“Good,” he said. “Mom’ll sleep better tonight. She’s worried about her.”
I moved through the living room, around the couch we’d argued over for three weeks before buying, because neither of us wanted to admit we cared about fabric samples. The place was homey and casual—a throw blanket folded just so because I kept it that way, a framed photo of us in our turnout gear hung crooked on the wall.
I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe and watched him rummage through the fridge.
“She okay?” he asked casually, like he wasn’t watching me out of the corner of his eye.
I knew better. He was always paying attention. “Yeah,” I said. “She is.”
Jude hummed. “That didn’t answer my question.”
I exhaled and crossed my arms. “Travis showed up.”
Jude went still. Slowly, he turned around. The air shifted from easy to sharp in a heartbeat. Jude’s concern wasn’t new. Neither was mine. We’d all grown up together—me, Jude, Becca, Harper—four kids tangled in the same backyards and classrooms, learning early that if one of us took a hit, the rest felt it. That rule hadn’t changed just because we were older and two of us had grown apart.
“Did he touch her?” Jude asked, voice low. “Hurt her, make more of his stupid demands that she go back to him?”
“No,” I said immediately. “He left.”
“Because she told him to?”
“And because I backed her up.”
Jude nodded once, jaw tight. “Good. Let me know if you want me to step in with you.”
I pushed off the wall and headed for the bathroom, stripping off my jacket as I went. “I didn’t make it worse. I let her handle it. But I would have stepped in if he pushed it.”
“I know,” Jude said behind me. “You never make things worse. You just absorb everything and pretend you’re fine.”
I shut the bathroom door harder than necessary and turned the shower on full blast, letting the hot water pound against my skin. I needed the heat, needed to relax. Steam filled the small space. I braced my hands against the tile and closed my eyes.
The memory came again uninvited—Holloway’s parking lot, the weight of the night pressing in, Becca’s face swimming in and out of focus. I’d known I had no right. But couldn’t stop myself. Because sometimes wanting her felt like drowning. I shut the water off and stood there in the quiet, heart hammering.
By the time I stepped back into the living room, hair damp and pajamas on, Jude was waiting with two beers, offering one without a word. I took it, the cold bite grounding me.
“Harper said she was okay,” Jude said, casual but certain. “I just got off the phone.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good. She showed up, too. After he was gone.”
“She’s not as okay as she pretends,” Jude added.
“No,” I agreed. “She isn’t.”
Jude studied me for a long moment. “You going to do something about it?”
I stared down at the bottle in my hand, the question heavier than it sounded. “I don’t know what I should do,” I said honestly. “But I’m not going to do nothing. I know that much.”
Jude took a long pull from his beer, then set the bottle down a little too carefully. “Harper heard something weird tonight,” he said.
That got my attention. I looked up. “What kind of weird?”
“The kind that starts with ‘this probably means nothing’ and ends with ‘it definitely means something.’” He leaned back against the counter. “Her Aunt Eileen. Apparently, someone made her an offer on her trailer. Cash. No contingencies. More than double what the assessor’s office has it listed for.”
I set the beer down harder than I meant to. “Who?”
“Didn’t give a name. Just a business card with a phone number and a handshake. But Eileen recognized the cardstock—thick, embossed. Same kind the mayor’s office uses for ‘official correspondence.’”
My stomach turned. “Travis works for Whitaker.”
