What’s the worst that can happen? I know I should be careful asking that question, but Lincoln knows why I married Ricky and why I stayed with him. I have no more secrets. Renee and the press can ask anything, and I have nothing to hide.

I do, however, have a hell of a lot to say.

We reach the gate, and it takes only a moment before someone spots the three of us. The members of the media swing around and abandon their focus on Renee, who now stands on top of the hood of a black Kia.

“Whitney! Will you answer questions?”

Lincoln enters a code on the pedestrian gate and it unlocks. He and I step through, but McKinley stays back. The reporters surge forward, trying to get closer to me, but Lincoln holds out a hand.

“Please keep a respectful distance if you want Ms. Gable to answer your questions. The sheriff is on his way, and anyone who gets too close will be spending the night in jail. Do you understand me?”

His authoritative tone booms out, and the reporters nod their heads and take a step back.

Lincoln squeezes my hand. “Ms. Gable has a statement to make, and after that, she may or may not answer questions, so I suggest you remain quiet so you can hear what she has to say.”

The crowd in front of the gate falls silent, including Renee Rango, which shocks me. Either she’s waiting for a more opportune moment to strike, or she’s subdued by Lincoln’s threatening tone. Regardless, all eyes are now on me.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.

“For months, I’ve kept my silence about the events surrounding the death of my husband. I’ve let you crucify me in your articles and haven’t spoken out against a single one of your false accusations. I made that choice, and I’ve lived with the consequences long enough. Now, I’m breaking that silence to tell you what really happened.” They start to murmur to each other, and I add, “If you want the real story behind my marriage to Ricky Rango and how it ended, you’re about to get it.”

“She’s a liar! Don’t believe a word she says!” Renee’s screech comes out as though on cue.

I point toward where she stands, with her face turning as red as her hair. “That’s my former mother-in-law, Renee Rango. When I was twenty-one years old, she coerced me into marrying her son using the threat that if I didn’t, she would destroy the Riscoff family.”

“Why would she have to force you to marry an up-and-coming rock star?”

I smile sweetly. “Because I dumped him after he cheated on me, but then he realized he wasn’t going to have a career without me.” I take a deep breath. “You’ve been lied to for the last decade. Ricky Rango never wrote a single one of his own songs. I wrote them.”

The entire crowd goes silent as I drop what might be the biggest news to hit the music industry in years, especially because Ricky was so vocal about his songwriting process and what it meant to be a true artist.