Page 69 of Pretty Little Scars

“We’re setting a date in the summer.”

“Wait,” Darby says before I can, “what’s the hurry? Christ, are youpregnant?”

I blow out a breath and push my hands through my hair.

“Hell no,” Ava says. “Definitely not pregnant. It’s just time.”

“Okay, before you piss your brother off to the point that Chad ends up dead and buried in a shallow grave, we need some girl time to talk about this. With Harper and Jules.”

The girl gang.

“I can go tonight,” Ava says. “Chad’s out of town.”

Darby already has her phone out, texting the others.

“I’m free,” Darby says as she stares at her screen. “Dr. Fisher told me to take off through the weekend, so I can even drink.”

“Harpsichord can be the driver, since she’s knocked up and all,” Ava says with a bright smile. “Score.”

“They’re in,” Darby announces, and then looks over at me. “I’m going out with the girls tonight.”

I lean back and cross my arms over my chest, grinning at her. “I heard.”

She presses her lips together.

“Come here, Duchess.”

Without hesitation, she moves over to me, and I pull her in for a hug and lower my lips to her ear.

“You never have to check with me before you make plans.”

“I know, but sometimes it’s considerate?—”

“Never,” I repeat before kissing her temple.

“Why are you two whispering?” Ava wants to know. “It’s rude.”

“You’re inmyhouse,” I remind my sister. “Uninvited.”

“Whatever.” My sister’s feelings aren’t hurt, she simply rolls her eyes. “You may own this place now, but it’ll always behome. At least I knocked. If you don’t want anyone in here, lock the damn door.”

“You have a key,” I remind her, and she grins as she finishes her muffin. “It would have taken me longer to get in, though.”

My own phone rings, and when I pull it out of my pocket, I see Xander’s name.

“I’ll be right back.”

I step out the back door and onto the porch and then answer.

“What’s up?”

“Just got back to Denver,” he says, and I can hear how tired my brother is. Professional hockey isn’t easy, and I know that it’s starting to wear on him. At thirty-two, he’s nearing the end of his career. “How’s everything at home? How’s Dad?”

“Dad’s doing really well, actually.”

Our father was diagnosed with diabetes last year, and it was a rocky-as-fuck time figuring out his sugar and medicines and monitoring everything. He had to learn a whole new way of eating, and Dad has one hell of a sweet tooth. Even Harper, who’s a nurse, moved home to help take care of him.

“But thereisnews,” I inform him.