“I looked up St. George’s. They have a great alumni resource center. Turns out, though, there’s no way to get in touch with you through it. I wonder why that is?”

For the first time, Christian seems taken aback. He swallows the gulp of wine he took. “You looked me up?”

“You might’ve started at St. George’s, but you didn’t graduate from there. I called Kettering Medical, too. Guess what? They don’t have a record of any Dr. Campbell, intern or resident or anything else. There was a Christian Campbell listed in the staff directory, and guess where he works? Maintenance.”

Christian does not refute this. He looks faintly surprised, eyebrows raised. He crosses his arms over his bare chest. Stares.

“Told you I was handy,” he says.

“You’re not a doctor.”

“Yet,” Christian says, a finger in the air. “I am not a doctor yet.”

“But you’re writing prescriptions like you are. Is that why you did something to Beth? Because you wrote her a fake prescription, and something happened to her?”

“What makes you think—?”

“I found one in Eli’s room. I know you’re having my son sell pills for you.”

“Cheers, Nancy Drew. Now if only it wasn’t for those meddling kids.” He puts his glass on the countertop. “Look, Jewelann. We all do what we have to in order to get by. Right? I do it. You do it. So I’m not sure where you get off judging me for anything.”

“You wreck everyone who’s ever cared about you, and that includes my son. I’ve sacrificed too much, tolerated too much, done too much, to let you ruin his life. You will never again ask him to sell drugs for you. You will take back whatever drugs you gave him. You will not involve him in any way with that business. Do you understand me?”

He looks … wary. This thrills me. I feel my own wicked grin spreading across my expression, my own Joker’s grimace. If I look insane, so what? Let him be afraid of me, for a change.

I move past him, into the kitchen area. Things are worse on this side of the island. No drawers. No cabinet doors. A few pots and pans, some plates, some cleaning supplies. No signs of struggle. Just a bachelor’s mess.

My knees buckle, and I almost go to them. “You have ruined this place. Ruined!”

“It’s not ruined,” he says.

I throw out my arms. “Look at it!”

“It’s being renovated,” Christian tells me.

“You’re not doing shit over here but tearing it apart, breaking the plumbing—”

“I’m not doing a damn thing with the plumbing. I told you that. Hey. Calm down, okay?” He moves toward me, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

“I want you to pack up your shit and get out of here, today.”

Christian grins smugly. “You can’t kick me out. I have rights.”

“We don’t have a lease.”

He shrugs. “That doesn’t matter. First of all, you have to give me three days’ notice to vacate, and it needs to be in writing.”