by Meghan March
I can do this. Who cares if it’s going to be awkward as shit, especially if Amber Fleet is still trying to surgically attach herself to him.
I hate the jealousy that eats through my veins like acid.
He’s not mine. I have no claim on him and I never will, so stop it. Focus on things that matter. Like who hit Brandy?
My best guess is that she really was hiding a bruise under that makeup, because I have a hard time believing the cops would have hauled someone like Boone off to jail like that without serious proof.
I flip open the laptop and decide that while I’m considering what to do with my sad story of a life, I’ll watch more video footage.
I’m twenty minutes in, watching the camera feeds at five times the normal speed. Brandy has been in the office for almost ten minutes searching high and low, and I’ll give you one guess what she’s looking for—that ring of Boone’s I’ve been meaning to give back. She’ll never find it, though.
Finally, someone else steps into the bar. Brandy bolts from the little back room so fast, you’d have thought her ass was on fire.
Oh God. Please, no. I can’t watch this.
My stomach twists and cramps with each passing second as the feed plays on, and sinks to my feet as I watch a hand fling out and catch Brandy’s face high on her cheekbone.
Oh. Shit. I can feel the smack like it landed on my own face.
Brandy shrinks back again like she’s expecting another blow, but it doesn’t come. Finally, she’s alone, leaning on the bar, her head bowed and shoulders shaking.
I flip the laptop lid closed, the sick feeling twisting in my gut even stronger.
How am I going to turn this in?
I don’t have a choice. I have to.
If there was any chance at salvaging what Boone and I were building, it’s gone. Brandy made sure of it.
It was never going to last, especially not with the odds stacked against us.
My eyes burn with tears that I refuse to let fall.
Stop it, Ripley. You could never have him anyway. It’s not like you can lose something that wasn’t yours to begin with.
And he wasn’t. Won’t be. Ever.
Now more than ever, I want to go straight to the cops so I don’t have to face Boone and admit why he was arrested, but I talk myself out of it. I might be the unluckiest girl in Nashville, but I still have a backbone. I’m a coward if I don’t face him and give him the evidence he needs to be vindicated. Then the world will have its proof that Boone didn’t do what Brandy said he did.
And in doing so, I’m doing the unthinkable.
I stand and straighten my shoulders, tight from being hunched over while watching the tape.
I don’t have another choice. This is the only one I can make and still live with myself.
Boone doesn’t deserve to suffer for my family’s problems. No, he deserves the best life has to offer—and we all know that isn’t Ripley Fischer.
8
Boone
Anthony and I are turning down the driveway at my place, trying to come up with a strategy based on all the shit the lawyers have told me, when he slams on the brakes to avoid running into a rusted Javelin parked in front of the gate.
“What the hell?” Anthony says.
“It’s Ripley. Let her in.”
“No shit.”
Anthony hits a remote hooked to the visor and the gate swings open. He gives the horn a double tap, indicating that she should go first, and Ripley’s car lurches forward in a way that makes me think her transmission is about to die.
Logan Brantley could make that car purr like a kitten and growl like a bitch, just like he did for my 442.
We follow Ripley up the drive, and she parks off to the side of the garage when Anthony pulls inside. I’m out of the SUV in less than two seconds.
After the pictures of Amber and me hit the Internet, I knew there was a chance Ripley might bail. Most people don’t stop to ask questions with that shit; they just jump to conclusions and assume the worst.
But not my girl. She’s better than that.
I catch sight of her as she climbs out of the Javelin and shuts the door.
Maybe I’m wrong. Her face is pale and drawn, and the dark circles under her eyes tell me she didn’t sleep last night.
Maybe she was worried about me? I told her to stay at my place, but obviously she didn’t, and now she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
But Ripley’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the SUV behind me . . . as if expecting someone else to follow.
She glances at the ground and then back to the car door again, and that’s when it hits me. She’s waiting for Amber to get out.
“Just you and me and Anthony, sugar,” I say, answering her unspoken question.
I know she wants to ask where Amber is, but I’m way more interested in what brought Ripley to my gate if she expected to find me back with my ex. She’s not spitting fire, so an ass-ripping doesn’t appear to be the answer.
Still, she doesn’t speak, and standing twenty feet away from her while she’s hugging something to her chest and looking broken and lost is more than I can take. I cross the pavement and am about to pull her into my arms when she holds something out in front of her like a shield. Or an offering.
A laptop.
“I have proof.”
“What?”
“Proof that you didn’t touch Brandy and someone else did.”
I look at the laptop and then up at her face. “How?”
“I installed security cameras at the bar. Just some cheap DIY ones that send the feeds to a server offsite, and I can watch it on my computer. Brandy didn’t know. Pop didn’t know. Just me. I wanted to catch her hand in the till so I knew where all my profits were going.”
“No shit.” Anthony says the words on a breath of relief.
“You need to see this. Give it to the cops. They’ll have to drop the charges. She can’t lie about it anymore.”
“Does she know you have this?”
