“I said, back off,” she told the desk.

“What spooked you?”

She didn’t turn, didn’t drop her arm, she just repeated, “Seriously, this is uncool and you know it. Back off.”

He walked up to her and grabbed her arm, pulling it down and she turned to him, her eyes finding his.

“Was it Amy?” he asked.

There it was again. That raw look. Except in the office with the lighting better and her close it was considerably more difficult to witness. In fact, he knew he’d never f**king forget that look on her face.

“It was Amy,” he said quietly and she twisted her arm away from his hand, taking a step from him so desperate to get away but trapped between his body and the desk she bumped into it hard. It tilted and some papers slid off the cluttered top onto the floor.

They both ignored the papers.

“Talk to me, Feb.”

“Did you talk to her?” she asked.

“What?”

“Did you explain the way it is?”

“Explain the way what is?”

“I didn’t put her on my list, but I figured you’d talk to her.”

That cold that was clawing at Colt’s chest found purchase, tearing in, freezing his insides.

“Why would I talk to Amy Harris?”

Her brows came together, those lines forming at their edges this time deeper.

Accusation.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, and there it was, plain in her tone.

Accusation.

“Maybe you wanna explain this,” he suggested, treading carefully.

Something was happening here, something he did not get, something that more than spooked her, something that pained her and, whatever the f**k it was, it had to do with him and f**king Amy Harris.

She tore her eyes from his and shook her head.

“I don’t need to explain it,” she said to the desk.

“I’m thinkin’ you do.”

Her eyes came back. “Fuck you.”

He wasn’t concerned anymore, now he was getting pissed.

“What?”

“I said, f**k you.” She leaned in on the last two words. “Talk to her, Colt. When you do, she’ll know.”

“Now I’m thinkin’ I need to know.”

She shook her head again, muttering, “Full of shit. So full of shit.”

“February.”

“Been the bad guy a long time, Colt, I’m used to it,” she told him, making no f**king sense whatsoever. “You don’t do the right thing and talk to her you’ll be the bad guy. Yeah?”

With that, she pushed passed him and, still in a huff, she snatched the door open and threw herself through it.

He wanted to go after her and he didn’t care if there was a scene. J&J’s was a bar, ripe for scenes. It’d seen its fair share.

But he was angry so he took a moment to find his control and this took awhile.

Once he locked it down, a couple of things struck him.

Instinct told him whatever just happened didn’t have to do with a hatchet murderer bent on inflicting bloody justice for the wrongs done to Feb.

Instinct told him whatever just happened had to do with the February Owens he loved becoming an altogether different February Owens.

He took in a deep, calming breath and sorted through his thoughts.

One thing he knew, if Feb wanted to hold something deep and not let it go, she was going to do it.

And whatever this was she had so buried deep, no one could dig it out.

So he’d have to find another way to dig it out.

Starting with Amy.

Chapter Four

Butch

I was sitting on my bed from last night, which had necessarily been converted to a table where Mom and Dad and I just had bacon, eggs and toast that Mom made on the RV’s stove when my cell rang.

It was sitting by my plate and I stared at it.

The front screen said “Colt Calling”.

Colt had never called me before and I’d never called him. I’d successfully avoided programming Colt’s number into my phone for two years as well as, I suspected, Colt doing the same with mine.

But there it was, his name on my phone. Not “unknown caller” but his name.

Somewhere along the line f**king Morrie had programmed f**king Colt into my f**king phone, the ass**le.

And someone, probably f**king Morrie, had given Colt my number.

I snatched it up, flipped it open, put it to my ear and said, “Hello?”

“Your Dad have a word with you?”

I looked at my Dad sitting across from me then I looked at my plate then I looked out the window.

Then I blew out a sigh before I said, “Yeah.”

“When’re you gonna be over?”

I looked back to Dad. “It’s Colt. He wants to know when we’re gonna be at his place.”

Dad looked at the narrow door behind him and turned back to me. “After my mornin’ constitutional. I’m thinkin’ thirty minutes,” he lifted his hand, pounded his chest and let out a loud belch before he finished, “maybe forty-five.”

I closed my eyes. Dad’s “mornin’ constitutional” would occur in the room that also functioned as the RV’s shower. Not to mention it would happen in an RV which was about as big as my bed at home, save about five square feet.

At least that knowledge made the pill that I had to move into Colt’s house, and Colt’s bed, a little easier to swallow.

“You hear that?” I said into the phone.

“Christ,” he heard it, “tell Jack to back into the drive at the side,” Colt said to me.

“Gotcha.”

“I’ll be there when you get there.”

“Can’t wait,” I lied and I knew it sounded bitchy but what did I care?

“Feb.”

I waited but he said no more. “What?” I prompted, eventually losing patience.

“Nothin’. Later.”

“Later,” I replied then flipped my phone shut.

It was nine o’clock and the morning had started bad. This was mainly due to the fact that I was still in a shitty mood after seeing Colt give Amy Harris one of his killer grins. And also because I was in a shitty mood because I reacted to it the way I did, giving too much away.

Then the morning got worse when Dad told me I was moving in with Colt. He told me this using the voice he used when he’d tell me things like I had to clean my room, or I had to get my shit together and stop flunking chemistry, or when I had to go over to Old Lady Baumgartner’s house and vacuum and dust and clean out her cat’s litter box because she was so old she couldn’t do it anymore.