Count Your Lucky Stars (Written in the Stars, #3)(84)

As soon as Olivia was out of the room, Margot stumbled back a step, the side of her foot throbbing from standing for too long. She lowered herself to the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets she and Olivia had been tangled up in not even half an hour earlier.

It couldn’t have been five minutes before Olivia returned, duffel bag bouncing against her hip with every step she took. She stopped a foot in front of Margot.

“You’re okay getting a ride back to town with someone else, right?” Olivia said, fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

“I’ll figure it out.” She’d ask Elle if she could catch a ride back with her and Darcy.

Margot blinked hard and fast. This was only a disagreement. Not the end of the world, even if it felt a little like it was.

The corners of Olivia’s mouth pinched, her lips flattening into a thin slash. Her throat jerked, and she adjusted the strap of her bag, hiking it higher on her shoulder. “Bye, Margot.”

Any iteration of goodbye felt too final, so Margot kept her mouth shut.

The floor creaked and the door shut with a soft snick and then—

Silence.

Margot was alone.





Chapter Twenty-One




Olivia gripped the steering wheel until the leather groaned, a pull in the cover’s stitching biting into the side of her thumb. The for sale sign posted in the thatch of grass beside the mailbox wasn’t a surprise, but actually seeing it with her own two eyes put an unexpected lump in the back of her throat as she pulled into the driveway beside Dad’s Volkswagen and cut the engine.

It was real. Not that she’d honestly believed Brad had the ability or inclination to fabricate a real estate listing—not only did he lack the skills, but he was too lazy to go to such lengths just to . . . what? Prank her? Piss her off? Brad couldn’t even bother to hunt down a garage door opener by himself—but there’d been a tiny part of her that hadn’t wanted to believe it. That had refused to believe it on principle. Dad had always been a man of few words, never the most forthcoming, not even about the small things. But this? This wasn’t small. This was big, and—why hadn’t he told her?

Time to find out.

Olivia hopped out of the car, the door rattling when she slammed it with a touch too much force. Instead of heading immediately up the drive, she walked over to the for sale sign and flipped the lid on the attached plastic box full of flyers. There was only one left, and it was a little damp, the edges of the paper rippled from all the moisture. The ink was blurry, making the copy read as if the house had eight bedrooms instead of three. Paper clutched tightly in her fist, Olivia made a beeline for the front door, pulse ratcheting as she took the porch steps two at a time. Little flecks of black paint stuck to her skin when she rapped her knuckles against the door.

The gauzy curtain beside the front window fluttered, Dad probably curious to see who was banging on his door.

“Livvy.” Dad’s smile fell at the look on her face. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be—”

Olivia shook the flyer in his face. “The better question is why I had to find out you were selling the house from Brad.”

“Brad?” Dad’s head snapped back, eyes widening. “Why are you talking to Brad?”

A flush crept up the front of her throat. To make up for it, she stood a little straighter, lifting her chin. “That is entirely beside the point. Were you ever planning to tell me you were selling the house or was I just going to be in a for a rude awakening the next time I came to visit?”

Dad heaved a sigh and gripped the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Liv. You usually call before you visit . . .”

Her back teeth clacked together. She was getting really tired of being told she was being ridiculous or that she was overreacting when all she wanted was a straight answer.

“I called. I called twice. I left you a voicemail,” she said. “You didn’t pick up.”

Dad grimaced. “Ah, damn. I think I left my phone in the car.”

He still hadn’t answered her question, the big, overarching one, the one that had brought her here. “And the house?”

Dad scraped his hand over his jaw and gave another weary-sounding sigh before stepping back from the door, gesturing for her to come inside. “You want something to drink? I think I still have a box of that tea you like floating around in the cabinet somewhere.”

She wanted answers, not tea. But if she was going to drink anything, it needed to be a whole heck of a lot stronger than chamomile.

“You know what?” She set her hands on her hips. “I think I’d like one of the beers you keep in the fridge in the garage you think I don’t know about. Thanks.”

Dad headed down the hall without a word, returning a minute later with an uncapped bottle in each hand. At least it was light beer, better for him than the regular kind.

She took her bottle with a tight smile. “Thanks.”

Dad nodded to the sofa before taking a seat in his recliner, the one that was older than she was. He took a long pull of his beer and she did the same, wrinkling her nose at the taste. She’d never been much of a beer drinker, but over the last few weeks, she’d gotten used to the flavor of the dark, bitter brews Margot favored. This tasted like water by comparison.

Dad must’ve seen her make a face because he snorted. “Weak, huh?”