Page 79 of Joey

“Done,” he says.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. That kind of loyalty I know how to do.”

I nod. “Yeah. I saw that immediately. You, and Huck, and Wald. You have that. That’s what I was after when I made this deal. I want that, Joey. With you.”

He pulls the car into a parking spot and turns it off. Smiles at me. “And done. Now let’s go buy a house.”

Buying a house cash is actually not that big of a deal. Like… it took twenty minutes. There were a few papers to sign—and yes, my name is on that deed. There were some handshakes. There was a little bit of talk about money, but not as much as I thought there’d be. Because the money was wired first thing this morning. The whole thing was pretty much done before we arrived.

When we get back into the car and start making our way over to the new house none of what happened this morning has sunk in yet.

Hell, yesterday hasn’t even sunk in yet. But it makes more sense than today does. Because yesterday Joey Boston felt like a stranger and today… well, he doesn’t.

And that’s the truly weird part.

“Here,” Joey says, handing me his phone. “Text Wald and let him know we’re on our way home. And give him the address.”

I look for Wald’s name in his contacts, but there is no Wald. I’m just about to ask about that when Joey laughs. “Oh, he’s in there under Dickface.”

“Oh, man,” I say. “I will never get tired of the antics of boys. Dickface it is.”

See, this is what I love the most about people. Little inside jokes. Ways in which you’re familiar with them and they’re familiar with you. Being able to call someone Dickface and everyone who matters understands it’s not an insult, it’s a term of endearment.

Because that lady at the Big Pharma company I was trying to lie my way into—I’d bet the new ring and the new house no one in her inner circle calls her Bitchface. Not to her face. And they certainly don’t put it in their phones unless they truly hate her.

She is not my people.

These guys are my people.

I text the address to Wald. Which I only remember because it’s one of those super simple, yet totally pretentious ones. Three nine Cherry Street.

That’s it. Three nine Cherry Street.

That’s my new address.

I sink into my chair and stare out the window as we make our way through the heavily-treed neighborhood to our new house.

When we pull up to the gate and I gaze up at the hillside house and the terraced gardens overflowing with greenery and flowers, my chest gets tight and my throat starts to ache.

The fairytale.

I know it’s not my fairytale, it belongs to Maisy Kane. She is the reason for everything today. But… I’m invested in it. I want her to have the best life ever. The one I never got. If I can’t get the fairytale, then my new mission is to make sure she does.

She’s so lucky. I don’t know what her life looks like right now. I have heard of the Kanes the same way I have heard of the Bostons. They’re in the media. They make headlines. Things like that.

But this… this is every girl’s dream.

And her father, Joey Boston, is the one making it happen.

Joey doesn’t notice my sudden silence because he’s punching in the gate code. And then we’re driving up the hill.

But it feels so surreal.

“Which parking space is mine?” he asks.

I sit up and snap out of my introspection. “Well, there are four of them.”