Page 69 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

And then my asshole brother swooped in.

She hasn’t talked about it much, but I know their age differences. And I know how old she was when she got married.

Eighteen.

Jake was twenty-three. He’d been volunteering at the church to help with tech when he met Lennon.

She was a vulnerable people-pleasing teenager, and he was a goddamned predator.

He didn’t fall for her.

Hegroomedher.

I’m still seethingover it as I pull into the gravel lot behind the shop still gripping the wheel too hard. My jaw aches from clenching it the whole drive over.

I keep picturing my brother at twenty-three years old with a clipboard and a youth-group polo, sizing up a girl who’d spent years teaching herself to disappear for a room full of strangers to blend in perfectly with them. How easy that must have been for him.

He probably barely even had to try.

I want to drive across town and put my fist through his teeth.

And then the clinical little corner of my brain—the same one that runs the morning checklist—flags that want as exactly the kind of thing I’m supposed to sit with instead of act on. I’ve done real damage running hot before.

So I sit there an extra minute with the engine ticking as it cools, hands still on the wheel, and breathe until the red backs off from a boil to a simmer.

Which is when I see the line of people already waiting outside the shop, and Mack out front working the key in the lock like it personally offended him.

I shove the gearshift into park and hop out to go join him.

Twenty-some people, maybe more, strung out along the sidewalk in the shade of the awning, fanning themselves with folded-up flyers. Several women in line let out little whoops and one calls, “August, I love you!”

Mack and I exchange looks.

“Give us half an hour to get set up,” Mack calls, “then we’ll take walk-ins in order of arrival.”

Cheers erupt as Mack and I slip in the door he’s just unlocked.

“What the hell?” Mack whispers, staring through the glass doors at the line.

“Uh,” I stall. “This might be my fault.”

Mack’s eyebrow pops as he looks my way. “Why am I not surprised? What did you do?”

I shrug and hold up my hands. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. Lennon’s just been helping me with social media and I thought it could bring in more press for?—”

“Lennon?” he breaks in. “Who’s Lennon?”

My mouth opens. Then closes. I suck in a big breath and lean against the counter. “Look it was only supposed to be her helping me with socials. But now I dunno we’re maybe kinda seeing each other.”

Mack dramatically drops his face into his hand.

“Look, it’s exposure for the shop, right? More money for me is more money for you.”

He looks back up. “What happens when you fuck it up with this girl?”

Ouch.

Because that’s always been the question, hasn’t it? I hear it in Priscilla’s voice sometimes, the one from the doorway the day she left with Owen’s diaper bag over her shoulder and didn’t look back:You’re not safe long-term, August. You’re only safe until you’re not.