“That’s not how any of this works.” My throat tightened. “You know that.”
“As a friendly reminder, we can’t discuss the case,” he said, addressing everyone but looking at me.
“I’m not trying to talk about the case. I just …” I pulled the blanket tighter. “This might be the last bonfire I ever experience. This might be one of the last nights I spend laughing with all of you. I need to prepare myself.”
Jace leaned forward, his business mode kicking in as he assessed me, then turned to Ryker. “What can we do? There has to be something.”
“We could use another private investigator,” Ryker said. “Someone to dig into everything.”
“Done.”
“I’ve got that PR specialist who saved my ass during the fake engagement disaster,” Axel added. “I can call her.”
“We’ll be character witnesses,” Scarlett announced. “All of us.”
“The prosecution will argue bias,” Ryker warned.
“Let them,” Dakota said. “I’ll tell them exactly what kind ofperson Faith is. The kind who shows up. Who fights for people. Who?—”
“Who told you revenge was underrated,” I interrupted, the memory hitting like ice water. “When Dakota was going through hell. That’s going to come up, isn’t it?”
Ryker’s expression darkened. “You saidwhat?”
“It was a joke. Kind of. Not really. God, they’re going to crucify me with that, aren’t they?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Ryker replied, but I could see the wheels turning, already strategizing damage control.
Just then, the back door opened, and Blake stepped through, still wearing his scrubs. His dark eyes immediately found me, scanning for signs of injury or distress.
“How’s your head?” he asked, moving toward me with single-minded focus.
“Blake, I’m fine?—”
But he was already examining the bandage, gentle fingers probing around the edges.
“Any blurred vision? Nausea? Dizziness?”
“I’m fine, Blake. Seriously.”
His hands stilled, but his gaze drifted past me to take in the cramped backyard. Then the peeling paint on the fence. The rusted gate latch. Blake was a chronic worrier, the kind who catastrophized every potential danger within a five-mile radius. It was exactly why I’d never invited him over before, and why I always drove to his place instead. I’d known the moment my penthouse-living, safety-obsessed brother saw this neighborhood, he’d lose his mind.
Right on schedule.
“You’re moving in with me,” he announced.
“No, I’m not.”
“This neighborhood is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“This neighborhood is affordable.”
“It might be dangerous.”
“Blake”—Tessa’s voice was gentle but firmas she placed a hand on his arm—“I know you mean well, but just because homes are in need of TLC, it doesn’t mean the neighborhood is unsafe. You’re letting your fears become irrational. Let Faith make her own choices.”
God, I loved her for that. For him, too, even when he was being impossibly overprotective.
“Speaking of choices,” Tessa said, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. I recognized the pivot for what it was—a deliberate subject change to pull Blake’s focus away from me. “We have news.”
