Madison: Are you still open to a consult?
Disappointment that it wasn’t a text from Tenor gave way to curiosity. Wasn’t Madison afraid her brother would get upset?
Me: Yes. What are you thinking?
Madison: Meet me Saturday at 4 at Flatlanders.
Me: You sure it won’t be an issue?
I did not want to get on the bad side of a guy who seemed volatile.
Madison: I already talked to Scooter. It’s fine.
Okay, then. Was news of my breakup with Tenor filtering through town? Now I was welcome at Flatlanders?
Didn’t matter. I had plans for a Saturday night again. I’d take it.
Me: See you then.
Clicking away from the photo album, I turned my attention to the marketing campaign Wynter had sent me this morning for the holidays. I tapped out post after post. Tomorrow, I’d proof them and start scheduling.
My gaze continued to dip toward the clock. I could go home, to my quiet apartment, in five minutes. I’d spend my Friday night reading. Again. A psychological thriller—where the boyfriend was the killer. As if that’d change my mind. If Tenor showed up, announced he was a serial killer, and brandished a knife, I’d probably throw myself on it just to be close to him.
Finally, closing time. I shut down my computer and pushed back just as Summer and Wynter appeared at the door.
“Hey, Ruby.” Wynter sounded like she was trying to coax me out from under the car. Like I was nothing but a scared kitten and they weren’t sure if I’d lash out or not.
Both of them entered, shutting the door behind them.
Wynter held her hands up, her expression instantly apologetic. “We’re outside of work hours—youdo nothave to talk to me—but I wanted to see how you’re doing and make sure this”—she wiggled her finger around the office—“is okay despite everything.”
Part of me had hoped she’d leave the very real breakup alone, pretend like it had never happened, that I’d never dated her brother—for real. The other part had been hurt that she hadn’t brought it up before. Just another sign of how easily I came and went from someone’s life.
Words froze in my throat and I could only nod. “It’s fine,” I managed to croak after bobbing my head like my neck was a spring.
Sympathy filled Summer’s face. She pulled out the chair across from me and perched on the edge, angling toward me. “Can we talk? Here, or we could go somewhere?”
First Tenor wanted to talk, and now his sisters did. Was this some sort of concerted effort?
We could not go to my apartment. I hadn’t cleaned all weekend. My dishwasher mocked the pile of dishes by my sink. I went home, read thrillers about serial killers and stalkers, and cried myself to sleep.
“Here is fine.” I folded my hands across my stomach and grappled for my composure. Staying in an office setting might help keep me from breaking down. “But I don’t know what you want to talk about.”
I knew damn well what they were here for. Their brother, not me. Had I thought a couple of hours of brainstorming new drinks was anything more than a workday? These two were not my friends.
A fissure in my chest cracked wide open.
“He told us who your dad is,” Summer said.
I scowled, my defensiveness rising, bringing a dose of anger with it. “Like I told Tenor, I can’t change any of that. And you know what? I know exactly what Dad is like. He can be insulting. He can be a giant dick. Do I cut him off? For being such an asshole, he’s one of the few men in my life who hasn’t completely kicked me out of his life.”
Except for the two times Tenor had tried to reach out. Three, if I counted his message today.
I expected more anger from the two sisters. After all, it had been Bobby Morgan who had been terrible to their loved one. Bobby Morgan who had teased him over his size, how he dressed, what his extracurriculars were. Bobby Morgan who had tried to make Tenor hate himself. And I’d paid for it.
They continued to study me with nothing but empathy.
“It’s done.” The hopelessness in my voice resonated through the office. I should quit talking, but it’d been a long week. “I can’t change my age and I can’t change the teenaged boy who knocked up my mom.”
