”
A long, sad sigh follows that, with a dramatic huff tacked on for good measure, letting me know she’s truly disappointed in me.
“Penny, I swear to you, I haven’t broken up with Lilah. And I don’t want to,” I growl, making sure no one can hear me as I go outside, eyeing Lilah’s red flag that is waving in the air with a dead chipmunk on it.
An image of a dead chipmunk, that is. Not an actual dead chipmunk.
Why a chipmunk? Because the Wilders have raccoons on their yellow flags, and the Vincents are a tier or two below on the crazy corner scale from them.
Because this is Tomahawk.
It’s how we do things.
Penny is silent for a moment. A really long moment.
“Just let me talk to her, please. I’m sure this is all one seriously screwed up misunderstanding.”
She sighs long and loud. Again. “Is your family there? Is that why you can’t go over there yourself? Her flag is up.”
Sometimes I’d like to choke this woman…
“I know her flag is up. I can see it from here, which is why I asked you to go over there. And yes, I’m busy and can’t go over there.”
“Why wouldn’t you invite her over if your family is there? Is my niece not good enough for them?” There’s a harsh edge to her tone that I’ve never heard her use before.
“No. Of course not. It’s nothing like that,” I answer, confused about why she would even assume that.
“Then what is it?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“It’s a long story. I need to talk to Lilah so I can stop worrying about—”
The door opens, and I look back to see my brother poking his head out. “There’s a Janet here to see you. Says she brought cupcakes to help with your breakup.”
“Janet Lowery?!” Penny screams in my ear, forcing me to hold the phone away or go deaf. “Janet is good enough for your family, but not my Lilah?! And everyone knows you don’t bring cupcakes to anything but a celebration. That little brat is celebrating!”
Kill me now.
“No, Penny, that’s not—”
“Fear the wrath of the Vincents, Benson Nolans,” Penny seethes. “I’m turning them loose on you now. No more mercy.”
She hangs up on me, and I quietly remind myself that I love Tomahawk because of the crazy people who live here. Though in this moment, I wish there was some sanity.
I stalk toward the front door where Janet is waiting. “I’ll give you two seconds to leave, and I won’t tell Lilah you showed up. We’re still together.”
Her eyes widen in horror before she drops the cupcakes and darts back to her Mustang, squealing out in reverse before her door even fully shuts. Another car is trying to pull up—I think it’s Jessica Sparks—and Janet pokes her head out to yell at her.
“They’re not broken up! Lilah will kill you! Or worse, turn her brothers loose!”
Typically, these girls would be considered the town’s “mean girls,” but in Tomahawk, crazy trumps mean any day of the week.
Jessica squeals out just as fast, the two vehicles narrowly dodging a collision with each other.
“For heaven’s sakes, just who is this Lilah?” my mother asks, too intrigued for her own good now.
Annoyed, I go back to trying to figure out what to do. I need to just drive over there, but now isn’t the best time. My family is already too curious about Lilah. The last thing I need is for them all to collide.
I should have just been upfront with Lilah about the complications, but it’s a little fucking late for that now.
My doorbell rings as I try calling Bill, hoping he will be more practical than Penny.
“Run,” is what he says when he answers. Then he hangs up on me before I can get a word in.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“He’s still with Lilah,” I hear my brother saying, seconds before someone squeals and runs away. “That’s just fascinating,” he adds, amused as he shuts the door.
“What the hell is going on around here?” my stepfather asks, a small smile on his lips. “You finally back in the saddle, champ? Is that why you cut off that horrid beard?”
Sadie bristles, my brother smiles, and my mother claps her hands together in glee.
“I’ve been in the saddle for years,” I point out dryly. “It’s not like that. I’m dating someone—”