Jackie’s lips flatten. “It’s none of your damn business what kind of a spot I was in, then or now.”

“It’s my business when you leave my sister in the lurch after she went out on a limb for you. I thought you respected her more than that.”

Something flits across Jackie’s face, telling me I scored a hit.

“Your sister is the only decent one of you. She understands what I had to do. Now, get the hell out of my yard and don’t come back. We don’t need any more of the kind of trouble you bring. We’ve got plenty of our own already.”

Instinct claws at me to fix this by throwing money at it. To somehow make Jackie Gable not hate me for something I didn’t do or say. Or maybe she hates me for not protecting Whitney from my mother. I’m sure there’s a plethora of reasons I could choose, but instead, I turn and walk away.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do is retreat, regroup, and work out a new strategy before you end up saying things you can’t take back.

Thirty-Eight

Lincoln

The past

Whitney’s phone rang quietly on the table over and over while she was in the shower.

I told myself I wasn’t going to look. It was none of my business who was calling her. I glanced at the bathroom door, and the water continued to run as the phone rang for the fourth time. If it was her parents and something bad had happened, she’d want to know.

“Your phone’s going off,” I told her through the door. When she didn’t answer, I made an executive decision. It could be an emergency.

I walked to the table and grabbed her phone. Her caller ID read Ricky calling.

What the hell? That cheating asshole is still bothering her?

I didn’t care that I had to change the radio every time his song came on. He was still a tool, and I could still buy and sell him.

The phone went quiet and immediately started ringing again.

Anger built up in my chest at the thought of how often he might be harassing her. That shit had to stop. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I answered it anyway.

“You need to stop calling, asshole.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

His shocked tone didn’t surprise me.

“Whitney’s boyfriend.”

“The fuck you are!”

“What did you think she was going to do when she found out you cheated on her, you piece of shit? Keep letting you treat her like that? No. She moved on and found a real man.”

“Who the fuck is this?” he asked again.

“Lincoln Riscoff.”

The call went silent for a moment. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. She wouldn’t touch a Riscoff. Ever. Try again, dick. Better yet, give my girlfriend the phone so I can tell her I got her letter.”

Got her letter?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” This time, I was the one shocked.