Page 29 of Renegade Rift

“Etta.” He sighs, but it’s filled less with frustration and more with annoyance.

Good. I hope he’s annoyed I woke him up. It will make ripping him a new one that much sweeter.

But first. “Will you please put on a shirt?”

“Why are you here?”

“Nope.” I shake my head, forcing back the angry tremble in my voice. “I get to ask the questions.”

His eyebrow lifts. “And they couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Not when it involves millions of dollars.”

“Oh, that.” His smile falls, like I’ve finally dented his boy-next-door-charm.

“Yeah. That.” I’m about to ask him why he did it, followed by how he did it, but Ford lifts a hand stopping me.

“Before you ask and no doubt tell me all the reasons I’m wrong for paying off Saul, I did it to keep you safe.” I open my mouth again, but he silences me with a pointed glare, followed by a sweeping declaration. “And I’d do it again, so don’t ask me to apologize.”

“I didn’t ask you to intervene.”

He stares down at me with a look that’s halfGod you’re cuteand halfare you that dense?I’m not a fan of either half.

“No, you’d rather deal with Earl for the rest of your life,” he says with a disapproving sigh. “Because that’s how long it would have taken you to pay off that kind of money.”

“But it was my debt to pay.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His smile is almost cruel. “It was Tyler’s debt.”

“But you still paid it.” I cross my arms over my chest. He probably thinks it’s to prove my point, but really it’s so I can keep a pulse on my racing heart.

“Of course I did.”

“Why?”

“We’ve already been over the why.”

And that’s when I lose it. Completely come undone. Arms uncrossed, I tip my head back and step into Ford’s space. “Keeping me safe isn’t good enough. You waltz in here after years and pretend like you care. Where were you when Tyler’s dad was beating the shit out of him? Where were you when we were barely scraping by in the minors? Where were you all the times his dad showed up drunk and reminded him he was nothing compared to you?”

“Juliet, I?—”

“Don’t Juliet me.” I press my finger into his chest between each of my statements. “You left. You went on to one of the top schools and forgot all about him. You went straight to the majors and didn’t look back. You think we didn’t see the headlines? Ford McCoy, youngest player to start with the Monarchs. Ford McCoy, wins the Golden Glove Award. Ford McCoy, seen with X, Y and Z celebrity on his arm at Fancy Pants McGee film festival. Those were the nights I knew—” I look away, not ready to admit to him what happened on the nights Ford’s name was uttered in our house.

Ford might not love Tyler like I do—did—but what does it say about me if I ruin his image of his brother now that he’s dead?

My shoulders shake with a sob. I just want this to be over.

Without a second thought, Ford’s arms wrap around me, and he lets me cry into his chest.

No. Not cry. Sob.

His uninjured hand soothes across my shoulder blades, and I swear there’s a moment his lips brush my hair between encouraging words.

It’s too much.

My anger ebbs and flows. Rage dips into heartache, only for fury to swing back and harden my thoughts. It’s exhausting. But one thing is certain. This was not the plan. I came here with the purpose, and this most definitely isn’t it.

It takes a few tries, but I’m able to force air into my lungs. When I do, Ford pulls back and tucks a finger under my chin. He lifts gently, silently requesting me to meet his gaze. “I’m trying to understand what happened, but I feel like I’m playing with holes in the lineup. I need you to tell me what you knew on those nights, Juliet.”

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