Ridin' Solo (Sisters From Hell Book 1), Marika Ray [librera reader txt] 📗

burning eyes to see her biting her lip. Izzy wasn’t doing much better with both hands on her cheeks and a rapid eye blink. As if we’d planned it, we all stood and moved to the middle of the room for a sister group hug, a not-so-silent sob coming from all of us.

It just hadn’t hit me until that moment. My little sister would soon have a teeny tiny baby who would sleep in our old crib. A baby who’d call me Auntie. A baby who’d be so spoiled by all of us that poor Titus would have his hands full. My sister, the one closest in age to me, was having a baby of her own. That kind of joy couldn’t be contained, it had to overflow as tears.

It wasn’t long before Mom joined the huddle, weeping openly and unashamedly. We wrapped our arms around her as best we could while wiping our tears.

“Wow. The estrogen in here is overwhelming,” Bain said dryly.

Lucy smacked him in the arm before blowing her nose and taking a picture of us in a messy huddle, flash and all.

“Okay, now crowd around the crib and I’ll get your picture with it,” Lucy directed us.

We all complied, laughing now at all the red-rimmed eyes and ruined mascara. Lucy took pictures, then dragged Dad into them, then just Amelia and Titus. All the while, I flicked glances at Wyatt, wondering if he’d be bored by all of this. Instead of looking for the door, he was eerily silent, watching our every move with a look on his face that made me want to cry for different reasons. Wyatt looked more alone than a woman nursing a scotch at the bar by herself.

“Now you and Amelia,” I suggested, taking the phone from Lucy and motioning for her, Finnie, and Lenora to get together with Amelia. “Say Hell Raisers!”

They shouted it, as I knew they would, right as I clicked the shutter.

“Time for cake!” shouted Esme, and we all ran to the kitchen, elbowing each other out of the way like we were kids again.

Fuck, I loved my sisters.

11

Wyatt

“You say you like it black, but I wonder if you’ve tried a hint of cream and a dash of sugar. It’s like dessert in liquid form.”

I handed the steaming Styrofoam cup to Oakley as she marched out the door of the station. She glanced over at it, lifting her nose in the air at the fussiness of it, but grabbed the cup out of my hands. She didn’t even break stride when she took a sip. I slid into the passenger side of the cruiser and wouldn’t have known if she liked the coffee I brought her if I hadn’t been studying her so intently these past few weeks. When she sipped the straight black coffee I’d brought her after asking about her preferred order, she’d take a tiny sip and set it down. She’d continue like that until she’d consumed half the cup. The rest would grow cold and she’d throw it out at our lunch break. With today’s liquid dessert coffee, she didn’t stop until she’d drained the whole cup.

Mental note: Oakley liked her coffee sweet, despite what she said. I wondered what else she liked despite what she said. Namely, the purple vibrator came to mind. She’d said she liked to ride solo, and yet I thought she might protest a bit too much to be truthful. These were things I’d have to ponder late at night when I had the luxury of letting my brain go there.

The rest of our shift went smoothly, she and I working together like a well-oiled machine. Ever since our friendship truce the weekend of the baby shower, I’d dialed back the teasing, and she’d thawed a bit of the icy exterior. We’d become true work partners. Everything at work was going exactly as I’d hoped when I’d set out on this path a few years back.

“Good night, Lieutenant,” Oakley called out, heading for her Grom.

I got in my truck and started it up, running a hand over my unshaved jaw while I waited for her to put her helmet on and head home. This had become my habit. I’d bring her little things like coffee and croissants to see that flash of a smile on her face. Then I’d strictly be her partner all day long and follow her home at night. If I couldn’t flirt with her, then I’d be the best damn friend she’d ever had.

She bent down low over the handlebars and hit the curves a bit too fast, if you asked me. I stayed far enough behind not to piss her off, but close enough to make sure no one missed her tiny bike on the road. By the time I pulled into my driveway, she was off the bike and heading into her house. She paused at the door and raised a hand to wave goodbye without looking back.

Well, shit. Guess she knew I was following her home every day. I shrugged and got out of the truck, heading into my dark house. Too bad. If she was going to ride that ridiculously unsafe motorcycle, somebody had to watch out for her safety.

Something strange and debilitating had hit me at the baby shower, turning me into a man I didn’t recognize. I’d watched her family interact like I was observing some unknown species at the zoo. They talked, they teased, they laughed, they cried, and they loved fiercely. The love was practically palpable. And so was the ache that had hit my chest and hadn’t let up since.

The way they interacted was so foreign to me I finally realized several days later that I was mourning a life I never had. A family dynamic I never experienced. My father had been so busy building his empire, he’d been as elusive as Santa Claus. Mom wasn’t much better with her charity functions and women’s luncheons. My sister and