My father’s possible involvement sits in my chest like a live coal.
Tell him.
Tell him now.
My mouth opens.
Before I can speak, the front door swings open.
Derby steps inside from the porch, phone in hand, face dark. He looks first at Amelia.
Then at Legend.
“We got a problem.”
Amelia’s body tightens. “August?”
“He’s fine,” Derby says immediately. “Still at the house. Lottie’s niece has him building a dinosaur courthouse.”
Relief hits her so fast she almost sways.
Legend steps forward. “What problem?”
Derby holds up his phone.
A picture fills the screen.
Amelia and Derby at the Fire Pit last night, dancing. His hand at her waist. Her face tilted up, laughing. She looks alive. Happy. Unafraid.
The photo should be beautiful.
The caption under it makes my blood go cold.
The harlot took Jeremy’s son, left him for a low life biker.
Amelia goes white.
Derby looks ready to snap the phone in half.
Legend doesn’t look at the photo for long.
He looks at Amelia.
Then at me.
Then at Royal, whose face has gone still in the way that means someone somewhere should start praying.
“This came from Pearly Gates,” Legend says.
No one argues.
The wording has their stink all over it. Shame dressed up as warning. A woman turned into a sermon. A private moment turned into a public punishment.
In my pocket, my own phone buzzes.
I pull it out with numb fingers before I can think better of it.
Unknown number. As always. One line of text.