This question also comes from Anthony because I’m too busy studying all the features of Ripley’s face, trying to figure out why she’s doing this if she expected Amber to get out of the car behind me.
Ripley shakes her head. “No. She doesn’t have a clue.”
“That’s a goddamned miracle.”
It’s like Ripley and Anthony are holding a conversation without me being present, because I’m still working out what I want to say.
I reach out to brush my thumb across Ripley’s cheek, but she flinches and draws back. Her reaction tells me everything I need to know.
I step away, and Anthony comes toward us. “Can I get a look at the footage? We need to get the ball rolling.”
“Let’s go inside, and we can all check it out.” There’s no emotion in my voice because it’s all balled up, burning a hole in my chest. She flinched and stepped away.
I spin on the heel of my boot and lead the way through the garage and into the house. Anthony follows and Ripley trails behind him. In the kitchen, we wait while she sets up the laptop on the counter. It’s a model so ancient, I’m surprised it still works.
When she hits Play, we watch the screen in silence. First, me arguing with Brandy, and then Ripley skips forward. Anthony and I wince when the blow is delivered.
“Shit,” Anthony says under his breath.
I look at Ripley, whose face is even paler now than it was when she was in the driveway. “Who is that?” I ask.
Her voice is quiet when she replies. “My dad.”
9
Ripley
Both men go silent after my confession, and I wonder what they’re thinking. Probably how could he hit a woman?
The answer I’ll never give? Easy. He’s been doing it for years.
They’re both staring at the screen when I hit Pause and step away. I wrap both arms around my middle. I feel like I’m being torn in two as I hand them the tool to destroy what’s left of my family, but I have n
o choice. Pop brought this on himself. For years, he’s gotten away with no consequences. Brandy too. Still, handing someone the hammer to nail the coffin shut after being loyal for so long is harder than I thought it would be.
I have no choice. Boone didn’t ask for any of this. My family tried to destroy his reputation, and all he did . . . was be nice to me.
I’m a pariah. It’s time to wrap this up and get the hell away from Boone before I do any more damage.
“You can keep the laptop. I don’t need it right now. Show the police. You can show the media if you need to.” The words are rusty, as if my throat is trying to keep them in, but there’s no use. Pop made his bed, and now he has to lie in it.
Anthony turns to Boone. “I gotta make some calls right now. I got a buddy on the force, and even though he’s not working this case, he’ll be able to tell us exactly how we should go about bringing this in. We need to handle this right.” He gives us both a nod before striding away, leaving Boone and me alone.
I can barely bring myself to look him in the eye, but I find my spine and straighten my shoulders.
“I’m sorry doesn’t come close to being a decent apology, but it’s all I’ve got right now. You didn’t deserve any of it. And I’m so freaking sorry that my disaster of a family pulled you into our mess. You deserve so much better.” I swallow back the lump in my throat. “I’ll get Hope’s truck, and we’ll take Esteban as soon as we can.”
At his name, Esteban wakes in the living room. “Take me away.”
I take a step in his direction, but Boone’s fingers lock around my wrist.
“I’m not back with her.”
I swing my head around in his direction as he continues.
“If you saw the pictures from earlier, it was all a stunt by Amber. I didn’t have shit to do with it. She and I are done, Ripley. I swear it on my granddad’s grave.”
A spark of something unfamiliar grows in my mind, maybe hope, but I refuse to give it any fuel to grow. Regardless of whether he’s back with Amber, Boone and I are done. This can’t go anywhere.
“It doesn’t matter, Boone. My family—”
He tugs me back, never releasing his hold on me. “Your family isn’t you. You didn’t pick them. You didn’t do shit. They’ve treated you like crap for years and you’re still here, doing the right thing, but struggling with that family loyalty all the same.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand. I have the world’s worst luck. If something can go wrong for me, it will. This is just one more example of why you need to stay far away from me. I’d never forgive myself if I dragged you down with me.”
With another swift tug, Boone brings me flush against his body, and I don’t have the emotional strength to fight it. If this is the last time I get to be close to him, I need to soak it up. I’ll drag out this memory when I’m alone, and remember what it was like to have someone like Boone care.
“I forgive you, even though there’s nothing to forgive,” Boone says, his voice low and quiet, his gaze drilling into mine. “I won’t let them keep you out of my life.” He releases my wrist and his hand slides around to the small of my back. “We’re just getting started, sugar, and I won’t let anyone take that away from us.”
I try to pull back because his words are all too perfect, designed to make me agree with anything he wants from me, but I can’t buy into it. He doesn’t understand.
“You don’t get it, Boone. This can’t go anywhere.” My voice shakes, and I know I’m about to lose it.
“Who says it can’t go anywhere?” His posture goes rigid.
“Me! Things don’t work out for me. Ever. I never get a break. Every time I think maybe something is gonna go right, life smacks me down again, just to put me in my place. Ripley Fischer thought she could have something better? Nope. Not a chance. Let’s make sure that goes to shit too.”
His expression softens. “What are you talking about, sugar?”
