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She sighs in defeat. She loves to worry about me.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbles. “I should go. I have a million things to do. Bye, Jax.”
“Later, sis.”
I shove my phone into my back pocket, smiling to myself. Jules, as tough as she acts on the outside, has a gooey, caramel center. Don’t tell her I told you that.
As I pass by the front door, the lock disengages and it opens. I step back, head tilted in curiosity. I can’t imagine Tommy or Daryl showing up voluntarily. The door widens and the subject of mine and Jules’s phone call stands at the threshold. The blood drains from my head to my toes so swiftly, I wobble a little.
Allison Murphy is silhouetted by sunshine. She looks a lot like she did when we were together—petite, her dark hair curling over her shoulders. She’s wearing huge sunglasses, her full mouth open in a stunned gape and her thick eyebrows arched in surprise.
I open my mouth to speak, but it’s my sister’s words that come out.
“Holy shit.”
