Page 152 of Broken Vows

“Funny how it’s my mother-in-law.”

“She’s not your mother-in-law.”

“She’s Grace’s mom.”

“You married Grace five minutes ago.”

“Still counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It absolutely does. And if you’re dating my mother-in-law, that means when the kid comes⁠—”

“I’m about two seconds from putting you through that wall.”

Drew’s eyes light up. “You’ll be Grandpa,” he says.

I stare at him.

The word hooks somewhere it has no right to. I don’t like it. Because I do. It drags up a picture I have no business wanting: Carmen looking at me like I’m still allowed near her. Drew’s kid running around. Me standing too close to all of it, and no one telling me to leave.

I shove the thought away before it can settle.

Drew watches me for a second, then his expression softens.

“Women can forgive a lot of shit, you know. I left all of Grace’s shoes at my place.”

“Perfect comparison. I cost Carmen her dog shelter, you forgot a pair of shoes.”

“Anyway,” Drew says, undeterred, “I got her the shoes back. You can get Carmen that shelter.”

“Yeah, I’ll just pull a few million out of my wallet. Solved.”

“Not your wallet.”

His grin returns. Despite myself, I like where this is going. He rubs at the cut on his head, smearing blood along his temple. “We’ll pay Maverick a visit. Get him to cut Carmen a decent check.”

Drew’s not as good as me at most things, but sometimes he figures things out a little faster.

It’s a good idea.

“That does sound like fun,” I say, getting to my feet. I eye his little compact. “You got a proper gun?”

“No. Bunch of stuff is missing from my safe. Only one person knows the code.”

I head for the garage, Drew right behind me. He looks around with open disgust. “Real shithole you’ve got here.”

I shoot him a pointed look. He shuts his mouth.

When we reach the safe, I point at the wall. “Turn around.”

“You know mine.”

I do. 9912.

I wait until he turns, then punch in the same code on my own safe.

I never bothered changing it. Same stupid number he copied from me when he was a kid. Back then Drew copied everything—my boots, the way I carried my knife, how I stood with my back to a wall, how I kept my mouth shut when Ray was talking. He spent years trying to be like me. I spent years pretending not to notice.