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I’d argue justice was done and Shelby’s been spared having to relive this over and over for the next few years. “Do you need to talk to her?”

“No, you can give her the news. Have her call me if she has any questions or if she needs anything.” Almost as an aside, he casually asks, “Where are you now?”

“On the other side of the country.” Damn good alibi if you ask me.

“That’s not why I was asking. The media will be all over the story. She might want to lay low.”

“I’ll handle it. Thanks, Jackson.”

“You’re welcome. Take care.”

Shelby’s sitting with the sheet wrapped around her. Her bottom lip trembles with fear as she watches me set the phone down. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

No point in sugarcoating it. “Suggs is dead.”

She closes her eyes and releases a slow breath. A single tear slips down her cheek.

“Don’t cry for him.” I swipe the tear away with my thumb.

“It’s not for him. It’s for me. I’ve been trying not to think about it but it’s always there in the back of my mind. That fucking creep. I’ve wished him dead a thousand times. Then, he sent my mom a letter—” She stops abruptly and tilts her head. “Rooster, you didn’t have anything to do with his…”

Danger. Shelby’s way too fucking smart.

I pull her down next to me, wrapping my arm around her. “Now, how would I have done that, chickadee? I’m on the other side of the country.”

She presses her palm against my chest and sits up again. “I don’t know. I’m sure your club has friends in low places.”

“Nice song reference.” I bop the tip of her nose and she swats my hand away.

“I’m serious.” She rests her hand over my heart. “I don’t want something so dark staining your soul. He’s not worth it.”

“Trust me, I’ve done worse and my soul is content with my choices.” Maybe that means I don’t have a soul, but that can’t be true. Not when everything inside me wants to wrap around this woman and protect her until I die.

“Logan,” she whispers.

“It’s done, Shelby. Jackson said Suggs hung himself.” My voice takes on a harsher edge. Because I’m annoyed she’s accusing me of murder or because she’s right?

“Damn. He couldn’t even get shanked in prison?”

“And you’re worried about my soul?” I give her a wry smile.

“I’m worried about my own soul too,” she says. “Sometimes I don’t like the person that experience turned me into.”

How is that possible? “What—strong and brave?”

“Mean. Bitter. Scared.”

“I don’t see any of that.”

“That’s because you make me better.”

“Like medicine?” I try again for a light tone but she doesn’t smile.

“Kinda.” Her nose wrinkles and she glances away. “I acted ugly last night.”

“How?”

“We ran into Glenna Wilson outside the auditorium. I kinda told her off.”

“Good. She deserves it.”

“That’s what Dawson said.”

“How was he?”

“Nice. He made sure I was comfortable but he said he was afraid to touch me because he didn’t want you to beat him to death.” She fixes her pissy little stink eye on me. “Did you threaten him?”

I wink at her. “That’s between me and Dawson.”

Chapter Sixty-Two

Shelby

“On the road again…” I can’t help singing the same few lines over and over while I finish my shower. The awards show was fun and I’ve enjoyed all the primping and pampering that went along with it. The hotel is lovely, but damn I’m eager to settle into my RV and get back to the tour.

“Rolling out in thirty!” Rooster shouts.

“I’m almost done!”

“I’m teasing.” His voice sounds a little closer now. “Take as long as you need. Want me to run downstairs and grab some coffee?”

“Nope.” I shut the shower off and slide the door open. Rooster’s waiting for me with a towel in each hand. I wrap my hair first, then dry off with the other one. “I would love it if you’d help me dry my hair, though.”

“You’ve got it.”

My heart thumps. I reach for him, skimming my fingers over his shoulder. “You make me swoon, Logan Randall, you know that?”

He touches my cheek and smiles faintly. “I always want you to feel that way.”

“You never told me how the heck you made it back here so fast.” I watch his reflection while I drag a comb through my wet hair.

“Jiggy and I didn’t make it to Washington.”

That’s weird. I thought it was important to pay them a visit. “Where’d you go?”

He fiddles with the blow dryer. “Just a small town on the border.”

Border of where?

But he flicks on the dryer and I don’t have a chance to ask.

By the time we’re finished, I’ve forgotten the question.

Downstairs, we find a small cafe on the first floor of the hotel. The lobby’s bustling with people. No one seems to be paying attention to anyone, though. The inconspicuous hotel security guards stationed at each entrance definitely reassure me.

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