Page 91 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

I start walking so she’ll believe me, even though I am very definitelynotfine.

I get all the way to the next street, turn the corner and slam my back against the closest brick building, my mind racing. Oh my God, what if Jake’s not joking? What is happening to August right now? Is he really injail?

He probablyis. Knowing how far Jake and his mom have taken it in the past.

I never realized?—

I bend over with my hands on my knees, breathing too hard, too quickly.

Panicking. I’m panicking.

And then I get mad at myself, because how does that help August? However hard I’m taking this, August has to be freaking out a hundred times worse. I don’t know a lot about him or his condition, but I remember him on the ground shaking at even thethoughtof being locked away again.

Because his family has done this to him before.

I feel rotten. Like somehow I should have protected him, even though I wasn’t with him.

But August hadn’t seen his mom or brother for sevenyearsuntil he ran into them again because ofme.

Whatever they did to him, it’s because of me.

And this message Jake just sent me, from whatever new phone or burner or whatever, since I blocked his number. It’s no doubt some further attempt at manipulation, or a trap.

But what if him texting means he’s trying to negotiate with me… which might mean he’s got a way to get August out of wherever he’s being held?

It’s my fault August got tangled back up with his toxic family. He hadn’t seen his mother for years before me.

This is my mess.

I should be the one to clean it up.

So I force myself to stand tall again, gulp in several deep breaths of the chilly, February Texas air, and text the number back.

[LENNON: Fine. Be there in 15]

I’m at 8thSt. and San Jacinto, and I figure I can maybe calm down on the six-block walk down to 2nd. I know I need to face Jake calmly, or else he’ll use my own reactivity against me.

I know his playbook now. Surely that’s got to count for something.

And we’re meeting in a public place.

That helped last time at the RV park when Jake called the cops.

So what the hell happened with August?

I only feel strung tighter by the time I pull open the door to the 24-hour diner and peek inside, only to find Jake sitting at a middle booth sipping a coffee with two menus on the counter in front of him.

Hatred rises like bile in my throat.

I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to another human in my life. I hate him. Actual, honest-to-goodnesshate.

His face brightens when he sees me walk in.

“Honey!” he calls out, waving me over.

I freeze by the door, looking at him like he’s delusional. I cross my arms over my chest, barely taking one step closer to him.

“What did you do?” I accuse him.