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There’s a reason for that.
Not a pleasant one.
Even a fleeting thought about Olivia is like summoning a demon. The icy chill on the back of my neck is inevitable.
Olivia Davison Ballerini had many roles in my life.
My mother’s best friend.
My high school principal.
Years ago, back when I was little more than a stupid kid, she was also my worst mistake. It was right after I was released from prison, full of fury with nothing to look forward to and my head all screwed up.
Her lifelong obsession with my dead father was news to me.
More than a year has passed since the day in my mother’s backyard when Olivia finally revealed her true nature and confessed her crimes.
But I never talk about that shit, not even with Conner and Gage.
“I love you. Even more than I loved him.”
Fucked up beyond belief.
But that’s why I’ve been in the habit of keeping my pants zipped. There’s something about watching a woman drink a bottle of acid seconds after professing her crazed, undying love that makes a man hesitate to stick his dick anywhere new.
That’s the way things had stood until last night, until a girl I’ve been at odds with my whole life called my bluff and met my dare with one of her own.
And I will never be fucking sorry that I took her up on it.
This is the first day in a very long time that I don’t feel like there’s an invisible war tearing me to pieces on the inside. I would even say that I feel kind of good.
A pair of men huddle on a grey corner and eye me as I pass. I stare back at them without breaking stride. I don’t give a hot damn if they’re dealing or plotting or what. There’s no shortage of shady shit happening at all hours of the day in plain sight. These two granite-faced assholes wearing biker cuts are nothing special.
Still, I stay on high alert until I’m sure they’re not following. If they do, they can expect a nice hospital vacation.
I’m so busy listening for approaching footsteps that I fail to notice the gleaming silver pickup truck until I’m practically on top of it. It’s parked haphazardly beside the curb right in front of a peeling weathered sign that declares no parking is allowed at any time or there will be FINES and TOWING, as if anyone’s around to enforce that shit.
Stretched out in the long back bed, fast asleep, is the quarterback for the Emerald City Cyclones.
Breathing out a sigh of exasperation, I stand there for a minute and look at my cousin.
Seeing Conner turn up in odd places is never astonishing. He has a talent for it. There’s no way the hard surface of the pickup bed can possibly be comfortable yet he’s flat on his back with his head resting on a spare tire, snoring lightly.
The picture of contentment.
Until I drop my loaded gym bag right on his stomach.
Conner bolts upright. “Use the force, Luke!” He looks around, sees me staring at him and yawns. “Oh. You’re back.”
“You know damn well where the gym is. Why didn’t you just go there? Or better yet, send a text like a modern human so I’d have a clue you were waiting.”
He hops out of the truck, landing on the cracked concrete with far more ease than you’d expect from a man his size. He reaches back in to snatch the baseball cap that had fallen off his head while he was napping. “I didn’t mind hanging out. It was peaceful.”
“Peaceful.” I roll my eyes. “You were a sitting duck. Damn lucky you didn’t get mugged.”
“Always so negative.” He follows me to the door. “What kind of food do you have?”
“Absolutely nothing.” I start trudging up the stairs. “Why aren’t you running on a grassy field and chasing pigskin?”
