Page 111 of No Good Fight

Josh sets his untouched coffee on the counter hard enough that liquid sloshes through the lid. “Then stand there and tell me what the hell is going on.”

Nia’s fingers close around his wrist again. “Lower.”

His jaw works. “Because I’m sick and tired of hearing from everyone else and only getting bits and pieces of the story when my sister is in fucking danger.”

Nia doesn’t blink, and I can see she’s starting to get frustrated with him too. “Volume, Joshua. Lower it.”

He drags in a breath and looks away from me, toward the back window and the tarp-covered fence you can barely make out from the kitchen.

For the first time, I realize what this room must look like to him. Ryder’s security feeds glowing beside the couch. Temporary floodlights outside. Me in Ryder’s clothes. Bruises on my arms. Ryder standing near the stairs, silent and watchful, like he’s letting me have the room but ready to tear through it if anyone touches me wrong.

Josh looks back at me. His voice is lower when he speaks again, but not calmer. “Mrs. Vance called Mom last night right before she went to bed.”

I close my eyes. “She threatened that.”

“She said a man in a ski mask tried to drag you into your apartment.”

Mom’s breath catches. She turns to the stove and starts peeling foil off a pan with too much focus.

“She also said Ryder was on the phone when it happened,” Josh adds, and there it is. Not just fear. Betrayal. “She said he got there right after Remy.”

Ryder shifts at the edge of my vision but doesn’t speak.

I look at my brother. “He was on the phone because I called him before I got out of the car.”

Josh’s stare cuts to Ryder. “Because he told you to.”

“Because I told him that I’d call him when I got to my apartment.” I walk the rest of the way into the kitchen and take the coffee Dad silently slides across the island. My hands shake around the cup, so I set it down before everyone can start watching that too. “Those are two very different things.”

Josh ignores me. “How long?” The question is aimed at Ryder, even if it’s my family doing the asking.

I step into its path. “How long what?”

“How long has this shit been happening? The calls. The notes. The photos. Preston being here when you told me you left him.” His voice cracks around Preston’s name, and that crack does more to me than his anger. “How long have you all known there was something fucking sinister happening, while I didn’t?”

No one moves for a second. Mom stops pretending the food on the stove needs attention. Dad’s hands rest flat on the island. Nia leans her hip against Josh’s side, her shoulder touching his arm.

Ryder looks at me.

Not at Josh. Not at my parents. Me.

Waiting.

That nearly does me in, because yesterday I accused him of turning every wall into a warning sign, and today he’s standing in a room full of people who would probably let him answer everything if he tried. But he doesn’t.

I breathe through the pressure in my chest and start with the easiest truth, because the whole truth is too big to lift at once.

“I left him because if I didn’t, he’d kill me. I thought I was done. That I was safe. And I was…for a little while.” I glance at Ryder. “There were calls first that came from blocked numbers. Then I had flowers left outside my door. White roses. I didn’t report them because reporting flowers sounds ridiculous.” I wrap my fingers around the edge of the counter and keep my eyes on the coffee tray instead of my mother’s face. “Then someone opened my bedroom window. Ryder saw it when he was driving by to check on me.”

Josh makes a sharp sound.

Nia presses her elbow into his side. Hard.

I keep going before he can turn that into something else. “There was an SUV downtown following me more than once. Someone pretending to be maintenance here at the apartment, who didn’t actually do anything. A photo left in my car at Mason Ridge. Preston came to Lucy’s and grabbed me under the table. Ryder got him off me. Later, there was a photo taped to my apartment door of Ryder and me kissing outside at the same time.”

Mom sits down.

Not hard. Not dramatically. She just reaches for the closest chair and lowers herself into it with one hand pressed to her mouth.