“Give me some time to find them.” Jonah pushed out his chair and stood, avoiding eye contact. “Not sure what you think you’ll find.”
“Don’t you fucking care?” Cord snapped.
Jonah ground his teeth, resenting the insinuation. Of course, he fucking cared. They were his parents and brother too.And I know what happened.Cord didn’t. It was that piece of information that kept his temper under control. Jonah drew in a breath, turned to his brother and folded his arms.
“Yeah, I care.”
Cord drove his hands through his hair. “Doesn’t it bother you after all these years that they never found him? I mean, with technology the way it is, all the advances in DNA and shit. They still can’t find him?” His lips twisted. “Or they just stopped looking.”
Fuck.His blood raced through his veins. Cord and Holden had been too young to be given all the details of their parents’ and brother’s deaths. Jonah had given the bare minimum toprotect them and keep their questions at bay. He’d been naïve to think that eventually, they wouldn’t inquire in depth.
“They investigated and determined it was an accident.” Jonah paused. Feeding his brother this lie was weighing heavy on his heart. “There was no reason for them to look further into Pryor.”
“And you just accepted that?” Cord’s brows shot up. “This guy is being investigated in the deaths of three people, and then he just disappears. That doesn’t seem suspicious to you, Jay? Why didn’t you hire an outside investigator to look into it?”
Are you fucking kidding me?
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve had a lot on my fucking plate for the last twelve years.” Jonah shouted. It wasn’t intentional, but Cord was hitting a nerve and asking questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.Ever.
His brother sat back in his chair, eyeing him.
Jonah held up his hand. “Didn’t mean to yell. Just don’t know what you want from me here, Cord.”
Cord slowly stood, walked his plate to the sink and then started through the room.
“Cord?”
He stopped in the doorway but didn’t look at Jonah. “Gotta go. Heading to Bryce’s for the weekend.” Then he walked out.
Fuck!
Chapter Ten
Roxanne dropped her face in her palm, squeezing her eyes shut while balancing the phone at her ear. Melody Rollins, the bride from hell, was making Roxanne earn every penny. This marked the fourth call of the day and the most aggravating. She was in the parking lot of her office, leaving for the day when the call came in. Obviously, she and Melody had different definitions of “urgent”. Nonetheless, it forced her back into her office, where she currently sat.
It was the worst timing. She grabbed her secondary phone and sent a quick message. If this woman screwed up her date with Jonah, she might be sending Melody Rollins overboard on her wedding day.
Roxanne: Hey, Jonah! I’m running a little late. Why don’t I just meet you at the burger place in thirty minutes?
She tossed the phone on the desk and swiveled in her seat, trying to keep her nerves in check. Listening to this woman rant about her outlandish requests was grating on her last nerve. Roxanne and Cassie made it their mission to make sure every couple got exactly what they wanted for their wedding day. However, they were bound by the same laws as everyone else. It was something Melody was having a hard time understanding. When there was a small pause, Roxanne took the opportunity to finally speak.
“I understand you’re upset, but having the reception on a yacht comes with certain restrictions.” She sighed. “As we’ve previously discussed.”
Roxanne had been completely transparent with Melody and all her clients who chose unusual venues. There were certain protocols and limitations that were unavoidable.
“She was my childhood best friend!” Melody said.
If she’s so damn important, why the hell wasn’t she on the original guest list?Roxanne drew in a breath, gathering herself. She needed to stay professional.
“Melody, I’m sorry, but we’ve been over this. The boat allows for 120 guests. That is the absolute maximum.”
“I don’t see why you can’t just add another table. Is it really that hard?”
Roxanne ground her teeth, grabbing the stress ball from the corner of her desk. Her grip was so tight, it was a miracle it didn’t disintegrate in her hand.
“The space is only meant for 120, which would make for very close quarters for your guests, and—”
“I don’t care.”
