“Oh, please.”Addison’s sneer cut through the room.“You didn’t give a damn when we were married, and nothin’s changed.Still lettin’ your dick call the shots—and now your daughter’s watchin’ it happen.”
The words hit Cassie harder than they should have.Not because she cared about their mess—because she damn well did not.But because Addison had the audacity to act like she wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Nash.The hypocrisy of it was almost laughable.Almost—if it didn’t feel like a new knife twisting inside an old wound.
Slowly, Cassie turned.Chin first.Then her eyes.
It was a collision of sorts—the past slamming headlong into the present.All the whispers and giggles of girlhood long gone, they were women now, standing on opposite sides of way too much history.
Addison’s gaze widened, her sneer slipping.“Cassie?”she whispered.
Addison Lee—Addison Walker now—was still blonde and beautiful.Still smug as hell looking, too.Beside her, a dark-haired girl in a dirt-streaked softball uniform clutched a glove, misery written plain across her young face.
Cassie had once practiced a thousand venom-laced accusations, blistering one-liners honed and ready to fire should the chance ever present itself.But now, face-to-face with the girl who’d sworn them best friends forever, her mind went blank.
Seconds ticked by in strained silence before Addison’s surprise slipped away.She glanced at Nash—at Cassie—back to Nash again, her eyes narrowing into slits.
“So this is why you missed the game,” she started slowly, her tone tightening.“You spent the night here with…her.”
Nash made a sound—half curse, half growl—as Cassie’s temper flared, breaking loose before she could choke it back.Fury shoved her forward in quick strides.
“I’m here,” she spat in Addison’s direction, “because Connor is dead.”
She didn’t wait for the fallout.She shouldered past Nash, yanked the door hard enough to crack against the wall, and left.
“Jesus Christ.Jesus Christ.Jesus-fucking-Christ.”
Cassie’s hands clamped the wheel as she tore down Black Bear Trace, the road pitching and bucking through the hills, half-eaten by erosion.She took a turn too fast, skimming the edge of the shoulder.
“Why the hell did I even come here?”she shouted.She should’ve flown straight back to New York after the morgue.She still could.She didn’t have to be here—she could handle everything else from a distance—emails, calls, money transfers—and forget Clifton Ridge even existed.
She definitely didn’t have to stand in that clubhouse like a damn fool, face-to-face with Nash and his wife—or ex-wife, whatever the hell she was—and their kid.
Oh my god, their kid.Ten, maybe eleven years old, that little girl had Nash’s dark hair and Addison’s sun-kissed beauty.
A whole life Cassie hadn’t even known existed until now.
Her grip tightened.Her foot pressed harder on the gas, sending her wide around the next curve.She didn’t want this town.Didn’t want its people, its roads, its memories—any last horrible piece of it.
A horn split the air and Cassie’s head snapped up.She’d drifted across the line, oncoming headlights bearing down, too close, too fast.She jerked the wheel, gravel exploding as the car fishtailed onto the shoulder.Slamming the car into park, she dropped her head into her hands.
Stupid.Reckless.Just like she’d been last night.
Just like she’d always been in this goddamn town.
Sucking in air, her fingers slid shakily toward the gear shift—then froze at the sight of red and blue lights flooding the rearview mirror.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Cursing, she dug out her wallet and rental paperwork as the cruiser rolled to a stop behind her.A moment later, a sheriff’s deputy appeared at her window, a wide-brimmed hat shadowing his face.
“License and registration, ma’am.”
Cassie shoved both out the window.“It’s a rental.I’m just passing through.”
“I see that.”He glanced at her ID, then did a double-take.“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Leaning down, the deputy tugged off his hat to reveal a mess of red hair.“It’s me, Cas.Ollie—Ollie Caldwell.”
She blinked at him, disbelieving.But no—those were the same broad shoulders from his football days, though he’d gone softer around the middle.The same red-orange hair, now streaked with early gray.A crisp tan uniform, a badge clipped to his chest, a utility belt at his hips, holstering a service weapon.
