Play Fair (The Devil's Share Book 3)(3)

I grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, smelling it before pulling it over my head. “Good luck, baby doll.”

“Thanks. Same time as usual?”

B and I had a standing phone call date at nine o’clock. “You know it. Peace.” I tossed my phone onto the blue plaid bedspread and opened my bedroom door. Blue plaid. Not something I would ever choose for myself, but freeloaders can’t be choosers. The label had set the band up in this amazingly large and very Truman Show-ish house down in Florida. The tour was over but here we were, all living under the same roof.

Smith, our bassist and my closest friend, walked in and started looking around, confused. “Who were you talking to?”

I jerked my head in the direction of the TV. “Game.” No one knew that Bryan and I were friends. Smith had started searching for us like a madman when we’d wandered off at the music festival. He didn’t trust me alone with her, not even for a second. That’s why we figured it was easier this way. It’s not like any of them would understand. She lived hundreds of miles away and I was Jacks, the perpetual partying man whore. They wouldn’t think I was capable of being friends with a smokin’ hot chick. “What’s up, man?”

Smith took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of my bed. “Look, there is no easy way to say this. So…I’m just going to say it.”

Smith seemed like he was about to pass out. Holy shit. Did someone die? “Okay…” I grabbed a pair of pants off the back of a chair. Yeah, I liked to play video games in my briefs.

“There is a social worker in the living room. With a little girl. That looks a hell of a lot like you, bro.”

I paused with one leg in my pants, Smith’s words slowly sinking in. Nope. I shook my head and let out a little chuckle. “Haha. Very funny, man.” I pulled them up the rest of the way and buttoned. “What’s really going on?” I stared at him, willing him to smile. Wordlessly commanding him to tell me he was joking. He didn’t. He just stood there, silent and stoic. For some reason those words started to play on a loop in my head. Silent and stoic. Silent and stoic.

“No joke, man. There is a social worker downstairs, with a little girl, looking for you.” Smith clasped his hand on my shoulder and steered me out the door.

I couldn’t talk, I felt paralyzed. If Smith hadn’t been guiding me, I wouldn’t have been able to put one foot in front of the other. Silent and stoic, down the hall. Silent, down the stairs. Stoic, around the corner. I kept my eyes on the ground. I was afraid to look. Almost like when I was a kid and I was watching a scary movie. If I didn’t see it, it wasn’t real.

“Mr. Cole?”

Dammit. Now I had to look. A pretty older lady in a very professional pantsuit stood from her seat on the couch. “Yes?”

“My name is Diane Harris. I’m a social worker…do you know why I am here?”

I heard her talking. Like, I knew she was talking to me and that I should answer. But I couldn’t seem to look away from the little girl standing next to her. She had huge blue eyes, a button of a nose, and jet black hair. She was tiny, thin.

“Mr. Cole? Did you hear me?”

The little girl narrowed her eyes at me, her mouth a hard line. Was she giving me a go-to-hell look? “No. I’m sorry… I actually don’t know why you are here…” I tore my gaze from the girl with beautiful tough eyes and looked over at the social worker.

Smith stayed right by my side, never saying anything, just standing there next to me and looking at the child. I didn’t know what to say to either of them. I didn’t know if it was okay to freak out in front of the kid. Luckily Dylan, his girlfriend and Bryan’s sister, walked in and kneeled down by the little girl. The little girl that could be my twin. “Hi, sweetheart. My name is Dylan, what’s yours?”

The girl looked right at Dylan, no wavering. “Landry.”

Landry. I actually really liked that name. I mentally shook my head. Not really what I should be focusing on right now.

“Well, Landry, it’s very nice to meet you.” She stood. “I just made a huge pile of chocolate chip pancakes, would you like some?”

Landry cocked her head to the side, “No, thank you. I don’t eat chocolate for breakfast.”

Dylan’s smile faltered slightly before she recovered. “Uh, okay. Well, there is still some batter left…. Can make you some without chocolate?”

Landry looked up at the social worker, not in an asking-permission type of way. More like she was observing her thoughts on the matter of chocolate-free pancakes. Then she looked to me. Her pretty blue eyes narrowed again. Shit. This kid was not a fan of mine. She silently let Dylan lead her out of the room.

My eyes went to Smith when he cleared this throat. “We’ll just be in the kitchen if anyone needs us.” He sent me a small smile and then left me alone in the living room with the pretty social worker.

“Mr. Cole—”

“Jacks. Please, call me Jacks.” I held my hand out, a polite gesture for her to sit. I sat. I had to. My knees felt like they would buckle at any second.

She followed suit, and then opened up her briefcase and pulled out a bunch of very official-looking papers. “Jacks, do you remember a woman by the name of Amelia Johnson? You would have met her in Louisiana?”

Laughing would probably be the most inappropriate response imaginable. But that’s what I felt like doing. Did she know who she was talking to? I was in a famous-as-f*ck rock band. I met lots of women. “No, ma’am, I can honestly say I do not.”