“If you come near me again, I’ll do worse.” I sound like a full-on badass, and I need him to hear that. I needmeto hear that.
I pull the door shut, making sure the lock clicks into place. Jon starts cursing at me through a mouthful of blood, and I don’t wait to hear the rest as I rush past him.
The evening air is cool against my sweaty skin, and I take the stairs two at a time, my bare feet hitting the metal steps hard as I fly down to the alley behind the bakery. My kneecap aches, and my wrist is marred with the angry outline of his fingers. I left my purse and keys and phone—not to mention my shoes—back in the apartment I just sealed shut. But I keep walking, past thedumpsters, around the corner, and onto the sidewalk toward the Pinecone Grill.
I keep my gaze straight ahead, ignoring the odd looks I must be getting from tourists and locals enjoying a perfect summer night on Main Street. My chest heaves, but I swallow down the sobs that want to fight their way out. I didn’t let Jon’s violent hands break me, and I won’t let my father’s calculated cruelty define me. I’m not a victim, I’m a survivor.
27
AVAH
The doorof the Pinecone Grill bangs against the wall hard enough to rattle the glass, the sound piercing the roar of adrenaline still screaming through my veins.
My right knee throbs from the impact of Jon’s face, which is an action I never expected to take but don’t regret for a second. My barefoot walk down Main Street took less than five minutes, and it’s a shock my quaking legs got me here.
The front half of the restaurant is dim, chairs flipped upside down on most of the tables since the diner’s typically only open for breakfast and lunch. Nick Dixon walks through the swinging metal door that leads to the kitchen, balancing small plates on a tray, his dark hair pushed back under a beat-up ball cap. My girls—the found family that recognizes my jagged pieces and never fails to set a place for me at the table anyway—are clustered in the big corner booth.
Sloane sees me first, her blue eyes going wide as she slides out of the booth. Molly is right behind her, scanning me from head to wiggling toes as if assessing the damage.
I must look as wrecked as I feel because the rest of the table goes silent. Piper’s fork freezes halfway to her mouth. Sadiestraightens in her seat with the alertness of a woman trained to read body language—both canine and human—for a living.
“Avah.” Sloane moves forward slowly, like I’m liable to bolt if she comes at me too fast. She knows me way too well. “What happened?”
I hold up a hand—the one that isn’t attached to the aching wrist—and try to catch my breath. The words clog my throat, a traffic jam of confessions I’ve been swallowing down for weeks. I can feel them all pressing forward at once, demanding to be the first through my crumbling roadblocks.
“I’m moving to Florida.” The sentence sounds asinine and…hello…bury the lead much?
Taking a step closer to Sloane, I hold her worried gaze. “Also, I’m in love with your brother, and my dad’s an ex-con who wants to use me to get to him.”
I immediately switch my focus to the rest of the group, afraid of seeing disapproval or possibly disgust in Sloane’s bright eyes. “And I’m fairly confident I just broke my ex-fiancé’s nose with my knee.”
Nobody moves.
Nick manages to set down the tray without making a sound, then wipes his hands on his apron as his head swivels between the table of stunned women and me.
“I’m going to leave you ladies to talk amongst yourselves.” He glances over his shoulder on his way back to the kitchen and gives me a quick thumbs up. “Nice work on the nose, Avah.”
I acknowledge the compliment with a nod, and then it’s just the book club ladies.
“Sit down, Avs.” Molly deploys the same calm tone with me I’ve heard her use when one of her twins is about to go into meltdown mode, and I’m not mad about that at all.
I slide into the booth, knowing my legs won’t hold me much longer. The vinyl is cool against the backs of my arms, and I press my palms flat on the table to keep them fromtrembling. Any normal person would be crying right now, but the tears won’t come. It’s like my body tripped a circuit breaker somewhere between my apartment and the diner, and the emotional grid went dark.
“Let’s start with Florida,” Iris says, scooting her plate out of the way and folding her hands in front of her on the table as if this is one of the monthly mayoral meetings she used to run. “What’s in Florida?”
“My mom lives there,” I answer hoarsely, grateful when Taylor pushes a glass of water in my direction.
“Do you even talk to your mom?” Piper asks, earning a swift elbow to the ribs from Sadie.
I take a quick sip, then wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “Mostly when she needs money to leave her latest awful boyfriend.”
Piper nods like that doesn’t sound totally unhinged. “Okay.”
“Wait.” Sloane takes the empty place across from me. “Start at the beginning. What happened before you got to the diner?”
“Jon showed up at my apartment.” My voice sounds flat, like I’m reading a police report about my own life. “My father went to see him last week and pitched some scheme involving NorthStar families.” I swallow—once, twice—then continue, “For context, dear old Dad was recently released from prison after serving fifteen years for swindling a whole bunch of golden girls and guys out of their savings. Jon said he’ll tell Jeremy about my dad, the fraud conviction, all of it. He threatened to blow up the NorthStar partnership and make sure everyone knows exactly where I come from.”
Sloane’s face drains of color. “What did you do?”
