My heartbeat picks up as I answer it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Palm. You busy?”

“What’s wrong, Jared?”

He never calls unless something is askew. Ever. It’s one of the only reasons we’re able to coparent—our lives are absolutely separate, and we don’t talk unless we have to. There’s surprisingly very little we have to discuss.

My breath shakes as I exhale, mentally hurrying him along. The fact that he doesn’t sound panicked helps. But then I remember that he didn’t panic when I nearly sliced my finger off with a sewing machine either.

Come to think of it, maybe that was a sign.

“Jared?” I say again.

“Oh. Yeah. So, is there any way I can bring Ethan home? Or, even better, that you could meet me in town and take him?”

I stand still. “Why?”

“Well, Robbie needs a ride to Cleveland, and—”

“And you want to cut your weekend short with your son to take your friend to Cleveland?” I bark.

“Aw, Palm. Come on.”

I throw my free hand up in the air. “Jared. You haven’t seen Ethan in two weeks.”

“I know.”

“And you’re going to just shuttle him back home because Robbie needs a ride? What . . .”

I catch myself before I say what I’m thinking. I don’t ask him what kind of father pulls this shit because that would only add fuel to a fire already starting to burn.

I take a deep, cleansing breath and will the fury coursing through me to steady.

God, give me grace.

“Will you please reconsider?” I say as calmly as I can.

“Robbie doesn’t have anyone else.”

Either grace isn’t bestowed on me or it isn’t enough.

“So?” My voice rises. “Robbie’s probably heading there to do devious things anyway. You’ll spare him a headache. Also, your son wants to spend time with his father. He doesn’t have anyone else as his father either.”

“Look, I’ll pick Ethan up tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll go throw the ball around or something.”

I roll my eyes.

Jared sighs. He knows he’s full of shit too. “So, can you meet me or not?”

I’m not you. “What am I supposed to say?”

His voice switches. It turns softer, more manipulative. “You say that you’ll meet me at the bowling alley in ten. Please, Palm.”

My shoulders fall forward. “Fine. Don’t be late. I have to head to work, and I’m supposed to be there in twenty minutes.”

“Great. Thanks so much.”

“Whatever.”

I press the red button so hard that I’m surprised the phone screen doesn’t shatter.

And this is another reason why I can’t go to dinner with nice men. I. Don’t. Have. Time.

I grab my keys off the counter by the door and storm to the car.

CHAPTER FIVE

PALMER

Oh, little Palmer. You’ve made some bad choices in life, sweetheart,” I whisper to myself as Jared comes down the street toward me—ten minutes late.

Good thing I warned Kirk that I would be delayed.

A sign reading KING PIN ALLEY hangs on the front of the building on my right. The letters glowed in bright neon colors back in the eighties. They haven’t worked since then.