“Paul, I’m so sorry.” She sniffed back tears. “I messed up. I know I did, but I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please just call me so we can talk. I need you. I love—” She clamped her mouth shut so hard her teeth chattered together. What the hell was she saying? “I love having you in my life and I’m so sorry if I haven’t shown you the appreciation you deserve. You were there for my father, my babies, and now my sister, and I just—I don’t know, I just miss having you around because you made it all better and I can’t deal with this right now and it’s just too much. I went to the prison today and Keith told me a whole bunch of stuff I didn’t know about my mom and the happy childhood I thought I had.” She ran out of breath, completely exhausted from her rant. “Please just call me. I can’t do this without you.” Deven hung up and heaved a sigh. The message sounded selfish, and she could’ve kicked herself for it. Paul was hurting over his feelings for her and here she was, thinking of her own family issues. It would probably be a cold day in Hell before he called her back.

Deven didn’t realize just how tense she was until she submerged her body in the scalding hot water and every muscle began to scream in glorious anguish. She eased down until only her head was visible and let her tears dribble into the bathwater.

Part of her didn’t want to believe Keith. Part of her still wanted to live in the joyous bliss of her ignorance, where her childhood was happy, and her parents were in love, and her sister was happy with the family she craved. But Deven had seen the look in Keith’s eyes as he spoke. It was all true. Every last bit of it. The reality was like alcohol on an open wound. The agonizing pain had now left her bleeding and raw.

The distant ring of her cell had Deven lifting up, goosebumps immediately speckling her skin from the touch of chill in the air. A flicker of hope had a smile blooming. Paul. She hoped he had forgiven her. Maybe he could come over and they could sort all of this mess out.

Deven wrapped herself in a towel and jogged to her bedroom. Her phone lay on the nightstand where she’d placed it, the caller long gone. She frowned at the missed call, not recognizing the number on the display. Then the notification icon prompted her to dial into her voicemail. No, not Paul. Keith. His message was short, but his urgency was more than clear even in its brevity. “You need to find my ex, Erika Garrett. I don’t know where Kennedy is, but she sure does.”