Chapter 7

Faye

A passing wind chills my arms and legs like I left a window open or fell asleep outside. Shit. The whispering of quiet voices is what wakes me. I’m immediately assaulted by the sizzle of pop rocks and the smell of sugary cherries. Before I squint an eye open, I listen. My neck is stiff and crooked sideways, while my head barely holds on to the throw pillow I stuffed under it.

“She has diamonds on the corners of her eyes,” I hear in a shouted whisper. “Lark, how did she get diamonds on her face like that? It must be glue, right?”

It’s been a handful of days since that first night at Midnight Proof. I’ve done two more shows since and find comfort in the late nights that I’ve gotten used to keeping. Luckily, there haven’t been more surprise appearances from anyone with the last name Foxx. But I can’t figure out why I’m not more relieved.

The porch swing sways and dips as the saccharine smell gets closer. Damn, it’s cold. Even on the enclosed porch. I didn’t plan to sleep out here, but I sat down, needing to clear my head after last night’s show. I’d been thinking too hard about seeing Lincoln Foxx again—I don’t know why I had assumed it wouldn’t matter. I took his threat all those years ago seriously, and it had left me angry. But if I’m being honest with myself, it was an out. I don’t know how I could have stayed and pretended like everything was fine after what happened that night. How would I have stuck to my plans and built a life where my perfect blueprints had become so diluted and smudged?

So, I was reeling about all that mess that is my life, why I cared that he hadn’t come to another show, and then fell asleep. Now I shiver as the crisp morning air licks at my skin, goosebumps raising along my bare arms. Where’s the blanket I had wrapped around me?

“She has tattoos on her arm. Almost all the way up to her shoulder,” a quiet voice says. I feel the lightest touch of a finger tracing the vine and flowers that wrap around my arm. “So pretty,” she whispers to herself. Then she whisper-shouts, “LARK.”

I open my eyes to look at the human alarm clock. Her head is turned toward the front of the house, so she doesn’t see me watching her. Her dirty-blonde curly hair is a stark contrast to the color of her father’s. I hadn’t realized that time would make them older too, but it isn’t hard to recognize her as the youngest of Lincoln’s girls. “Lark, come see the diamonds.”

“They’re rhinestones,” I say, sounding groggier than expected.

She yelps and the packet of pop rocks explodes over the both of us as the porch swing sways haphazardly. Gripping onto my arms, she keeps herself from falling butt first onto the porch floor. “Crocs and rocks, lady. You scared the sparkle right out of me.”

It’s well past sunrise, but it’s cold. Kentucky seasons like to play in the extremes. Summers are humid and balmy, while winters love to lay a shock to the system. This morning has a bite to it.

My voice sounds like I swallowed gravel when I ask, “Good. Who are you? And what are you doing on my porch?”

She stands up, and her bright pink puffy coat practically blinds me. “My name is Lily Bernice Foxx,” she says with all the attitude she can conjure.

It’s not bad enough that he lives across the street, but his spawn is nosy. I forgot that Fiasco’s like this—minimal personal boundaries disguised as warm welcomes.

“And this is Maggie’s porch.”

A suctioning empty sound echoes around the porch, coming from the cup that looks an awful lot like mine gripped in the other blonde’s hands. “Did you just drink my water?”

The girl smiles, and instead of saying anything in response, she looks at the front door and walks right into the house.

I glance back at Lily, who’s looking at a palm full of small rocks. “You two realize this isn’t your house, right?”

Lark comes back out, the screen door opening wide and slamming shut behind her, before she hands me a new glass of water.

Lily perches on the railing. “You’re Maggie’s sister.”

“Faye Rose Calloway,” I answer with my full name, just like she did. Stretching my arms up above my head, I try to break free from the haze of sleep. It isn’t the first time I’ve fallen asleep on the porch swing since I’ve been here, but it’s the first time I didn’t wake up and go inside. This spot had been one of my mom’s favorite places—Maggie and I would doze with her out here on lazy Sundays in the summers when it was just the three of us. That feels like a lifetime ago now.

Lily gasps and whispers my middle name to herself, “Rose.”

“I remember you,” Lark says while side-eyeing her sister. Perched on the porch railing, the girl emanates all the Foxx features—blue eyes, confident stature, a small divot on her chin and a scowl that looks eerily familiar. Her hair color and paler skin must be from her mother’s side. I follow her line of sight out into the rows of corn. “Cool t-shirt, by the way,” she says.

I look down at my tank top, not remembering what I’m wearing. And then I say, “I remember you too. You must have good taste. This is one of my favorites.” I pluck at my shirt. “Freddie Mercury was fabulous.”

