“Hey.”
“Tell me you’re okay,” I rush out.
“Y-yeah.” She hesitates. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Vi—”
“Seriously, I’m okay.” She sounds more sure this time, less dazed. Or maybe she’s faking it in hopes of putting me at ease. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Slumping against the counter, I force myself to calm down and focus on the facts. “Was it your dad?”
Silence.
“Talk to me, Little Thief,” I push.
“Yes.” The word is nothing but a breath, and my blood turns to an icy sludge. “It, uh, it was my dad.”
Turning the call to my speaker, I pull up my text thread with Roman and pass along the information, while maintaining as much composure as I can. “Is he gone, Vi?”
“Yes.”
Relief spreads through me, and my head hangs forward. “Good. That’s really good, Vi,” I repeat, turning off the speaker and lifting my cell back to my ear. “Do you know why he went to your place?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
The spreading relief shrinks as I register the slight tremble in her response. What did he do? Pressing my free hand to the cool countertop, I let it steal my heat, focusing on the temperature difference while forcing myself to stay calm. “Did he tell you about the bet?”
Please say no, I silently beg.Say no so I can take care of this without putting you through unnecessary fear or discomfort.
“Yes, he told me.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “I’m going to take care of this, okay? I promise you?—”
“Jagger, I have a brother.”
The confession blindsides me, and I pull my cell from my ear, checking the name on the screen in case I somehow got connected to, who? The Easter Bunny? I don’t even know, but even that would make more sense than Violet revealing she has a brother.
“What are you talking about? I ask.
“I have a brother.”
“How do you know?”
“My sperm donor told me,” she murmurs as if she’s in the same daze as when she answered my call.
“Why?” I yank at the tie strangling me, undoing the knot and tossing it on the kitchen counter as if it’s personally offended me. “Why would he tell you that?”
“At first, I think it was an accident, but then, he realized he could use the information as leverage and…” Her voice cracks, taking the organ in my chest right along with it.
But it’s the silence that really does me in. As it eats my stomach lining, I shift my phone to my opposite ear. “Violet, talk to me. Please talk to me.”
“He said he’d give me my brother’s name if I…” Her voice quivers. “If I would sign over the house, and…”
The ache in her tone guts me. “Baby,” I rasp.
“His name’s Oliver,” she chokes out. “Oliver Reeves. He’s a professional hockey player for the, uh, the Lions, I guess?” My blood runs cold. “And according to Wikipedia, he’s also like, married with some kids,” she continues, “and he’s like…a lot older than me, which is weird. But, I don't know. I don’t know what to think. What if he lied?”
That sonofabitch lying? It wouldn’t surprise me. Hell, I’d probably bet he is in every case except this one. Why? Because of one word she mentioned. Lions.
