The Not-Outcast(84)

We were in.

Time to get fucking.

Chad didn’t know this, but when he got his phone back, he’d have to learn Hebrew. (Who really knew that language anymore? Besides priests and seminary students.) Everything would be password protected. I was pretty certain Sasha would be changing all his passwords to his social media, and from there, who knew how long she’d keep those accounts before letting him back in.

That was the tip of the iceberg of what Sasha was going to do.

I only hoped she didn’t post something to get Chad put on the FBI’s watch list, because I knew that was real.

And something she’d do.





44





Cut





Three hours later.

Four women were twerking in my kitchen when I walked inside.

I stopped in the entryway and glanced back. I had the right house, right?

Then, I started recognizing them.

Cheyenne was the one wearing the hockey pads with my Mustangs’ t-shirt underneath. She had a black ski-mask pulled down over her face, and her body I’d recognize under anything.

The blonde hair poking out from under a hockey helmet must’ve been the Not-Russian.

The black hair coming from underneath a goalie hockey helmet that a girl gifted me one time because she had no clue what position I played was Melanie.

The last one was a puzzle, until she did a flip and I recognized those arms. Cassie. She dug those elbows into my body on a regular basis.

Of course. I should’ve guessed immediately.

It took me a minute because she was wearing a gorilla mask. Where the fuck did they find a gorilla mask?

I shut the door, and all four gasped, whirling toward me.

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you heard, considering I could hear your music turning onto the block.” I lived at the end of my block. There were a lot of houses between here and there.

“OH MY GOD!”

Cheyenne pulled off her ski mask and looked ready to faint. She took a step backwards. “I completely lost track of time.” She glanced at the rest. “And I’m the sober one.”

As if they’d practiced, the other three all started laughing.

The vodka had been pulled out. The rum was next to it. Someone was drinking whisky, and a bunch of mixers were scattered over the kitchen island. The whole kitchen rank of booze.

“Hi, hi, hi.” Cheyenne came over, reaching up and giving me a kiss. “It was…uh…”

“Cheyenne.” The regular helmet was scowling.

The goalie helmet added, “Learn to lie, woman. It’s a good goal to have in life.”

“I know how to lie,” she hissed at them, her hands curling into my shirt. (The one I was wearing.) She looked back at them, then me, back at them, and swung right to me. She was chewing her lip as she did.

“What are you guys doing here?” I gave pity, asking instead.

“Oh, fuck.” Sasha stepped forward, pulling her helmet off. “We came over to mess with Chad’s phone.”

I let that sink in for a bit.

Then, looked down at Cheyenne, who waved. “Hi.”

Hi, my ass.

“Did you tell?”

“Only Sasha.”

Through the goalie helmet, “Uh, but now that I know there’s something to be told, she’s going to be telling me, too.”

I cut my gaze to Cassie, who had pulled off the gorilla mask. Her hair stuck up, frizzing. Her eyes were wide and she shook her head. “I won’t even ask. How about that?”

Jesus.

I bent my head down, my forehead resting against the side of Cheyenne’s head. “I sent him away for you.”

She turned more into me and whispered to my chest, “They won’t tell. I promise.”

Christ.

“That was for you.”

“I know, and I really appreciate it.” She lifted those eyes up to mine. A whole wave of something strong rushed through me. Then she added, “They’re my family.”

Fuck.

I groaned. “I’m going to regret this.”

“No, you won’t. I promise that, too.”

Still. I just sent someone out of the country whom I considered family, so my confidence was a little shaky on that front.

I hugged her, hard, because I needed that. “Okay. Trusting you.”

“Are you going to ask what we did with his phone?”

I didn’t know who asked that question, and I didn’t look up as I shook my head. “No way in hell.”

Someone whispered, “Plausible deniability.”





45





Cheyenne





Cut was leaving for an away game today, and waking up, I didn’t want to move from the bed. My bladder did, but my heart was holding firm.

I rolled over, and Cut was staring right at me. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Then, I grinned. “Not so long ago, I might’ve rolled to the floor and army-crawled to the bathroom before running and hiding behind the tree hedges on the sidewalk.”

His eyebrows went up. “That’s what you did that morning?”

I nodded. “Not my finest decisions.”

He grunted, then softened. “It worked out.”