I opened my mouth to tell him yes. No! To tell him the truth, and I didn’t care that ­people surrounded us, because I was going to scream it—­scream it right in Reece’s face.

But my butt vibrated.

“Oh.” Drawing back, I pulled my cell out of my jean pocket. My stomach dropped the moment I saw the caller ID. “It’s Charlie’s parents,” I mumbled.

Reece stiffened.

Going cold, I sat up straight as I answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Roxanne?” Charlie’s mother never called me Roxy. Never in my whole life had she ever used my nickname. And never in my whole life had I heard her sound as hoarse and shaken as she did now.

Hands shaking as knots formed in my belly, I slipped out of Reece’s embrace and stood. I stepped over Jax’s legs, giving myself space as I walked away from the fire. “Yes. This is Roxy. What’s going on?”

I don’t even know why I asked the question. I knew what she was going to say. Deep down I already knew, and everything inside me started to unravel like a loose thread that had been tugged.

“I’m sorry,” she said into the phone.

“No,” I whispered, turning around. I saw Reece standing a few feet behind me. Concern poured into his expression and so did realization. He stepped toward me, and I stumbled back.

Charlie’s mother let out a broken sound—­a sound I didn’t even know she was capable of making until that moment. “It’s over. He . . . Charlie passed away this evening.”

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

I never knew pain could hurt so bad that it made you numb. That the pain could cut so deep it took every bit of emotion out of you, just sucked it right out. That was what I was feeling. Empty. Bottomless.

I didn’t cry that night.

Not when Reece took me back to his place. Not when he helped me undress or when he got me in bed. Not even when he wrapped his arms around me and held me until I fell asleep.

The weekend and the days coming after that phone call were a blur. Jax gave me the week off from the bar, and I hadn’t even pretended to fight his decision. My head wasn’t in the right place to be working with the public. My head wasn’t anywhere it needed to be.

I didn’t cry when I went to the facility on Tuesday to get all the paintings and the little personal mementos I’d loaded Charlie’s room up with. Three large boxes went out, placed side by side in the back of Reece’s truck. I didn’t cry, not even when I saw his empty bed. Not even when I learned that he’d gone in his sleep from an aneurysm. Not when I discovered that he’d died alone.