“I don’t trust anyone that’s not at this table, other than Mom and Dad, but we can’t put this shit on them. They’re dealing with enough. Whoever this is, they were around when Vi died, and they’re close, Hunt. It could be anyone.”

Color leached from Hunter’s face. “Shit, Ford. How the hell are we supposed to keep Bell safe when this creep could be coming into The Catch every single day and us not know it’s him?”

“That’s what we’re going to talk about today. We’re going to figure out a plan so that neither of us is alone at the bar. I’ll be with Bell as much as possible, but I’d like another person as backup.”

I scoffed. “And what makes you so sure I want you around, buddy?”

My snarky question elicited just the reaction I’d hoped for. Ford’s lips twitched. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you want me around.”

A giggle came from Caelyn’s direction. “I’m happy to be backup whenever I can, but I fully support Ford being your main bodyguard.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Of course you do.”

“If I can take over one of the tables, I can work here in the mornings,” Kenna offered.

“I can take afternoons,” Crosby chimed in.

“And I’ll take evenings,” Hunter said last.

That familiar emotion was back, building in my throat. But this time, it was entirely made up of gratitude. I had created an amazing family. It didn’t matter that my parents couldn’t accept me or love me for who I was; I had people in my life that did—and not in spite of who I was, but because of it. “Love you guys,” I whispered, my voice going hoarse.

Ford rubbed a hand up and down my back. “Thank you. Truly. I had hoped this creep’s attention would stay on me since I was responsible for the accident, but something in my gut just keeps telling me he’s going to set his sights on Bell.”

I stiffened in Ford’s lap, turning slowly to face him. “What did you just say?”

Ford’s brow furrowed. “That I’m worried he’s going to come after you?”

My hands fisted in Ford’s shirt. “The accident was not your fault.”

Ford’s face gentled. “I know, Trouble. I just meant that whoever’s doing this thinks it was my fault.”

I studied Ford’s face carefully, my gaze searching every muscle and micro-expression. All I saw was the truth. “Good. Don’t make me put the smackdown on you.”

Ford chuckled, and Crosby let out a low whistle. “You’ve got a spitfire on your hands, buddy.”

“Don’t I know it.”

I groaned as I looked up from the spreadsheet printout, cracking my neck.

Ford glanced up from his laptop. “You tired? Want me to take you home?”