Page 22 of Broken Strings

No. Hell no. I'll sit in this fucking parking lot or outside her house until she's ready to talk. At least then, I'm there if she needs me. Because I fucking wasn't for so long. And there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it.

I can't go back and undo it. I can't erase the years she spent raising Brinley alone. The motherfucker who destroyed our lives is dead. I'm six weeks too late to rip his fucking throat out. I can't even piss on his rotting corpse because it's six feet under. All I can do is what I'm doing. Memphis doesn't have to get that. All he needs to do is leave me the fuck alone and let me do it.

"This isn't healthy, brother," he says.

"Yeah, well, neither is opening a goddamn titty bar because it's what your dead best friend wanted to do," I snap. "But you don't see me giving you shit about your shit, now do you?"

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "You talk to him. I fucking quit."

"Hey, Priest. What's up?"

"Fuck. Not you, too," I groan, cursing up at the ceiling of the SUV when I hear Brantley Hill's voice. He's the damn record exec who signed me to Winter's tour. Except…he's not like any record exec I've ever fucking met. His life is as big a mess as mine. "What do you want?"

"Just checking in, man," he says. "You good?"

"I'm fucking fine," I snap.

"Yeah? Is that why Memphis is stomping around here, cursing you out? Because you're fine?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "You're married, right?"

"Yeah. Isla," he says quietly.

"If Isla never wanted to see you again, what would you do?"

"Lose my fucking mind," he growls without hesitation.

"Would you let her go?"

"Fuck no. I'd tear the fucking city apart to keep her in my life."

"Then you understand my predicament exactly. I'm doing what I have to do to make sure I don't lose my wife and baby girl for good," I growl. "She won't talk to me. She doesn't want to see me. I can't kill the prick who ruined our lives because I'm pretty goddamn certain he's already dead. All I can do is what I'm doing. So kindly fuck off and let me do it."

Brant is silent for a moment before he huffs a laugh. "Jesus Christ, man. Just don't fucking get yourself tossed in jail. Memphis already had to bail Dalton out yesterday."

"Don't plan on going to jail." I hang up on him, tossing my phone into the center console. Jesus. I appreciate the fuck out of them for caring, but I almost miss when I had no goddamn friends. At least then, the fuckers weren't in my business, stressing me out.

I'm still staring up at the ceiling when someone taps on the passenger side window. I jump, startled, and whip my head to the side…only to come face to face with Mina.

Fuck.

I'm busted.

She opens the door, climbing inside with a completely neutral expression painted across her gorgeous face. Even then, she looks exhausted, like she still isn't sleeping.

"Mina, I…" I grasp for an explanation as to why I'm sitting in her parking lot, but there isn't one that isn't likely to have her calling to cops. "I can explain."

"Take me home," she says, closing the door while I'm still trying to come up with something that doesn't make me sound like a fucking creep.

"What?"

"Take me home," she repeats. "I assume you know where that is since I saw you out there last night." She meets my gaze, hers level. "And again this morning."

"Fuck. I can explain."

"Just drive, McGregor."

I jerk my head in a nod…and I fucking drive.