“Dad, I thought they were by Roussou? In Frisco.”

“Nah, honey. They’re growing fast. They’re all over. Was just in Texas, last I heard, but now I’m guessing they’re back.” He paused, then saying, almost shy, “Your brother tells me that he got a job for you at a bounty hunting business in Cain. That’s real good. I think you’ll fit right in there.”

I had stopped breathing when he said that to me.

My dad.

I never saw him when he was in prison. I didn’t talk to him during the trial, not that there was much of a trial. He fought against one of the charges, but plead guilty to the majority of them. The trial had been on his time served.

He thought I’d fit in at a bounty hunting office.

That meant, well, I didn’t know what that meant to me, but I was feeling something. I must’ve because I had a big ball of emotion in my throat and I couldn’t talk for a full thirty seconds

“Honey? Bren?”

A call was coming in from Shetland.

I coughed, clearing my throat. “I gotta go, Dad. Bye.”

“Bye, honey. I lo—”

I ended the call, switching over to the other one. “Shet—” I couldn’t talk. Dammit.

“Where are you?”

“Lunch,” I said. I was still in my truck.

“That better be code for you’re getting our lunch? Right? Because it’s one-thirty and we’re all hungry.”

“Yeah.” Cough. “Yeah. I’m here, just coming in now.”

“Good.”

I could imagine his scowl. I didn’t care.

I just talked to my dad on the phone. My dad. On the phone. Not in prison, through the prison phones, or in their visitation room. On the phone like he was out and about, like a normal person, and he was. I could’ve driven three hours back and gone to see him. Face to face. In person.

Tears were rolling down my face. I didn’t know why. Shit. I couldn’t have that.

Cursing, shoving thoughts of my dad out of my head, I put the car in gear and gunned the engine. If I was late, Shetland would be up my ass. Once the lame pick-up lines stopped, he had turned into a domineering jackass.

But, driving over, my dad …

I talked to my dad.

When I got out of my truck, I didn’t allow myself to think about how I could’ve been talking to him for the last two months. Nope. I didn’t let myself go there. Not yet.

I wasn’t ready.

I walked in carrying their bags of food with a forced grin, and Shetland gave me a double take. I must’ve looked stupid enough that he just grabbed the food, gave me a glare, and stalked into the office. The door slammed behind him.

I didn’t care about that either.

CROSS

My brother was pissed at me. No one cared.

Zeke was pissed at my brother. Everyone cared, or so I was told. It was all over campus by the end of the day. And in other news, Harper never said a word.

We kept waiting, expecting, but three days passed and nothing. The weekend came and went. Monday. Tuesday. We were all the way to next Thursday, and nothing extraordinary had happened.

Bren said her work was still cutting her out. She filled us in on everything happening there, including the phone call to her dad. She didn’t inform the guys how she felt about the call, but we all got it. She had a little spark in her eyes when she mentioned the call, but then it faded. So now we were coming up on another weekend (Thursday nights were counted as the first night of the weekend in college land) and nothing had gone down yet, especially when we thought all sorts of shit would’ve gone down by now.

“Have you talked to Tab at all?” The question came from Bren after we sat down for tacos. It was just the four of us. Zellman had plans to head out, but Jordan had stayed in every night since that night.

He paused now, in mid-reach for a beer. “No.” He stared at his plate. “Am I the bad guy? Since I didn’t reach out?”

The question wasn’t directed only to Bren. She glanced at all of us, clear indecision on her face. I opened my mouth. I wanted to step in, make it right, but I didn’t know the answer. I closed my mouth, sat back. Bren’s face tightened. Her hands balled into fists, resting on the table by her plate, and she looked at them. Her shoulders went rigid, but Zellman said it first.

“Tab cheated on you.”

“Zellman.” Bren frowned.

He shrugged, slumping down in his chair. One hand went into his pocket. The other reached for his beer. “What? It’s true. She overheard something and thought, ‘Hey, I’ll use my body in this situation and I’m not even going to break up with my boyfriend. I’m just going to cheat and let him find out.’ I’m sorry. I can’t understand Tabatha’s side where I feel bad for her in this scenario, and I’m sure I’m missing something and I should, but I can’t. She cheated. She should’ve given Jordan a heads-up. Shoot him a text, at least, not do it cold like she did.”