I glance at Lily, who’s focused on a collection of rocks in her palm. “Did you find those or buy them?”

Nodding, she holds each one up. “Agate, calcite, and I’ve been trying to find celestite.” She holds up a larger one. “Geodes are my favorite. I found this one in a gem shop.”

“Beautiful,” I say as she hands it to me. I turn it over in my hand. The craggy inside of purple crystals is sharp, but the outside is smooth, brown, and gray.

“That one helps keep away negative energy. Mrs. Davis, my science teacher, says that rocks don’t have that kind of power. That they’re the product of ‘pressure and time,’ but I really just think she needs one of these in her pocket.” She smiles, waving her hands. “Too much negative energy.”

I can’t help but smile back.

Lily nods to the one I’m holding. “My mom gave me that one.”

Lark mumbles out, “Lots of good that did for her.”

A small pink rock gets tossed her way. “Hey, captain of the attitude team, hold that one and give it a rub.”

She throws it back to Lily, but instead of either of them getting mad or dwelling on any of it, they both laugh lightly, and Lily puts it back in her pouch. I remember when it was easy like that with my sister. Get mad, fight it out, move on. It was so simple back then.

Lark asks, “Did you ever see that movie about the guy who built the baseball field in his cornfield?”

The question throws me off. I glance at my phone—just after ten in the morning means I’ve gotten less than five hours of sleep. But I know exactly what she’s talking about. Kevin Costner, before he was a rancher, was a farmer in Iowa building a baseball field, believing that if he did, the greatest baseball player of all time might show up and play on it.

“I have. A few times, actually. Seems like a bit of an old movie for you.” I study the way she stares into that field, resting her chin on her knees. “Did you like it?”

“Parts of it,” she says. “That if you believe in something, listen to your gut, it’ll work out in the end.”

I feel those words— listen to your gut . It’s not often I’m in the presence of kids to have these kinds of conversations. I don’t lead the kind of life where I’ve been around very many of them, and I definitely wouldn’t expect for one to say something that hit as hard as that.

“My mom used to say that to me.” I peek over at her. “To do what feels right and that it’ll all work out.” It’s not lost on me how ironic that is, considering how things unraveled for her. For us.

“I liked your mom. Shelby,” she says with a smile as she plays with the ends of her sleeve. “The horses always listened to her, and she made Griz laugh so hard that he would turn red.”

Maggie leans against the screen door and interrupts, “Hey, little Foxx ladies, want a smoothie?”

They both dart their attention to each other, and then glance at me before Lily hides her face and makes a barfing sound.

“What kind of smoothie?” I ask curiously, chuckling at her reaction.

Maggie barks out a laugh and says, “Fuck off, Faye.” She takes a sip of her smoothie and then mumbles, “The offer wasn’t meant for you.”

That’s the most words I've gotten out of Maggie since I dropped my bag inside the front door, and she realized I was serious about staying here. She’s doubled down, really leaning into being an asshole. Maybe the silent treatment was better.

Lily clears her throat. “That’s five dollars, Maggie,” she says without even looking up.

Lark whispers to me, “You don’t want the smoothie. It’s green and smells like feet.”

Maggie huffs, walking away from the screen, and I can’t help but crack another smile. A woman in her mid-twenties having temper tantrums is nothing if not entertaining.

“Aren’t the two of you supposed to be in school,” she yells from inside.

I look between them.

Before I can ask any more about it, the loud slamming of a truck door has the three of our heads whipping toward the driveway. “Lark and Lily Foxx. You’ve got to be kidding me. I watched both of you get on the bus for school thirty minutes ago. And then I catch sight of two girls about the same age as my two girls over here. One of them has a pink puffy jacket, and I say to myself, that can’t be Lily Bernice Foxx. She’s in school right now. Who could the other, older and more mature one next to her be? Definitely not her sister, Lark. That would be impossible.”

His sarcastic tone has me biting back a smile and my stomach swooping as if I’m in trouble too. It’s the same feeling I had when I saw him the other night.

Lark mumbles, “We’re in so much trouble.”

Lily shouts, “Dad, youuu said sometimes you have to make your own rules. So that’s what we’re doing.”

He barely glances at me, but with his attention on his daughters, I take advantage and my eyes wander. In the broad light of day, Lincoln Foxx is beyond handsome. A full head of dark hair, which is a luxury for most men dancing around forty. I always remembered him as more clean shaven, but now his sideburns blend into stubble. Everyone who has a pulse feels his confidence and more than recognizes that he’s the prettiest Foxx. And somehow, he’s improved. Light blue eyes behind dark-framed glasses make me want his attention even more. Why I didn’t tell him to fuck off the other night is beside me. But right now, in dad-mode and pissed off, he’s disturbingly sexy. It would be so much more convenient for him to be aging poorly.

