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I fall into step with Hart and Skinner, moving like a pack. Hart’s already got his phone out, probably checking in with Riley. His face softens a little, like it always does when he says her name out loud.

Lucas steps into our path like he’s been waiting. “Hart, you headed toward the Brewery?”

“Yeah.” Hart nods. “Gonna drop off these two and meet up with Riley; hang out a bit before heading home. Assuming our houseguests haven’t burned it down or turned it into a brothel.”

Skinner grins. “Shit, lemme come with you.”

Lucas chuckles then turns to Skinner. “Perfect. Go with him; help him clean out his house.”

Skinner raises an eyebrow but shrugs. “Free ride and a distraction? Sold.”

And then Lucas’s attention shifts … right to me.

“Kolby,” he says, voice just a notch more serious. “Hang back. I’ll take you home myself.”

Hart glances over, but he doesn’t ask. Just claps my shoulder and nods once before heading off with Skinner.

I stay put.

Lucas jerks his head. “This way.”

I follow him down the hall, deeper into the staff wing of Legacy Field. We stop outside an office—his, I realize—and Lucas opens the door.

Inside are just two people. Ava and Lo’s father, Ryan Brooks.

Ava’s seated, posture relaxed, but eyes sharp. Ryan’s standing near the window, arms folded, wearing that easy calm that somehow makes him even more intimidating. Not because he raises his voice. Because he doesn’tneedto.

My gut tightens, but I nod at them both. “Ava, Mr. Brooks,” I say.

“Kolby.” Ryan offers a quiet smile. “Glad you came.”

The thought that flits through my brain, I should be ashamed of.

Lucas shuts the door behind us, and I brace myself for whatever it is I have coming.

Ryan gestures for me to sit, and I don’t want to, but out of respect, I make myself.

Lucas leans against the closed door, arms crossed like he’s guarding more than the hallway.

“We’ve looked into the message,” Ryan says evenly. “We can’t find a connection to your ex.”

I exhale, just enough to feel it.

“But,” he adds, “we’re not done looking.”

I nod once. “Understood.”

That’s when Ava stands, and she does it like she does everything—with purpose. And I know before she even opens her mouth that the temperature in the room’s about to change.

“What I don’t understand,” she says, her voice clipped, “is why you didn’t come tomewhen those bastards started bleeding you dry.”

I blink.

“Kolby, that should have been anannulment, not a dragged-out separation with some sleazeball attorney playing chess with your life.”

“I—”

“You knew who her father was,” she says, cutting right through the air between us. “And you still hired a lawyer that has dinner with the Parsons twice a month and plays golf with her uncle at Tribeca Ridge.”