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Relief and a profound sense of honor wash over me and I have to clear the tightening sensation out of my throat. “Is this a gay thing? 'Cause I've told Greg, he's hot and all but—"
"Shut up. We both know you're into me," Greg says.
Sam elbows Greg and gives us both her most serious glare. In her current state of adorable giant pregnancy, it does nothing but amuse me. "Knock it off with the manly crap. We all know how much this means to you both."
Oof. She sure knows how to call us out. It is a big deal. I know that. My eyes burn a little and I give a half smile to my best friend. "Means a lot. Thanks." Greg slaps my back in typical ‘I’m a man and don’t wanna cry fashion.' Secretly, I hope he can’t see the shine in my eyes so I quickly turn my attention to the giant container of pasta they brought me. Yet their stares linger, hinting that there’s more they want to say. "Yes?" I ask.
"Does your mom still live in Tahoe?" Sam asks. There’s a faux casualness in her question, like she’s only asking about the weather and not throwing all Tilly’s trust out the metaphorical window. I can see where this is going, and I'm not sure I like it. Tilly's words were clear: Tahoe was her journey to make, alone.
"You talked to Tilly," I state flatly.
Sam stands, cradling her swollen belly. "She's told me things about her family... and Greg's heard some stories. We're worried. Her family's trouble, Tommy. She shouldn't be there by herself."
Their intentions are good, I know that. But diving into the midst of Tilly's family drama, against her explicit wishes, is a line I'm not sure I should cross.
"You're asking me to spy on her. She'll hate that.”
Sam's eyes fill with tears, a sight I've become accustomed to given her pregnancy. But I am not immune to those giant hazel orbs giving me that begging look. Greg instinctively wraps an arm around her as she speaks. "I'm asking you to keep our girl safe. I know how much you care for her, and now that you guys are ‘speaking,’..." She trails off, letting the implication hang in the air. It's clear to me that Sam noticed the charged moment between Tilly and me when she caught us behind the counter. "Just go up there. Snowboard for a few days, see your mom, and keep an eye on her."
I'm shaking my head, the thought of betraying Tilly's trust gnawing at me. "She'll never forgive me if she finds out."
Sam's sniffling now but there’s a twinkle in her eye. Lord, she’s really trying here. "She will, Tommy. And if not, well, I'll take the blame. It won't even be a lie."
Greg reaches into his pocket and hands me a card. "Look man, I don’t want to worry you but…” He looks at Sam and she nods, encouraging him to continue. “We saw Tilly’s apartment. The shredded couch and all her clothes all cut up.”
“Did she say anything about it to you?” Sam asks. I quickly shake my head. Not my place to ask about stuff like that. If she offered the information up, I would have gladly tried to help. “Well, she said some stuff to me and—”
Taking her hand, Greg stops her. “Tilly changed her name like ten years ago. Her real name is Matilda Cardenas.” He says it like I’m supposed to know what it means, but I don’t. “Like the Cardenas family?” I blink my eyes and he rubs his forehead with his free hand. “Well, it’s not good. So I asked my buddy in the FBI to do some digging. There’s an open case for investigating Tilly’s family. So, I’ll just say this, if anything weird happens, just give this guy a call. He’s the one who’s running it." I glance down at the card. Ricardo Lopez, DEA agent.
Shock hits me like a thirty-foot wave. "DEA? Jesus. What’s next, the Men in Black show up to tell me you’re all aliens?"
The two of them laugh like I’m joking but this doesn’t feel funny to me at all. "Yeah, it’s some pretty serious stuff. Lopez is working with a detective from LA, Margarette something,” Greg says. But I’m barely listening. Staring at the card, I grapple with the implications. But quickly, the shock is replaced with something different. The business card shakes in my hand as I realize what it is. Anger.
The pieces all fit together. Tilly was running from her own family when she moved to Costa Rica. They’re the ones that slashed her couch and ruined all her clothes. I was almost certain it had something to do with her father before and now I'm positive.
"Fine." The word barely escapes my lips before Sam brightens up, her tear-stained face suddenly showing relief. There’s rage building in the pit of my stomach, flowing straight to my shaking hands. Tilly is in danger from her own goddamn family? "You planned this, didn't you? The free food, naming your baby after me, then asking for this favor?"
Reaching out, Sam touches one of my clenched fists. “We did, Tommy. But it's for the best.”
“But you really want to name your kid after me?” It’s silly to ask that now, but if it wasn’t true, I really don’t think I could forgive them. It means a lot to me.
“Of course! I wouldn’t joke about that, Tommy.” I feel a bit played, even if she had the best intentions. I still don’t necessarily like that they did it this way but the initial bout of anger is gone.
I chuckle with some of my relief. “Cause I’m the best surfer in the world, right?”
Greg laughs, the sound filled with warmth. "And they say surfers are dumb." He kisses Sam's forehead, then trails kisses down the bridge of her nose until their lips meet.
Returning to my burger, I mutter, "Ugh, not in front of my pasta, guys." But they only laugh at me. Seeing them, so in love and in such an exciting phase of their lives is heartwarming. Though it can be nauseating at times. Right now, it's a reminder of everything I don't have. Never before have I longed to see myself married with a kid on the way. But all of a sudden, it's all I can think of. Tilly, swollen with my kid growing inside her, teasing me about something as we laze around her house. "Holy shit," I say under my breath.
Both Greg and Sam stare at me. My face heats as I try to rub some of the terrifying visuals out of my mind through my neck. "Sorry, just uh, bit my tongue." It's lame and they both know it's a lie, but I go back to my food without another word. I'll need to sort through those unresolved feelings another time. Preferably when I don't have an audience.
Chapter eleven
Tilly
Stepping out of my rental car, the cold slaps me like a jockey in the last stretch of a furlong. My thin sweater, a last-minute purchase from Target, does absolutely nothing against the biting winds and snow of Lake Tahoe. A coat is definitely in my near future. With all my clothes in tatters, including my jackets, I didn’t even bother with a suitcase, anticipating a significant dent in my credit card by the end of this trip.
Trudging along the snow-covered walkway in sandals and jean shorts, I mumble some of the most creative curses under my breath. Things like "cock-suckin’ cold," and "fucking useless seasons." The ice building between the little blue sausages on my feet doesn’t seem to be the least bit offended, so I continue with a few more choice words like "bitch-ass snow." Yep. Still not warmer. I need a scotch to burn me from the inside out. It might sound like I’m the one being a bitch-ass, but I’m a beach bum, always have been. Anything below sixty degrees, and I'm usually found indoors under a few blankets.
