Well, if he doesn’t get it now, he sure as fuck is going to understand in about two minutes.

“Fuck you,” he says as I walk toward the door.

I stop and hang my head down as a chuckle falls from my mouth that clearly says the same thing back to him. I let the silence eat up the room. Allow him to think this is all there is going to be.

And then I drop the hammer.

“You may have paid your debts back. But I think you forgot about the interest you owe them. I guess I’ll let someone else do my dirty work for me after all.”

I open the door and walk out of the apartment, a part of me wishing I could see the expression on his face, the other part of me never wanting to see him again. Holding my hand up, I ask the guys standing a few feet away to give me a minute. A goddamn second to catch my breath and figure out how the fuck I feel about getting but not getting what I wanted.

Because yes, I got my answers. Got them tied up with a nice little bow that normally I’d question the ease in which he confessed them. But I know that fucker inside out. I worked with him for years, watched him across the table from me in mediation and on the stand during the trial, can read him like a fucking road map. Do I question the answers’ validity? Not enough to care because he was so itching to one-up me. Desperate to prove he stuck it to me in the end—got me back—that he was so amped up on the high of it, there was no way in hell he’d be able to spin the truth.

So yes, I’m good with his explanations. But fuck if I’m not struggling with giving him what he deserves by my own hand. Rylee. The reason. The answer. The goddamn everything. That’s why I have to be okay with this outcome. With someone else doing my dirty work to reach the same endgame.

And when I look up, they are there, ready and willing to do it for me. And for them. Three fuckers solid as tree stumps. Scary shit to owe money to these guys.

“You have five minutes to collect your interest before Kelly calls the cops. Make sure he’s alive when they get here. He seems to be in violation of a restraining order.”

Fucker has no idea what’s about to hit him. Fairly sure it’ll wipe the smarmy smirk off his face.

I think he’ll welcome going back to jail after they get done with him.

I meet Sammy’s eyes. I see the question there. You’ve wanted a piece of Eddie for so damn long, why are you walking away now?

But Sammy knows why. Probably can still hear the fury in my voice from the hospital all these days later. Her. Safety. Comes. First.

And if not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to justify shit to anyone. I have two perfectly good reasons at home. They’re what matters. My end all, be all.

The reason I’ll never stop trying to be the man deserving of them.

I just shake my head and slide into the waiting car. I’ve wasted enough time on Eddie fucking Kimball.


Eddie will not be bugging you again. He’s in custody.


My feet stop as I look at the text. I need a minute.

Fuck, I need more than a minute. I need to drown myself in a fifth and take a whole goddamn evening to swim in it. So I can brood. Be that cocky asshole I used to be and not give a fuck about anything or anyone.

But I can’t.

So I sit down on the step to the front door and sigh, close my eyes, hang my head, and give myself sixty seconds I can’t afford to take. Because once I walk in the door, I need to be the same man who just walked away from Eddie without throwing another punch. Responsible. Mature. Selfless.

Right now I want to be anything but.

Or is it that I’m a pussy and fear what I’m walking in on? A goddamn powder keg of unknown. Will my wife be here? Because I miss her so fucking much. Or just that shell of her that I’ve grown to despise?

Yeah, you’ve been pussified, Donavan. Needing a woman to complete you when you used to not need shit. My, how the player has fallen.

I chuckle. Not for relief but because I need something to take the edge off all this pent-up emotion. And because I know what else I need to do when I go inside, what I need to tell Ry is going to happen, and I just hope the news about Eddie helps take the sting out of it.

The door opens behind me. It closes. And I wait for it. Know it’s coming.

“You okay?” Haddie asks as she sits down beside me and holds out a beer and a bag of ice to me. I look over to her, wondering how she knew I needed both. “Call it a lucky guess.”

“Thanks.” I take them and hiss when I put the ice on my knuckles. We sit in silence for a few moments.

“Shane stopped by unexpectedly. He’s in with Ace right now,” she says, surprising me. But I shouldn’t be. Shane’s one of Ry’s boys. He knows something is wrong just like I do. “Ry’s out on the upstairs patio. I talked her into getting some fresh air.”

“She is?” Hope tinges my voice. She must be feeling better. I knew she’d come around.

“Colton?” By the way Haddie says my name, I know: Rylee isn’t better at all. In fact, it reinforces what I have to do even more.

“I’m calling the doctor in the morning.” I answer the unspoken question she left hanging out there, bring the beer to my lips, and take a long pull on it. And I hate myself for saying it because now I’ve put it out there, I have to admit there is something wrong with Rylee.

And I don’t want there to be something wrong with her.

“At first I was pissed at you, at her . . . You didn’t tell me and I’m her bestie. I should know this. But I get it. I understand how proud Ry is. How she thinks she can handle everything and if she admits she can’t then it makes it even worse. But, Colton, this is about her getting better. Not about her being weak.” She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs.

I shake my head. Emotions fucked. Head more so. “I thought that dealing with Eddie today would help. I could come back and tell her he won’t bother us anymore. Maybe knowing that worry was gone might be what she needed to help her break through . . .” I stop when I realize how fucking stupid that sounds.

“It might help some,” Haddie says softly, “but it’s not going to fix her. We’re back to Matchbox Twenty on repeat again but there’s no music this time. In fact, there’s no sound at all. She needs help, Colton.”

I scrub my hands over my face. “I know, Had. I know.”