She hoped if she reclaimed control over her life, the attacks would lose their grip on her and that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. His mom’s health, though . . . She had the sinking feeling that wasn’t going to be a short-term issue. He might have to move back to New Orleans permanently. Could they handle long distance when everything else was so shaky?

She shook off the questions. He was the only thing in her life that felt right. She needed to see him again, and then everything would be fine. Somehow.

Andra checked the gas gauge before she shut her truck door. She wanted to put a few hundred miles behind her before she stopped. It would be faster to fly, but from how LJ talked about New Orleans, she’d need her truck to get around. If things went well and she was there for more than a few days, she didn’t want to have to rent a car.

She went back to the apartments, her steps slowing because this goodbye wasn’t going to be any easier than the last one.

Stacia’s door was unlocked. No burglar had ever ventured this far onto ranch property, and even if one did, the horses were worth more than anything in the houses.

“Jason, if that isn’t you, somebody’s about to get a load of buckshot in the backside!” Stacia warned.

“It’s me,” Andra whispered. “Don’t shoot.” She poked her head around the bedroom doorframe, her eyes already adjusted to the dark. “Hate to tell you, but that’s a revolver, not a shotgun.”

“Trust me, it’ll still hurt.” Stacia put the gun down and flopped back in bed, pulling a pillow over her face. “Ugh.”

“Are you sleeping with my brother?” Andra came to perch on the side of her bed, starting to smile. He and Stacia had been sort of bicker-flirting as long as she could remember, but after Jason came back from college and they didn’t start dating, she had figured that was as far as it was going to go.

“I’m not sleeping with anyone right now, because I’m not sleeping, because I hate you,” Stacia grumbled into the pillow.

“Listen, Stace . . .” Now that she was here, her practiced speech was starting to stick in her throat. “I’m sorry. For being a terrible friend for the last few years, and for not braving the main house often enough to eat your amazing food.”

Stacia pulled the pillow off her face, a wad of brown hair almost obscuring the killing glare in the one blue eye peeking through. “You woke me up in the ass crack of the night to tell me you’re a bad friend? Fuck, Andra, I didn’t need a demonstration.”

“It’s not just for that.” Her fingers twisted in her lap. “I’m leaving.”

Stacia blew her hair out of her eyes, focusing. “You’re going after him?”