“No.” I blow a quick breath out of my nose. “That’s not why I’m telling you this. I was angry. I think I’ll always be angry. But can you fucking believe it? I grew up outside of Los Angeles. My dad left four years before my mom died. Just … left. As a ten-year-old, I didn’t really know what that meant. She said he was angry, and when he cooled off he’d be home. He came home four years later. With fucking Francine.” I laugh. It still hurts. God … I think it will always hurt.

“He brought his whore to my mother’s funeral. It was the day I found out that I could land a punch … that I could break someone’s face. That I wanted to break someone like that. And after all these years, having no idea where he lives, we run into him at a fucking swimming hole in New Mexico. What are the chances?”

Avery rests her hand on my leg. “Did you have to live with your dad after your mom died?”

“No.” I grunt a breath of sarcasm. “I lived with my uncle—my dad’s brother. He was more like a cousin to me because we were only eight years apart in age. He’d just gotten an apartment in L.A. after being abroad for two years.

“After the incident at the funeral, everyone knew there was no way I was going to live with my dad and Francine. She was twenty. Six years older than me. Skinny … big boobs … and she had it all on display at the funeral. My mother killed herself because she’d gained over one hundred pounds, was morbidly obese, and diagnosed with diabetes. My father never missed a chance to make her feel ugly and worthless. Kids at school made fun of my mom before she died. I hated them. I hated my dad. I hated every person who reminded me of the women he slept with while my mom ordered takeout and cried herself to sleep.”

Avery starts to slide her hand off my lap, but I grab it.

“Don’t.” My gaze remains fixed on the busy road. “You’re not her. You’re not them. You’re not my revenge.”

“I think you’re saying that because I’m here, out of my element. But you didn’t feel that way the day I walked into your cafe. Had we not been forced to be together for this long, you wouldn’t have asked me out on a date. You wouldn’t have given me a second look because, upon that first look, all you saw was another Francine.”

“And all you saw was another guy who would break your heart—monkey-spanking dick cheese. Had I asked for your phone number, you would have taken one look at me, made a shitload of assumptions, and walked out without a single glance back.”