And fuck me if that doesn’t sit wrong.
Sighing, I turn back toward the group of friends waiting for me.
Olive, my best friend and business manager, cocks her head. “Who was that?”
“A friend,” I say, the words tasting heavier than they should. I glance back over my shoulder, even though she’s already swallowed by the darkness and the crowd. “I’m heading out.”
Someone cracks a joke about me sneaking off to hook up with a groupie. Normally, I’d throw one back and disappear with a wink and a grin. But tonight?
Tonight isn’t like the others.
I step away and pull out my phone, already dialing.
Phern answers on the second ring, her voice sharp. “What?”
“Nice to hear from you too. Where are you?”
“Driving to the ranch. I forgot to pack my swimsuit for L.A.”
“Perfect. I’m coming to you.” I hang up before she can argue or shut me down.
Climbing into my truck, I hit the road, windshield wipers working overtime against the rain. With one hand on the wheel, I try calling Sam again. Straight to voicemail.
I try a second time. Still nothing.
“Damn it, Sam,” I mutter, gripping the wheel tighter. “Pick up.”
He won’t. Not tonight. And with every mile I drive, one thing becomes clearer. Something’s been twisted out of place. And Charlie’s standing right in the middle of it.
And I think I finally know who’s to blame.
I pull into the ranch just as Phern is climbing out of her car, her jaw already tight with irritation. She waits for me under the porch light, arms crossed and body practically vibrating with attitude.
“What was so important that you had to come all the way out here?” she snaps, not even bothering with a hello.
I step out into the rain and meet her gaze head-on. “Charlie was at the show tonight.”
That catches her off guard. Her face flashes with shock, but just for a second. Then it hardens into something colder.
“That woman can’t take a hint,” she bites out, turning for the front door.
I follow close behind. “She said some real interesting things, cousin. Like how you’re the one who told her to leave while Sam was in Nashville. That’s a pretty different version than the one Sam shared with me.”
She tosses her keys on the entryway table and shrugs, flippant. “Tomato, tomato.”
“So it’s true?”
She doesn’t answer. Just walks deeper into the house like the conversation’s over. I shut the door behind us, jaw clenched.
“She was still writing the damn story, Liam.” Phern whirls around, eyes sparking. “Some skeezy guy showed up, asking for her by name. Wanted details. So I protected Sam.”
“It’s been two months,” I say, voice low. “Two months, Phern. And there hasn’t been a single word written about Sam except what his team’s put out.”
She narrows her eyes, defensive. “She probably got scared. Chickened out after I called her bluff.”
“She said she’s been writing him,” I say. “Sending letters. Is that true?”
Her mouth flattens. “As the president of his fan club, you know I screen the letters. Standard protocol.”
