“You can’t just fix this yourself, Palmer.”

“I have to try.” I look him in the eye. “Kirk needs me, which is the opposite of the usual situation. He’s never failed me, and I won’t fail him now.”

“Palmer . . .”

I pull my legs off him. “Look, he doesn’t need the money. That place makes a lot of money—like, seven figures a year—which is surprising, considering we work out of a trailer, but it’s true.”

Cole’s eyes widen.

“Kirk doesn’t need to keep working, but he does it for us. For me and Burt and the guys in the shop. For Bloomfield.” I take a quick breath. “But now it’s us or his wife, and he’ll pick Charlotte. He should pick Charlotte. But I have to think about saving my job and my house because he owns this place too. And if he shuts the doors, Cole, the whole town will feel it.”

He doesn’t reply. He just watches me warily.

“Those guys can’t just go get another job—not making what Kirk pays us. There’s nothing in this area for most of them anyway. For me either.” I force the thought out of my head. “But all of the money we make gets pumped back into town. It keeps Fletcher’s and King Pin Alley and Bud’s all in business. If I fail, we all go down.”

Cole takes my hand in his. “Sweetheart, this is not all on you. You have to rely on your community and the guys at the shop. This isn’t your fight.”

I wish he were right. I wish it weren’t my fight. But Burt doesn’t care enough to see this through, and the shop guys don’t understand enough of the business to help. I don’t have a choice here but to fight.

And it’s not just for me that I’m fighting, something Cole wouldn’t really understand. Everything I do is for Ethan, to keep a stable, warm, and loving roof over his head. That’s my job. That is all on me.

He watches me carefully, as if he’s not sure what else to say. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s what I have to do.

“I’m done,” I say, giving him my best smile. “You and I were supposed to have a conversation that I really wanted to have.”

Cole’s eyes avoid mine, and he blows out a breath. For a split second, a chill races down my spine. Before I have time to process it, my phone starts to ring.

“I need to get that because Ethan isn’t home,” I say, reaching for it on the coffee table.

The number is not one that I know, but I answer it anyway.

“Hello?”