We didn’t have these conversations often. Ones that dealt with sexual shit, girls, their points of view. Bren didn’t speak up, and most times, she thought like we did, so we were in uncharted waters here. I wished I had something to say. I felt like I should have something to say, but I didn’t. If it had happened to Bren, or my sister, and I already went down that rabbit hole when Taz was just hurt, I still had no clue what I would’ve said or done.

It was messed up. That’s all I kept coming back to.

Bren had reached out to Tabatha. She went to her house the next day after work, but Tab wasn’t there. The sorority girls were adamant that Tabatha had taken off for the weekend. Bren was fine with that, opting instead to send a few texts. She called her, too. No response from Tabatha.

Monday happened. Nothing.

Tuesday. Same.

Bren tried getting in touch with her again last night, and I only knew about it because I walked in as she was leaving a message. Her eyes found mine over the table, and I was reading the sorrow there. She was asking herself the same question that Jordan had asked himself over and over again…had she done enough?

“If Tab wanted to talk, she would contact you. You guys are in the same position as she was when she decided to do something to help her dad. Wrong decision made, but it had been hers. She owned it.”

“And now?” Jordan asked me. The guy had been a walking corpse all week. He was staring into the void like he was half-dead. “Now that we know? I took her phone back to her the next day. Handed it over to one of her sorority sisters. I don’t even know if she got it.”

Bren frowned at him. “I went to the house, too. They turned me away.”

He looked at her, staring. He didn’t respond.

Zellman rolled his eyes. “Fuck this.” He shoved his chair back, grabbing his own phone out of his pocket. A number was dialed, and he put it on speaker as a female’s voice came over the other end.

“Zellman?”

We all paused.

Then Zellman said, “Sunday, where’s Tabatha?”

“What?”

It was Sunday. Zellman’s ex on-again, off-again, and one of those times when they were off-again, she hooked up with Bren’s ex and was now pregnant with his kid. That ex. Tabatha was high school friends with both Tasmin and Sunday, and that had me wondering if my own sister had heard from Tabatha?

Sunday chose to remain in Roussou to have her kid, while my sister and her boyfriend went to Grant West, a college four hours away.

Zellman was standing like a statue, listening to his ex, but at her ‘what?’ he snapped into action. He whisked his phone in the air, almost punching it with words, “You know where she is! Where is she? Is she there? Is she hiding?”

“What? What are you talking about?” But her voice was straining. She was obviously nervous.

“You’re lying to me. I can tell because you’re being nice. Normal Sunday would be pissed that I’m calling. You would’ve already bitched about two things by now, and you haven’t bitched about anything. Where is she?!” Zellman was yelling into the phone.

There was silence. Then a ruffling sound. Footsteps. A door opened.

A second later, a quieter and much more subdued voice spoke, “Is Jordan there?”

A pin could’ve dropped.

I didn’t think anyone expected Tabatha to come on the line.

Another beat passed.

“Jordan?”

Suddenly, he shoved back his chair. Two long strides around the table, he plucked the phone out of Zellman’s hand and he shoved his way outside. All three of us shared one look, then our chairs were pushed out of the way. We went to the window, and we weren’t trying to look pressed against it, eyes bugging out, but we were. We couldn’t help it.

Jordan didn’t spare us a look.

His hand was in his hair, like he wanted to rip it out and he was barking into the phone. He was pacing.

He was pissed. Tense.

Then he stopped.

He dropped to one of the chairs. The phone was on the table and his forehead was by it. He remained like that the rest of the convo. His legs were bouncing, restless, and he had his hands in fists, bouncing right alongside his legs.

“She was there the whole time.” Zellman was glaring out the window. “I should’ve known. I should’ve just known. I mean, I couldn’t have known, but I should’ve. She and Sunday got close at the end. They were both our girls. I mean, besides Bren and Tasmin, but it’s different with both of them. Those two got close.” He drew in a breath, his voice bleak. “We should’ve known.”