But if Sharon thinks it’s true, reality doesn’t really matter. She’ll just go ahead and shoot me, only to find out after that her assumption was wrong. And I’ll still have a bullet hole in me, regardless.
“What did Justin tell you?” I ask. I try not to focus on the menacing dark hole—the muzzle? Is that what it’s called?—staring at me. “If I know, that might help me understand?—”
“You should know what he told me!” Bits of spittle fly from her mouth. “You’re the one who did it! Who stole my granddaughter?—”
“What?” It’s out before I can stop it. “Stole? What are youtalkingabout?”
“My granddaughter! Haley!” The gun bounces again. “You kept her from me. From Justin. Because you’re nothing but a selfish slut!”
As shock slams into me, I gape at her. Did she just call me selfish? And aslut?
How dare she?
Anger boils up, heating my blood.
I know I shouldn’t react. I shouldn’t let her get to me. I just need to stay calm and keep her talking until Ronan gets here.
But she called me selfish. And a slut.
My jaw clenches so hard pain slices through it.
Honestly, I’m amazed there isn’t steam coming from my ears.
How. Dare. She.
I have to take several deep breaths before I trust myself to speak. “Why do you say that?” I ask in a carefully calm voice.
Sharon sneers. “You even need to ask?”
“I’d like you to tell me. So I can understand where you’re coming from.”
Outside, the familiar rumble of a dump truck passes by. When Sharon’s attention shifts, I have a momentary thought of trying to knock the gun away from her.
But just as quickly, her eyes are back on me. And the opportunity is over. Although, was it really much of one? Even though I’m younger and most likely stronger than her, she’s the one with the gun. All it would take is one pull of the trigger…
“Are you really going to pretend you don’t know?” she asks with a bite to her tone. “Are you really going to pretend you didn’t lie to Justin about his own daughter? Hide her for ten damn years?”
My jaw drops. “Lie? To Justin?”
“Yes!” She advances another step. “He told me all of it. How he didn’t know he had a daughter. How he lost out on ten years with her. And the whole time, you’ve been here, whoring yourself out to get money?—”
“Whoringmyself?” If not for the circumstances, her statement would almost be funny. Aside from Justin, Ronan is the only other man I’ve been with. Twenty-eight, and I’ve had sex with two men. Two. Not that it matters how many partners a woman has, but still. That she would accuse me of being a slut? A whore?
“I’veseenthem. That man who left today. Are you really going to say you’re not sleeping with him? And what about the one in the park? The one who couldn’t take his hands off you? Plus, I saw that scruffy guy waiting at your house for you.”
I look at her in confusion. Obviously, Ronan’s the man from this morning. And she must have assumed Garrett and I were together, too. But the scruffy guy?
“The scruffy guy?” I ask. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Maybe I shouldn’t be asking her about this? I should probably be focusing on her accusations of hiding Haley from Justin, which are patently untrue. But the scruffy guy? Could she be talking about Phil?
“You don’t even know who you’re sleeping with?” Sharon asks with disdain. “Fine. The one with the long blonde beard. And the gut like he drinks too much. He was here. The night of the Winter Festival. Fussing with your porch. Hovering around the door. Or did you dump him for one of your other men, and that’s why he was crying?”
There’s so much she’s said that doesn’t make sense. Phil fussing with my porch? Hovering? Crying?
“You were here that night?” I ask.
Sharon barks out a harsh laugh. “Was I here? Of course I was. How else do you think I saw him? And how else do you think I knew you were alone that night? I wouldn’t have broken in, otherwise?—”
