We step out of the car and walk stride for stride into the house. A commotion erupts as soon as the door shuts behind us—talking and laughing. We take a quick right, leading us into the dining room with a massively long table lined with people down each side, drinks in front of them. In the middle sits a variety of food bowls and plates.

“Everyone,” Cassidy announces, “this is Lincoln. We work together, and since my car decided it was done being my friend, he was kind enough to give me a ride.”

We work together.

I gulp.

Is working together worse than saying we’re friends?

Hell yes, it is.

An older version of Cassidy and Sierra stands and immediately wraps Cassidy into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much, honey.”

“Mom,” Cassidy says, squeezing her, moving side to side, “you saw me the other day.”

“Yes, but I miss my kids every day.”

When they pull away, Cassidy runs her hand along my arm. “Lincoln, this is my mother, Nancy.”

From the stories I’ve been told and her appearance, Nancy is the opposite of my mother—your classic homemaker.

I suck in a startled breath when Nancy hugs me next, slapping my back a few times. “It’s so nice to meet you, and I appreciate you giving her a ride. Our family dinners mean so much to us.”

“Are you kidding me?” someone says when Nancy pulls away.

All attention shifts to a man at the table, sporting an officer uniform and a cold glare slapped straight in my direction.

Cop.

Criminal.

Bad combo.

“Cass,” he says, his voice harsher but his eyes not leaving me, “a word.”

“Nope,” Cassidy chirps as if the mood in the room hasn’t shifted into darker territory. “Whatever it is can wait until later.” A frown of dismay briefly crosses her face before she forces a smile while also shooting daggers at the guy.

She knows what he’s pissed about.

Everyone’s attention hops between the three of us, watching the show with curiosity.

“Cassidy,” he grinds out, slamming his napkin onto the table.

I open my mouth, prepared to tell him if he has an issue with me, to take it up with me, not Cassidy. leave if I’m not welcome. Cassidy shouldn’t have to fight that fight for me.

The blonde next to him smacks his arm and shoots him a glare stronger than the one Officer Jackass is giving me, but he pays no attention.

“Kyle,” Nancy warns, her tone stern but her voice light and sweet, “we are having dinner. You can talk to your sister later.”

Cassidy delivers a smug look at him.