“Yeah.” Cough. “Yeah. I’m here, just coming in now.”

“Good.”

I could imagine his scowl. I didn’t care.

I just talked to my dad on the phone. My dad. On the phone. Not in prison, through the prison phones, or in their visitation room. On the phone like he was out and about, like a normal person, and he was. I could’ve driven three hours back and gone to see him. Face to face. In person.

Tears were rolling down my face. I didn’t know why. Shit. I couldn’t have that.

Cursing, shoving thoughts of my dad out of my head, I put the car in gear and gunned the engine. If I was late, Shetland would be up my ass. Once the lame pick-up lines stopped, he had turned into a domineering jackass.

But, driving over, my dad …

I talked to my dad.

When I got out of my truck, I didn’t allow myself to think about how I could’ve been talking to him for the last two months. Nope. I didn’t let myself go there. Not yet.

I wasn’t ready.

I walked in carrying their bags of food with a forced grin, and Shetland gave me a double take. I must’ve looked stupid enough that he just grabbed the food, gave me a glare, and stalked into the office. The door slammed behind him.

I didn’t care about that either.

Chapter Eighteen

CROSS

My brother was pissed at me. No one cared.

Zeke was pissed at my brother. Everyone cared, or so I was told. It was all over campus by the end of the day. And in other news, Harper never said a word.

We kept waiting, expecting, but three days passed and nothing. The weekend came and went. Monday. Tuesday. We were all the way to next Thursday, and nothing extraordinary had happened.

Bren said her work was still cutting her out. She filled us in on everything happening there, including the phone call to her dad. She didn’t inform the guys how she felt about the call, but we all got it. She had a little spark in her eyes when she mentioned the call, but then it faded. So now we were coming up on another weekend (Thursday nights were counted as the first night of the weekend in college land) and nothing had gone down yet, especially when we thought all sorts of shit would’ve gone down by now.

“Have you talked to Tab at all?” The question came from Bren after we sat down for tacos. It was just the four of us. Zellman had plans to head out, but Jordan had stayed in every night since that night.

He paused now, in mid-reach for a beer. “No.” He stared at his plate. “Am I the bad guy? Since I didn’t reach out?”