“Life, Boone! Not everything works out just because you want it to. If something can go wrong, it will. Maybe not for everyone, but for me, that’s how it works.”
“That’s bullshit.” His blue eyes spark.
“No, that’s the truth. I spent years avoiding getting involved with someone like you, someone with cameras and paparazzi following them everywhere, because of what happened with my mama. She hooked up with Gil Green, and then the next thing you know, they’re both dead. Pop never missed an opportunity to hammer me with what Mama did, and how the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And then on top of all that, I know I have the world’s shittiest luck, and I still let myself get involved with you against my better judgment. Now look at the freaking mess you’re in! It’s not just the press calling me a whore, but my cousin lied to the police and got you thrown in jail! Oh, and on top of that, your girlfriend comes back and rescues you. How much more proof do you need?”
“Nothing happened with Amber—”
I laugh, and it comes out sounding maniacal. “I believe you. I really, truly do. But guess what? It doesn’t matter what I think, because the rest of the world believes what they read online and in the tabloids. And that just sucks. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. I never get a break.” My voice rises and I sound hysterical, even to my own ears. “I let myself think for a second that maybe this could go right. Maybe I could finally have something good in my life, and look how royally it got screwed up. So I’m done. Just . . . done. I give up. I’m going to walk away before anything else bad can happen. I’ll be back for my bird, but that’s it.”
Boone’s face morphs into a harsh mask. “You had exactly one part right—this is a good thing going between us, and that hasn’t fucking changed. We hit a few bumps in the road, but everyone does. If you expect life to be perfect, then you’re not living it right.”
“Perfect?” I laugh. “Not even—”
Boone throws up a hand and interrupts. “You had your say, and now it’s my turn to talk, sugar. So listen up. What we’ve got isn’t over. Not even close. You can tell me all day long that you never get a break and nothing ever goes right for you, but I’m here to tell you that this is very right.”
I shake my head. “You can feed me a line, Boone, but I’m not buying it. Girls like me don’t get happily-ever-afters.”
“I’m just gonna have to prove you wrong then.”
I should tell him there’s not a chance in hell, but instead I whisper, “I don’t expect anything from you. No expectations is the only way I can put one foot in front of the other anymore. Anything else just leads to more disappointment than I can handle.”
Boone reaches out and grasps my hips, hauling me close to his body. His lips ghost alongside my temple, and I swear he’s breathing me in.
“What if I want you to expect things from me? What if I promise I’m not going to disappoint you?” He pulls back and those blue eyes lock onto mine.
Self-preservation is screaming tell him you can’t take the chance. But another voice, a stupid one, is yelling don’t you dare tell him no.
Anthony bursts into the room, talking a mile a minute.
“Boone, I just talked to my buddy. He said we gotta get this shit down to the station ASA-fucking-P. They need to log it into evidence and get it in front of the judge. He says the charges could be dropped before the end of the day. There’s a good chance that Brandy could be charged with filing a false police report too. Cops don’t like it when they fuck up big in this kind of case, so they’ll need to cover their asses. And once they see this, they’ll probably be picking up the old man and asking if she wants to press charges against him.” He stops when he finally reaches us. “Shit. That’s your dad. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
I step back and look away from Boone’s intense stare, thankful for the reprieve. I was on the edge of doing something too stupid for consideration. I need to get out of here.
“It’s okay. I have to go. I need to get back to Hope’s to change for work and head in for my shift.”
Boone’s gaze drops to my feet. My ankle, actually. “You shouldn’t be standing for an eight-hour shift.” His expression turns rueful when he meets my eyes again. “But you know that already.”
My posture stiffens and I cross my arms. “I need this job, and I’m not going to make Hope look bad by bailing again right after she hired me.”
“You’re not bailing—”
I hold up a hand, and shockingly, Boone goes silent. “I need to find another place to live and sort out my life. And both of those cost money, which requires a job.”
His blue eyes blaze even hotter now than they did moments ago. I can tell he wants to argue with me, but he doesn’t.
What Hope asked me earlier comes back. What do I want to do? Who do I want to be?
I still don’t have an answer, but I know that couch-surfing on her futon isn’t it. I want to be able to take care of myself and weather storms as they come. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone for a handout. My pride has taken a beating lately, and I’d like to keep a few shreds of it intact.
“Just . . . take it easy tonight, sugar. I got a vested interest in making sure you’re whole and healthy.”
Boone’s words wrap around me, and a warm feeling glows in my chest. Don’t get used to it, I order myself.
“I’ll be fine.” I turn away, glancing at Esteban as an excuse. He’s watching us both silently, which isn’t normal for him.
“Crackerhead,” he squawks before lifting one wing.
“I’ll be back for him as soon as I can.”
A smooth smile slides across Boone’s face. “You think I won’t hold the bird hostage? You don’t know me very well then, sugar. No matter what you think, we’re just getting started.”
10
Ripley
“We need someone to test the sound system,” Hope says as I slide behind the bar, ready to work. “Want to go put it through its paces?”