“Playing the martyr?” I sound screechy. I know I do. I just can’t seem to stop it.

He winces like I’m hurting his ears. “You seem hell bent to take on Sam’s sins yet again.”

My hands curl into fists. “I’ve never defended Sam.”

“Don’t give me that offended-innocence act. You were always stepping in and covering for Sam. Or turning a blind eye to her antics.”

Despite my best effort, my nostrils flare with a huff of breath. “I never turned a blind eye—”

“Oh, yes you did.” His lip curls in a sneer. “She’s much worse than you give her credit for.”

“Then aren’t you the fool to have hired her?”

“Touché, Tot.” He smiles thinly. “It was foolish. And it’s the last time I feel sorry for Sam. You, however, I trusted to know better than this.”

“Well, lucky me.”

He glares. “You’re still annoying, though.”

“And you’re still an ass canal.”

With a blink, he bursts out laughing. The sound of his laughter is so jovial my lips quirk in response. I bite down on them hard.

Macon’s laugh dies as quickly as it was born. “This is a shit deal for you, Tot. I don’t understand why you’d offer.”

Because I have lost my mind. Because I can’t think of anything else to offer. But I can’t tell him any of that. “Sam is my sister. Family takes care of family.”

“Try telling Sam that.”

Keep it together, Dee. “Look, I can either pay you back slowly, or you accept my offer.”

“Neither option is really appealing.”

“But you’re considering it.” I can tell that much. It’s in the way his expression has shifted from irritated to thoughtful. Oh, butter still won’t melt in his mouth, but he isn’t throwing me out.

Macon turns his head to stare out the window. “I am.” He snorts under his breath. “I must be insane.”

“Join the club,” I mutter.

His head snaps back around. Dark eyes pin me to my seat. “I could make your life hell.”

“You don’t even sound ashamed of the prospect.”

“I’m not. You’re the one who is here pleading I take you on instead of holding Sam accountable.”

My back teeth meet with a click. I haven’t spoken to this man in ten years, and already I’m arguing with him more than I have with anyone else since. Even my fights with Sam don’t have this back-and-forth. She doesn’t call me out as much as attack. Macon makes me own every word.

Arguing with him is like trying on the skinny jeans you’ve pulled out of the closet after a number of years and finding they still fit, albeit tightly. It might not be exactly comfortable, but there is definitely an empowering kick to the experience.

“Three years ago,” I say. “Sam disappeared for a week. The police found her car abandoned on the highway. Mama had to be admitted to the hospital when they came to tell her. It turned out to be high blood pressure, exacerbated by a panic attack. And that was when Daddy was alive to soothe her. So when I say her heart cannot take it, it isn’t hyperbole.”