I’ve done plenty of questionable things and made some morally gray decisions throughout my life. I knew someday I’d have to answer for them. I hadn’t realized that karma would be dressed in Wranglers and a crisp black shirt and dark wool coat, ignoring my presence.

A chill works its way down my arms and around my legs, reminding me that I’m outside and not dressed for the winter weather.

The default emotion whenever I think too long about Lincoln Foxx is a combination of hate and annoyance. We both painted each other into corners. I hate that he was there that night. I hate what that night made me. I hate that he saw it, accepted it, and kept it a secret. I hate that at the core of it—of all the shit people I’d come across—the person I chose to hold a grudge against was probably the most honorable. It’s annoyingly inconvenient.

His gaze shifts to me for a brief moment and, oh yeah, hate and annoyance are mirrored right back to me. “Why are you here?”

I look around the porch. “This is technically still my house. Well, half of it, at least. Why are you here?”

Letting out a sarcastic laugh, he rubs his hand behind his neck as he repeats the question to himself more quietly. “Why am I here?” He looks at both of his girls. “Let’s go,” he bites out from the bottom of the porch steps.

But Lark chimes in, “Dad, please can we just take the day?” Her hands clasp together in prayer. “We all need mental health days.”

I try to mask my amusement. She’s right. We all did, but I don’t think her dad’s buying it. Especially not after seeing me here talking with them.

“I don’t know what you’re smiling at.” My eyes connect with his when I realize he’s talking to me.

I raise my eyebrows.

“When I’m done handling this,” he says, pointing at his girls, “you and I are going to have a little chat.”

I shake my head no with a smile at the audacity. “I don’t think so, Foxx?—”

His dimples pinch as he smirks right back, like my words were meant to be funny. Looking down at the porch floor, his hands glide into his jacket pockets. “Lily and Lark, get in the car.”

One of them starts up again. “Oh, c’mo?—”

“Now,” he clips back in a tone firm enough that it makes me sit just a few centimeters taller. The girls hustle down the stairs, but Lily stops and turns, hustling back up the steps.

Quietly, she says, “Here. This one is supposed to give you courage. Don’t lose it, okay?” She tosses the gray rock next to me. When it bounces and flips over, the ragged purple crystals land face up.

I clamp my lips together, trying to keep the amusement off my face as she walks away, but as I shift my attention, I meet her father’s glare of disapproval.

“Do not go anywhere,” he says, pointing at me.

“You’re trespassing,” I clap back. They’re the same words I said to him five years ago in that cornfield. He doesn’t miss it by the narrowing of his eyes.

Shaking his head, his hands meet his hips. “You’re a fucking peach,” he mumbles.

Why does it feel so satisfying to piss this man off? “I’m not a fan of pet names, Foxx.” I scrunch my nose at him. “Sorry.”

His deep voice pitches an octave lower. “I want you gone.”

I stand up, letting the blanket that had fallen in my lap drop to the floor. The cropped Queen tank hits just above my navel, but below is nothing more than a pair of tiny sleep shorts. Lower than that is a pair of fuzzy socks hiked to my knees, but I don’t think he gets that far. His gaze snaps to everywhere there’s bare skin—my arms, then my waist, and to my thighs. So predictable.

“You sure about that, Foxx?” I glance at his legs and up toward his belt, letting my gaze linger, just to irritate him further.

Swallowing roughly, he looks over his shoulder at the Jeep. But instead of walking that way, he charges up the stairs, stopping right in front of me. “Those two little girls are my entire world. A decent set of tits and perky ass doesn’t mean I’ll forget that you’re not the kind of person I want anywhere near them.” He looks down the front of me and back up, meeting my eyes and searing me to the spot. “So yeah, I’m sure.”

I wish his words didn’t sting as much as they did.

“You have no idea what kind of person I am,” I say on less than sturdy footing as I brush past him and through the front door, kicking it closed behind me.

I huff out a breath as I lean against the door. Frustrated, angry, and...hurt. Dammit, I loathe feeling hurt more than anything.

Trying to shake it off, I take the stairs two at a time and head right into the bathroom. With blurry eyes, I turn on the shower, whip off my clothes, and bat away a tear that falls unwantedly. When I step into the low-pressure spray, I let the hot water seep in and drown out his words— you’re not the kind of person I want anywhere near them . Jesus, what did I expect? I blackmailed him, and he told me to never come back.

Jolting me from my spiraling, Maggie pounds on the bathroom door, shouting, “Don’t use all the hot water!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and suck in a deep, grounding breath. What the hell was I thinking coming back here?