Page 90 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

Jake and Kathy kept attending.

Maybe they’d known the truth behind the lie the whole time.

I finally walk over to an electronics store a few blocks away and grab a charging cord, because I can’t stand knowing if August has texted or not.

And dammit, if he hasn’t, I’ll texthim, to let him know I’m thinking about him and?—

And I don’t know what else. I’m still not sure I’m ready to have a boyfriend or anything official like that.

I signed the paperwork to serve Jake about the divorce. He has twenty days to respond.

The thing is, now that I’ve met August… in spite of my conversation with Mom, as long as there continue not to be any red flags, I can’t imagine him not in my life.

I don’t want to date anyone else.

Certainly not just to “see what’s out there.”

I’m pretty sure I just need to go reallysloooooooow. Like, at the speed of glaciers, as far as getting into anything else committed.

Will August understand that?

I feel like he will, if I can just explain where I’m coming from. I know I’ve only known him a short time, but I already feel like I can tell him anything.

I’m just packing my stuff up from the coffee shop where I’ve been working all day when a text pings on my phone.

My breath hitches.August?

But when I grab my phone, I frown.

It’s from an unknown number, but the message preview has me stopping cold in my tracks.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: August attacked me & is in jail. Meet me at the diner on 3rd & Congress to talk about what we can do. I don’t have to press charges. – Jake]

My legs turn to jelly, and I sort of just collapse, my butt going down to my heels. I just squat there in the early evening, alreadydark with the city lights on and people walking around me on the sidewalk.

Just a regular Friday night for everybody else.

Oh my god. August is injail?

What the hell did Jake do?

Because I immediately know it wasn’t August’s fault. Not if Jake was there.

I saw that night when Jake called the cops at the RV park how he can weaponize situations. He must have done something?—

Except itworkedthis time.

Oh my god.

I dial August’s number, wanting to believe Jake’s just bluffing. But it goes to voicemail. I try to suck in some air, but I can barely get any.

“Are you alright?” asks a woman passing by. I guess because I look exactly like what I am—a woman crouched hyperventilating on the sidewalk. She reaches a hand down and I take it to get back to my feet.

“Sorry. I just got some—” I finally manage to suck in a breath to my trapped-feeling lungs. “Bad news.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” asks the kind, worried stranger, her brow furrowed.

“No,” I assure her, embarrassed. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you. Have a great night.”