I quickly delete the message. This isn’t good news, and I can’t ignore this feeling in my gut that says it’s somehow connected to what happened to me. Colton helped me dodge a bullet when he stole those paintings. I knew what I’d done and didn’t want Nelson to close that deal. The theft saved me from falling deeper into the seedy part of Nelson’s world. It saved me from falling deeper under his control.
If my injuries weren’t the result of a domestic dispute with Colton, I can’t help but wonder if someone was trying to kill me to get to those paintings. Or worse, because they didn’t want me around to admit they’re forgeries. If the latter is true, they probably still want me dead.
I can hear my niece playing in the tub down the hall, the water splashing as she sings Disney songs. I know what I need to do.
I don’t reply to Tate. I haven’t talked to him in years, and I’m not interested in changing that until I’m sure it’s necessary. Instead, I pack a bag.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks when I go downstairs to say goodbye.
“Some of the girls from Loyola invited me to Chicago for the weekend.” I feel guilty about the lie, but I’d feel worse knowing she was worried about me. “It was a last-minute thing, and I thought it might be nice to get out of the house for a few days.”
She beams. She’s wanted me to spend more time with friends—friends I didn’t know in Jackson Harbor, at least. I knew this would make her happy. “You have somewhere to stay?”
I nod. “I have a few options.”
She hugs me. “Don’t drink too much, okay?”
“I won’t, Mom.” I’m twenty-six years old, but my mom has been treating me like a vulnerable teenager. I can’t blame her, but now I need to stop letting her protect me.
Now I need to protect my family.
Levi
“Holy shit. She’s back.”
I look up from my beer and follow Molly’s gaze to the front of Jackson Brews. Ellie. Walking into my family’s bar—home of her girls’ nights, home of countless jokes and laughs with friends, home. I’ve dreamed it. I’ve willed it. And she stayed away, but now she’s here.
I’m not sure I’m breathing. I’m not sure I’m even awake or if I’m in my bed sound asleep.
“We should call Ava. She’d want to see her,” I say, trying to take the focus off what I know Molly is thinking—how fucking thrilled I am to see her here.
Molly studies me. “Ava will have her turn.”
Ellie wanders to the bar and stands there, looking around the place with big, wide eyes. Is she trying to remember? Does being here trigger any memories for her? I want her to remember everything. And then I want her to explain.
“Are you going to go get her or not?” Molly asks. “Hell, if you don’t, I’ll do it for you.”
I put my hand on her arm, stopping her as she scoots out of the booth. “Don’t.”
She winces. “Right. Because I’m still the bad guy.”
I grimace. “Nobody thinks that.”
She stares into her beer, and her blue eyes fill with tears. “It’s fine.”
“Molly . . .”
She shakes her head, and when she looks up at me, I see the anguish she’s been carrying around for weeks. Months. “This is all my fault. I never should have come back here.” She closes her eyes, and tears slip out. “I never should have told Colton the truth.”
“What choice did you have?” I ask softly. “Were you planning to stay away forever?”
“Pretty much.” Her shoulders sag, and she blows out a long breath.
I squeeze her hand then stand and make my way across the bar to see Ellie. She’s dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt, her hair pulled into a high ponytail. Ellie always preferred heels to tennis shoes and skirts to pants. It helped me pretend the attraction I felt toward her was superficial. She was a beautiful woman who took care of herself. Who wouldn’t be drawn to her? I survived through compartmentalization—my fantasies about my best friend’s girl were locked away in this little section of my brain, and my affection for her as a friend was over there in that other section. As long as the two didn’t intertwine, it was fine.
Except it wasn’t. By the time my true feelings were even remotely acceptable—and that’s stretching it—I was already in love with her. Not lust. Not infatuation. I had two and a half years of seeing her nearly every day and knew she was so much more than the long legs and great tits I’d been ready to seduce the night we met. She was everything, and I lost her.
“You look a little like you’ve seen a ghost,” I say, taking the spot next to her at the bar.