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Wyatt looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “Even if I can convince Kelsey to give things a chance, I can’t give her any guarantees beyond I love her and want it to work.”
“Fuck, that’s all any of us can do. Promise to try and be willing to make sacrifices. Are you willing to do that?”
“Of course.”
Jace eyed him. “Even if that means working less hours and putting something besides work first for a change?”
Wyatt huffed a bitter laugh and walked over to the front counter, sitting on it. “That won’t be a problem. I quit.”
“Sure you did. I really would be stocking up on canned goods if that were true.” He squatted down to pick up the bottles of lube that had rolled to the floor.
“Then grab some corn and peas, brother, because I told Dad to go fuck himself.”
Jace stood, his green eyes wide, his task forgotten. “You’re shitting me.”
Wyatt rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, exhausted all of a sudden. “I found out some things on the trip and confronted Dad. Turns out he’s been quietly laundering money for some of his bigger clients for years. He would doctor the reports before they got to me because he knew I’d pick up on it.”
“Holy fuck.”
“I didn’t want to believe it. But not only did he not deny it, he wanted me to take on Andrew Carmichael as a client and do the same for him. Like I’d put my neck on the fucking line and risk prison for that prick.”
“Christ. So you just quit? After all the time you’ve put in there?”
Wyatt released a breath. He thought he’d feel empty walking away from that building, grieve the years he’d put in only to give it all up. But all he’d felt when he stepped out into the sunshine in the middle of a Monday afternoon was . . . freedom. And possibility. The only sadness that had punctured him had been when he’d walked past the Sugarcane Cafe and didn’t see his pretty blonde waitress inside.
“I’m making Dad buy out my portion of the company and clean up his shit. A few of my clients will come with me, and I’ll continue to advise them. But I’m going to put most of my focus on the venture capitalist thing instead.”
“Wow,” Jace said, leaning against the shelf, looking genuinely awed. “So now you have all the time in the world.”
“I don’t even want to admit how many movies I’ve watched in the last two weeks.” Romantic ones to torture himself. Depressing ones to wallow. And blow-’em-up ones to forget all the others. Fucking pathetic.
Jace crossed his arms over his chest, compassion overtaking his normally cocky expression. “Don’t give up on her, man. Go get her.”
Wyatt groaned. “She doesn’t want to be gotten.”
“Bullshit. How many of those movies lining your shelves have you watched where the guy lets the girl he loves walk away? I saw Kelsey at The Ranch this weekend. She looks miserable, dude. This is the time for grand gestures and fucking boom boxes held over your head outside her window.”
Wyatt crossed his arms and gave Jace a come-on-now look.
“What? I love the shit out of that movie. Hated that song he played though.”
“Didn’t you let Evan leave last year?”
He scowled. “I didn’t have a choice at the time. But as soon as she was back in town, you can bet your ass I went full out.”
“And what, pray tell, was your grand gesture?”
Jace shrugged, his eyes sparkling with the apparent memory. “It may or may not have involved illegal use of a cop uniform and breaking a few laws. But it doesn’t matter what mine was because you need to figure out what’s right for Kelsey. Show her what you can give her that no one else can.”
Wyatt scrubbed his hands over his face, wondering if the end of the world really was near because his little brother was starting to make sense. But the thought of Kelsey sad, even for a moment, had his lungs squeezing tight and the wheels of invention turning in his head. He peered over at Jace and hopped off the counter. “Cancel any plans you have this weekend. I’m going to need your help.”
Jace’s grin went wide.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kelsey set her phone down in the grass, staring at the screen, still not sure she’d heard correctly. The detective who had helped her with the Miller brothers had just called to tell her that Howie Miller wouldn’t bother her anymore. The entire D-Town operation had been exposed over the weekend, including players from the bottom rungs all the way to the top dog—a guy with known ties to a drug trafficking ring in Houston. Apparently, an anonymous citizen had hired top-notch private investigators to track Howie’s steps for the last few weeks and had gotten one of the players to turn against the group and give up vital information. None of the gang would be getting out of prison for a very long time.
She couldn’t even process that good news. She was safe. Safe. She wouldn’t have to leave.
