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I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.

It seems like yesterday that I saw the disgusting guy staring back at me in the bathroom mirror. He killed Mom. I hated him more than anything I’ve ever hated in my entire life. Rage, unlike anything I ever felt, consumed me. I went on a rampage, punching every mirror in the house. By the time Grandpa figured out what had happened, my hands, especially my knuckles, were a shredded, bloody mess.

“Morning, hon,” Violet says, following me into my office with a plated breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee. “Sleep okay?”

Her teasing smirk makes my cheeks heat. Thank fuck for my mask right now. Rather than give in, I grunt. Her smile falters as she drops the plate and mug on my desk. As she starts to turn, I remember Tate’s words.

“Violet is a great woman. I can see why you adore her. You say you could never thank her enough, but have you tried telling her what you just told me? I bet it would mean the world to hear it.”

“Violet, wait,” I call out before she exits my office.

I stride over to her and pull her frail frame into my arms. Closing my eyes, I inhale her scent that’s always reminded me a little bit of Mom. “Thank you.”

She squeezes me back. “Oh, it’s just breakfast.”

“No,” I say, pulling back to look down at her. “Thank you for being you. For being the mother figure I desperately needed. Thank you for the pie and the memories and the love.”

Her face crumples as big, fat tears form. I hug her to me again, hoping to convey how much she means to me. She sniffles and is in no hurry to leave my embrace.

“I knew he’d be good for you, sweetie. He’s good for the whole family, but he’s especially good for you. I’m just so thrilled you’re finally finding a little happiness. You deserve it, Jude.”

She thinks I deserve it?

Even after knowing I couldn’t save my own mother?

I want to argue, but I don’t want to hurt her again this morning. I keep my lips sealed. Tate would be proud.

Once she’s composed herself, she pulls away, grinning at me. “I’m going to make manicotti tonight with homemade noodles and sauce.”

“But it takes forever,” I counter because it’s one of her least favorite meals to make despite me and Grandpa being huge fans.

“My boys are worth it.” She laughs. “Besides, food is my love language. Let me show you how much I love you.”

I gape at her as she shuffles out of the office. She loves me? How? Why? And she said her boys are worth it. Does she include Tate in that statement? My heart does a somersault at that thought. Iwanthim included.

My phone buzzes with more texts from Baker. I preview them but choose not to respond to his annoying ass.

Baker: Tonight?

Baker: Answer me, dumbass.

Baker: When you get this, let’s get together.

Baker: You ignored me all day yesterday. Do I have to show up on your porch to get you to respond to me?

Baker: Bring whoever you’re seeing. I don’t care. Just need to see you, man.

This guy is fucking relentless. I’m going to block his ass later.

While I wolf down breakfast, I research the best contractors. There’s a gay couple here in town who run a home remodeling business. One of the husbands is the interior decorator and the other one is the contractor. I decide they’ll be perfect for my projects.

After emailing a request for service, I switch over to the dark web to utilize my hacking programs that’ll allow me access to police records. It doesn’t take long before I’m in the Park Mountain PD database. I start with a search for Sloane Thurman and then look for reports made yesterday.

I find the one for the victim, Tate Prince, and begin reading her notes.

Victim states past history with ex-boyfriend who has a pattern of vandalizing his vehicles. Mentioned the ex also physically and sexually assaulted him on numerous occasions. After some urging, the victim finally gave up the name of his ex-boyfriend, Sean Baker, but doesn’t want to, under any circumstance, have us bring him in for questioning for fear of retaliation.

Sean Baker?