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“You get one fuck-up,” Ray says. “Consider it used.”

Then he hangs up.

I stare at the phone in my hand for a long moment. That is about the tenth time he has said that to me over the years. I have had plenty of fuck-ups. More than most men get to walk away from. The time I put two bullets in the wrong guy because the mark changed his schedule last minute. The time I torched the wrong shipping container. That St. Cloud mess, though that one was Drew’s fault.

But I’ve never lied to Ray before. Not like this.

The music and kids’ laughter around me sound like they’re coming from another planet.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, but it doesn’t help.

Carmen’s face is still there. The moment the truth landed. The way she looked at me like she couldn’t believe she had ever let herself touch me.

Part of me wishes Ray would just send someone and end the whole fucking mess.

But I can’t leave Theo.

And I sure as hell can’t leave her.

Carmen knows exactly how cruel people can be. How quickly they take, use, and call it something else. Yet she still goes looking for the good in them anyway, like if she digs deep enough, she’ll find something worth saving.

She did it with that half-dead dog.

She did it with me.

And I used it.

The thought lands like a knife to the ribs. I was sent here to use her kindness, her trust, that stubborn, soft heart that keeps giving people chances they don’t deserve.

Never again.

She can hate me. She can never forgive me. She can look at me like I’m the worst thing that ever happened to her, and she might be right.

But no one gets to use that part of her again.

Not Maverick.

Not Ray.

Not me.

Not while I’m breathing.

41

CARMEN

I’m curled up on Diane’s couch with a blanket wrapped tightly around me and Fifi fast asleep against my hip.

“I just feel so stupid,” I say, pulling my knees closer to my chest.

I showed up on her doorstep last night like a ghost—pale, shaking, barely able to speak. It took her hours to coax the full story out of me. I kept stopping mid-sentence as new details hit me, making it impossible to breathe.

She insisted I take the guest bedroom. So I ducked home long enough to grab Fifi’s medication and a bag. But sleep never came. I barely cried. I just lay there staring at the ceiling while Fifi snored softly beside me, feeling hollow. Like someone had scooped out everything vital and left only the shell behind.

Diane sits beside me now. Her eyes are tired, but there’s a quiet fury in them that makes me feel a little less alone.

“He’s been back twice already,” she says, glancing toward the window. “Keeps looking over here.”