with their nosy-ass questions. I took a deep breath and got up from the couch. If I didn’t let her in, she’d probably break a window. I figured it was better to avoid the broken glass.
“Gibs? I know you’re in there.” Scarlett’s voice carried through the door and she banged a few more times. “Don’t even think about trying to ignore me. Get your ass out here and—”
I pulled the door open and she stopped mid-sentence. Devlin was right behind her. Stepping aside, I motioned for them to come in.
My house—a sturdy log cabin—sat on three acres of sweet isolation. It wasn’t fancy, but I’d built it myself. It had two bedrooms—although one was just storage—a single bathroom, a living room with a wood stove, and a kitchen with cabinets I’d made custom.
I’d made some of the furniture, too. The table and chairs were mine, as was the cabinet under the flat screen TV on the wall. I wasn’t much for decor, but I did have a Jameson Bodine original above the fireplace—a metal sculpture of a mountain and trees. Scarlett had added a framed photo of the five of us Bodines, taken at Clay Larkin’s wedding, to the mantle. I’d gone ahead and left it there.
Scarlett stood next to the couch, arms crossed, all five-foot-nothing of her ready to fuck me up. Her red plaid sleeveless shirt was knotted at the waist and she wore a pair of old cut-offs. Devlin lowered himself into a chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. His wrinkle-free shirt and slacks were casual for him. He shrugged at me as if to say, you’re on your own.
“Well?” she asked, tapping her foot. “Sheriff Tucker takes you in for questioning and then you turn off your damn phone? Cassidy won’t tell me shit, so you better spill it. What the hell happened?”
There wasn’t anything for it but to tell her. “I had a photo of me and Callie Kendall in my wallet.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “What in the hell are you even talking about?”
I hated talking about this. It fucking hurt. And things that hurt pissed me off. “Look, we were friends. And before you lecture me about how she was a teenager and I was twenty, I know. It wasn’t like that.”
She stared at me, wide-eyed. “You were friends with Callie?”
“That’s what I just said, ain’t it? We both liked music, so we hung out sometimes. Kept it secret for obvious reasons.”
“I have at least eight hundred questions right now. But let’s start with the picture in your wallet.”
“I was stupid enough to sneak her out of town to go to a concert. We got our picture taken in a photo booth.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “She disappeared the next day.”
Scarlett was uncharacteristically quiet. She stared at me, her mouth half-open. “I don’t know if anyone has ever rendered me speechless before, but you just did. How did we not know you two were friends?”
“I said we hid it.”
“I know, but nobody hides stuff in this town. Not for thirteen years.”
My back stiffened. “Dad did.”
She started to reply, but stopped. Normally she defended Dad. But what could she say?
“He knew, Scar. Not only did he know, he helped her run away. And he never fucking told anyone.”
“He had to have been protecting her,” she said.
I threw my hands up in the air. “Here it comes.”
“Why else would he keep silent? If her daddy was abusing her, and it sure sounds like he was, she was probably afraid. I bet she begged him to keep quiet. Made him promise or something.”
“You really think he kept his mouth shut for her? He did it to protect himself, Scar. He helped a sixteen-year-old girl run away from home. And her dad’s a judge. Can you imagine the trouble he would have been in? Don’t kid yourself. He wasn’t protecting her.”
“Why can’t you admit that maybe Dad actually did a good thing? Jenny said Dad found Callie hurt on the side of the road. He didn’t have to help her. He could have taken her home, or just called the police and let the sheriff deal with it. But he didn’t.”
I balled my hands into fists, my temper on the verge of snapping. Devlin watched us argue, eying me like he was ready to step in if he thought I was going to cross a line with Scarlett.