time. And when she finally got control she smiled.
“You’re fun,” she declared.
Fun?
“Are you okay? Did the shockwave rattle your brain? Did you drink something when I wasn’t looking? Because I think you’re a little crazy and it’s scaring me.”
“Sober as a church mouse. Or is it sober as a nun?” Liberty waved her hand and smiled. “However the saying goes. I’ve never had a friend who’s never had girlfriends before. Sometimes you look surprised. Other times you look stunned. We’re friends, Sunny. And friends talk to their friends. Yes, I want to start making a family with Drake as soon as we can. Drake feels the same way. And I’ll tell you something we haven’t shared with the rest yet. Quinn’s gonna likely be pissed but it’s her fault for wanting to get married on Laney’s due date like a crazy person so she can’t be all that mad. Drake and I set a date. It’s gonna be a surprise. We’re gonna send out a text and give everyone one hour to show up.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. No stress. No planning. Just family.”
“And one hour to get there.”
“And one hour to get there,” she confirmed. “On that note, I gotta run.”
We said our goodbyes, which included Liberty reminding me not to forget to call her, then I drove home.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning my house thinking it was going to be great having friends. When I was done cleaning I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking I was all kinds of stupid for pushing anyone who tried to be my friend away.
“What’s this?” Luke asked.
It was much later. Luke was home from work and I was at the stove pulling dinner out of the oven.
I glanced over my shoulder and nearly dropped the baked ziti.
Shit.
Goddamn.
I forgot to put the letter away.
But I didn’t get to explain.
“Who the fuck is Clive Hutchinson?” Luke growled.
My stomach hollowed and the vibe of the room shifted to unhappy.
I didn’t think any man would like to find a letter calling the woman he cared about a piece of shit. But a man like Luke, like my brothers, like the men I worked with, would like it less so. And I knew I was right because Luke looked like he was getting ready to blow.
Further, I didn’t think Luke would ever understand those letters.
“Penelope’s father.”
“Come again?”
“Penelope Hutchinson. The hostage—”
“Babe, I know who she is. What I’m asking is why in the actual fuck is her father sending you a fucked-up letter.”
Luke jerked the paper in his hand and it was confirmed he’d never get why a grieving father, who blamed me, would send me letters.
“Because he needs to vent. He’s in pain. I understand what that feels like. And if it makes him feel even a sliver better to send me letters—”
“Did you say letters?” Luke cut in. “This isn’t the first?”
A dangerous current ricocheted around the room, bounced off the walls until the air was electrified with Luke’s anger.
“Please stop cutting me off and let me finish. Clive is understandably upset. His daughter was murdered in front of him. His wife passed away years ago. Penelope was his only child. The man has nothing. He’s lashing out. I get why he blames me. I understand the anger he feels. He’ll burn out but in the meantime, I owe it to him, so I listen to what he feels he needs to get off his chest.”
Luke might not have verbally interrupted me but that didn’t mean he quelled the ferocity rolling off of him. If anything, it had magnified. His scowl had deepened, his posture went from alert to stiff, and his stare had gone from watchful to seriously pissed.
“Did you just say you understood why this motherfucker blames you?”
“Don’t call him that,” I whispered. “He lost his child.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed further and he took a step toward me.
“He did, Shiloh, but that doesn’t give him the right to send you nasty letters tearing you down. He lost his child but through that, he didn’t gain the right to call you a piece of shit. His daughter is dead and that’s a tragedy but you didn’t kill her.”
The area around my heart tightened like it always did when I thought about Penelope. A young girl whose life was stolen from the world. Snuffed out before she could do great things. A father left behind to mourn her loss.
I knew what it was like to be left, to mourn a loss—even if it was