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He wasn’t even joking. Yikes.
Once they were both in the truck, Grady set off toward Pinkies.
“Right. What’s wrong?” He glanced over at her, his hands tight around the steering wheel.
She never felt unsafe with these guys while they were driving. They were always in control.
“I got a letter today.”
“Right.”
“A letter from a lawyer. I think . . . I think Brooks’ mom, well, her brother, he wants custody of Brooks.”
There was silence in the truck. “What. The. Fuck. Why would he think he’d get custody? Brooks is sixteen. It’s been years since Joe died.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But, uh, I called the lawyer and it seems they have some things they think will help them get custody.”
“Like what?”
“Like a neighbor who will attest that I’m seeing two men. At the same time.”
“Neighbor? What fucking . . . Roddy.”
“Roddy.” He’d moved out over the weekend, so she couldn’t even confront the bastard.
“Fucking weasel. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of it all.”
“Grady—”
“Little girl, you have two men now. Two men who have their own resources. We are going to take care of this.”
“You’ll take care of it?”
“I promise.” He glanced over at her just as she spotted someone speeding backward out of a driveway.
“Grady! Watch out!” she screamed.
A large hand landed on her chest seconds before the car slammed into them.
The sound of screeching metal filled the car. She slammed forward, although her face never hit the dashboard thanks to the hand holding her back.
She sat there as they came to a stop, just trying to breathe.
She turned her head, wincing as pain shot through her entire body. “Ouch.”
Grady stared at her, his face filled with fear. What was wrong? Was he hurt? She’d never seen him look like that. His mouth kept moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Why couldn’t she hear anything?
Then Grady cupped her chin with his hand. The warmth of his skin hit hers. Suddenly, it was like her ears popped.
“Are you all right? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
“I t-think so.”
“You think so?” Alarm took over the worry. “Are you hurt?”
“I . . . I don’t think so.”
