But not my girl. She's better than that.
I catch sight of her as she climbs out of the Javelin and shuts the door.
Maybe I'm wrong. Her face is pale and drawn, and the dark circles under her eyes tell me she didn't sleep last night.
Maybe she was worried about me? I told her to stay at my place, but obviously she didn't, and now she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.
But Ripley's not looking at me. She's looking at the SUV behind me . . . as if expecting someone else to follow.
She glances at the ground and then back to the car door again, and that's when it hits me. She's waiting for Amber to get out.
"Just you and me and Anthony, sugar," I say, answering her unspoken question.
I know she wants to ask where Amber is, but I'm way more interested in what brought Ripley to my gate if she expected to find me back with my ex. She's not spitting fire, so an ass-ripping doesn't appear to be the answer.
Still, she doesn't speak, and standing twenty feet away from her while she's hugging something to her chest and looking broken and lost is more than I can take. I cross the pavement and am about to pull her into my arms when she holds something out in front of her like a shield. Or an offering.
A laptop.
"I have proof."
"What?"
"Proof that you didn't touch Brandy and someone else did."
I look at the laptop and then up at her face. "How?"
"I installed security cameras at the bar. Just some cheap DIY ones that send the feeds to a server offsite, and I can watch it on my computer. Brandy didn't know. Pop didn't know. Just me. I wanted to catch her hand in the till so I knew where all my profits were going."
"No shit." Anthony says the words on a breath of relief.
"You need to see this. Give it to the cops. They'll have to drop the charges. She can't lie about it anymore."
"Does she know you have this?"
This question also comes from Anthony because I'm too busy studying all the features of Ripley's face, trying to figure out why she's doing this if she expected Amber to get out of the car behind me.
Ripley shakes her head. "No. She doesn't have a clue."
"That's a goddamned miracle."
It's like Ripley and Anthony are holding a conversation without me being present, because I'm still working out what I want to say.
I reach out to brush my thumb across Ripley's cheek, but she flinches and draws back. Her reaction tells me everything I need to know.
I step away, and Anthony comes toward us. "Can I get a look at the footage? We need to get the ball rolling."
"Let's go inside, and we can all check it out." There's no emotion in my voice because it's all balled up, burning a hole in my chest. She flinched and stepped away.
I spin on the heel of my boot and lead the way through the garage and into the house. Anthony follows and Ripley trails behind him. In the kitchen, we wait while she sets up the laptop on the counter. It's a model so ancient, I'm surprised it still works.
When she hits Play, we watch the screen in silence. First, me arguing with Brandy, and then Ripley skips forward. Anthony and I wince when the blow is delivered.
"Shit," Anthony says under his breath.
I look at Ripley, whose face is even paler now than it was when she was in the driveway. "Who is that?" I ask.
Her voice is quiet when she replies. "My dad."
9
Ripley
Both men go silent after my confession, and I wonder what they're thinking. Probably how could he hit a woman?
The answer I'll never give? Easy. He's been doing it for years.
They're both staring at the screen when I hit Pause and step away. I wrap both arms around my middle. I feel like I'm being torn in two as I hand them the tool to destroy what's left of my family, but I have no choice. Pop brought this on himself. For years, he's gotten away with no consequences. Brandy too. Still, handing someone the hammer to nail the coffin shut after being loyal for so long is harder than I thought it would be.
I have no choice. Boone didn't ask for any of this. My family tried to destroy his reputation, and all he did . . . was be nice to me.
I'm a pariah. It's time to wrap this up and get the hell away from Boone before I do any more damage.
"You can keep the laptop. I don't need it right now. Show the police. You can show the media if you need to." The words are rusty, as if my throat is trying to keep them in, but there's no use. Pop made his bed, and now he has to lie in it.
Anthony turns to Boone. "I gotta make some calls right now. I got a buddy on the force, and even though he's not working this case, he'll be able to tell us exactly how we should go about bringing this in. We need to handle this right." He gives us both a nod before striding away, leaving Boone and me alone.