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“I never meant to hurt you.”
“You think you have that power?” I wheeled around on him. “No one will ever have that kind of hold on me again. Ever.”
“Good. You deserve someone that can be all you need.”
“Don’t tell me what I deserve.” I stormed toward the bar. “And I don’t need anyone,” I said over my shoulder.
“It’s okay to let people in.” He reached out, but quickly dropped his arm as if he thought better of touching me.
“For everyone else? Not you, right?”
“I did. And they burned me.”
“Now you’re the one with the matches?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
We both turned at the menace in Mr. Dixon’s voice. He glared at a woman only a few feet away. One with hair the color of Holt’s, eyes like Andrew’s, and lips the shape of Marlow’s.
Her sinister smile sent a chill through me.
“My son is getting married. What kind of mother would I be to miss that?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Holt
No fucking way.
No way was I going to let her ruin my brother’s wedding or hurt my father. Marlow stood behind her, face pale.
I pointed at my sister and erased the distance between us. “You. How could you do this?”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m supposed to believe that? After what I found?”
“What are you talking about?” Dad’s face was a deep crimson, his fists at his sides. Thank God Mrs. Quinn had volunteered to babysit the kids.
Guilt swamped me. Shit. I couldn’t lie to him now. I looked to Andrew for help.
He stepped forward. “You need to leave,” he said, not bothering to hide his contempt.
“It’s a bar, son. You can’t force me to go.”
“I am not your son.”
“The sixteen hours in labor say otherwise.” Her artificial smile turned to me. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
Dad’s gaze bounced from me to her. He pounded his fist on the bar. “How does she know we’re here?”
“You’d better ask your daughter that,” I said, wondering how I didn’t see exactly who my sister was.
“I—”
“Are you gonna deny it?” I challenged.
“I told her about the wedding,” she said, her voice small. “But none of the details.”
