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The whip of anger lifted him to his feet. “And you didn’t think to go to the cops?”

“No. I should have, but I didn’t. I worked hard to save up the money, and the bastard managed to steal a huge chunk of it in one swoop. I think he got hold of my laptop somehow, and maybe my phone for the dual verification. I don’t know. It was gone before I knew it, and so was he.”

Yet another crime to add to his docket. “You enable him.”

Yarrow’s whole fucking family enabled him. That was the problem.

Addy raised her chin. “Netta’s mom is already in prison. I wasn’t about to send her father there too.”

Striding past her, he couldn’t stand to even look at her. “Maybe that’s where he belongs.”

Chapter 21

The next morning, he woke up feeling like a jackass. He refused to apologize because what he’d said was the truth—he didn’t know her. Couldn’t trust a Yarrow.

But accusing her of using her body had crossed a line.

She hadn’t been wrong yesterday either, thought Oliver as he dressed.

He had been the baby of the family. Jackson had lived with his biological dad, and smart, driven, on-the-spectrum Hayes was always off doing Hayes things. Nate had been the troublemaker. And Oliver? Well, he had it great growing up.

Hell, he had it great in adulthood too. The morning surfs at Venice Beach, the podcast, teaching. Women had come easily to him—even Ashley. God, he’d been ready to marry her.

But the revulsion she hadn’t managed to hide when she’d seen him in that hospital still haunted him. He’d loved her, and he did the kind thing—he’d ended it with her so she didn’t have to.

Since then, no woman had ever looked at him the way women used to. The nurses didn’t flirt. The surgeon only cataloged his injuries with clinical disinterest.

Not that he’d had the drive. He’d treated them as clinically as they’d treated him.

Even when his story had gained a social media following and all the texts and emails started—the randoms sending him nudes, the ex-girlfriends who’d reached out to him in sheer fascination—he hadn’t wanted anyone.

Then, two years in, tired of being alone, desperate to feel like his old self for just one night, he decided to pay for the pretense. Prostitution was illegal in California, but that didn’t stop it on Long Beach Boulevard.

He’d pulled up at the corner with the engine running. The woman had been pretty and friendly, and looked at him without flinching. He should have been grateful, and yet he’d felt nothing. Unable to do it, he put the car in drive and went back to his lonely house. And never tried again.

Bracing himself for another interaction with Addison, he walked into the kitchen and found her up on the counter again.

“You trying to break your neck?” This time, he didn’t give her a second to argue, clamping his hands around her waist and setting her down next to him on the solid, safe floor.

He fought the heat that being near her brought him. He should release her, but she felt perfect beneath his fingers, and she didn’t insist that he remove his hands.

Sunflowers dotted her sweater, which dipped into a V, revealing the swell of her breasts. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus on anything else. The damn curtains were open again. Addison stood close enough for him to learn the gold woven through her eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be on your run by now?” He kept his voice cool even as his pulse jumped and refused to settle.

Her gaze scanned the length of him, from head to toe. He couldn’t tell if he saw hunger there, or if he wished it.

The furrow between her brows deepened, as though she struggled to focus. “I saw a coffee maker. I found some coffee grounds in your freezer, and I’m tired of instant coffee.”

He glanced at the top shelf. She wasn’t lying. The drip coffee maker, its cord wrapped neatly around it, had been tucked into the corner.

It hurt to let her go, but he made himself do it. With a curse, he pulled down the simple coffee machine. “Here.”

The flush to her face obscured the lighter freckles. “Thanks.”

“Leave Mrs. Buckley a note on the counter to stock up on coffee grounds.”

She tilted her head in that way he was starting to recognize. “Is that how you communicate with the outside world? Through notes?”