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Rhett Dawson is the man he’s said he is, and he’s not one to run when things get tough. He’s the one who will stick by my side.

I kiss him on the mouth and murmur, “Thank you for being here.”

“Thanks for trusting me to be, Miss Vivica.”

We leave the hospital hand in hand, ignoring the few curious glances we receive when passing through the lobby.

None of the trivial things matter, and that includes any town gossip.

I thought I didn’t give a damn before who knew I was seeing Rhett Dawson. But after finding out the tender lump that’s appeared is benign, I really don’t give a damn.

It feels like a fool’s game to care.

There’re better things I could be doing with my time, like enjoying Rhett’s company.

Dawn spills onto the sky, the early morning wind cool enough to warrant a sweater. I shudder against Rhett’s side as he wraps an arm around me and we cross the hospital parking lot.

“Vivica!”

We slow down as a bruised man in a half untucked shirt rushes toward us.

It’s unlike Craig to be so disheveled. It’s obvious he hasn’t cleaned himself up after being knocked out at The Hen’s House.

His face is a map of bruises, from the deep purple swelling along his jaw to the even nastier, mottled lump on his nose.

“So you’re alright!” he calls out, stopping in front of us. “I heard you were in the ER and wasn’t sure what to think.”

Anger rises to the surface. “Craig, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Your aunt posted on Facebook. I’m not sure she realizes we’re still friends. But her status update said you were in the ER and asked people to keep you in their prayers. I rushed over as soon as I saw it.”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.

It doesn’t even surprise me that Aunt Paula would make that sort of Facebook post.

I love my aunt like a second mother, but that woman treats Facebook like the town square. She’s making posts almost daily, often updating her huge swath of friends (most casual at best) on the details of her life.

Those details often involve me as her only niece.

“We really need to talk, Viv,” Craig says. “Just the two of us. A sit-down so we can⁠—”

“We already talked,” I interrupt tersely. “I’m done hearing you out, Craig.”

“This’ll be different. Seeing that post about you in the hospital—it scared me. It made me realize⁠—”

“It made you realize what? That you still care? That you made a mistake?” I challenge. “Why do you think I give a fuck if you have? You don’t get to have realizations now. That window closed a long time ago.”

He steps toward me as if Rhett is invisible. “Viv, give me a few minutes⁠—”

“What part of get the hell away from her don’t you understand?” Rhett growls. He’s let go of me and stepped forward to match Craig. The energy he’s exuding is the same kind of calm, controlled rage he’d had at the bar when he punched Craig straight in the jaw. “She’s done talking to you. Walk away unless you want a matching black eye.”

Craig’s gaze shifts to Rhett, full of loathing. “I wasn’t seeking your permission. I was speaking to Vivica. She can speak for herself.”

I feel the tension thicken inside Rhett. Sense how his hands ball up into fists as he’s about to take another step forward and give Craig an encore of earlier tonight.

But while I do appreciate his support and protectiveness, this is my moment. My chance to put my foot down once and for all as far as my ex-husband’s concerned.

“You’re right, Craig,” I quip before Rhett can make a move. “I can speak for myself. Hear me loud and clear because this is the last time I’m going to tell you—we’re divorced.