Not to protect me.
To protect the truth from what Jeremy will try to make it.
Twila Dix’s warning from before creeps up from memory. Concerned father. Unstable wife. Motorcycle club involvement.
I hate that the law has a shape, and that shape is a noose already hanging where Jeremy wants my neck.
Amelia touches my arm.
Light.
Barely.
“I need you to come back,” she says.
Not want.
Need.
The word lands under my ribs and twists.
I look at her hand on my arm. Then at her face.
“I’ll come back.”
“Not in cuffs.”
My mouth curves without humor. “No promises.”
Her hand drops.
That hurts too.
I deserve it.
Lottie appears in the hallway then, face set, hair pulled back in a messy knot. She looks from Amelia to me to the men at the table.
“August is watching cartoons,” she says. “Janie’s with him.”
Her gaze settles on Amelia. Something passes between them, woman to woman, ol’ lady to potential sister of our Prez, fear to strategy.
“You want me to stay?” Lottie asks.
Amelia nods. “Please.”
“I got her,” Lottie says.
That is for me.
I don’t like anybody else saying they got her.
I also know I’m about to walk out.
I look at Lottie. “Door stays locked.”
She snorts. “I was locking doors before you knew which end of your pecker to aim, Derby.”
Oaks coughs.