Page 13

Jules

“ T his is not the contract he signed,” I say when Riley comes back into his office.

“What do you mean?”

I look up at Riley. He’s changed his clothes and is now wearing a black T-shirt stretched over his muscled chest, along with dark jeans that are stained, likely from work here on the ranch. I have to force my gaze away just to regain focus.

What is in the water here in Texas?

“I mean, I combed his publishing contract myself. I knew it like the back of my hand, and I never would have let him sign this.”

“So this is not the contract he agreed to?”

I shake my head. “Not in a million years.”

“Which means someone changed it.”

“It’s his signature right here at the bottom though. Which means someone either forged it or merged this last page of the old contract with the new one.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws his cell phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Tucker. I need to let him know that contract is a fake. He might stand a chance of helping us digitally trace whoever tampered with it.”

Relief rushes through me, and I relax slightly. While I know keeping Odie out of this is rare, if he starts tugging at strings, then he might end up just like my grandfather.

“Hey, Tuck. That contract I sent you is not the one Edgar Landers signed. No,” he adds, gaze locking on mine. “Think you can track down whoever tampered with it? Okay. Thanks.” He ends the call. “He’s going to start working on it now.”

“Thanks.” It’s silly, but the amount of joy I feel at the fact that he believed me is insurmountable.

Ever since I got out of rehab the first time, Odie has dismissed my opinion every chance he got.

He told me to my face that he didn’t trust my judgment and that I needed to get better before I tried to handle anything of any importance.

Before I knew it, nearly a decade had passed, and he still kept saying the same thing. So, for Riley to believe what I say and appreciate my input so much that he let his brother follow that lead does more for my tattered soul than anything else has in the past fifteen years.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

I check the clock at the bottom right hand of the computer screen. “Oh, wow. I’ve been here for three hours.”

He chuckles. “Tucker does the same thing. He can sit in front of a computer all day and be shocked that it hasn’t only been an hour. Come on, let’s get you some food.”

My coffee is cold, abandoned in the mug, so I take it with me when I leave his office. After rinsing the mug in the kitchen, I set it aside. “I’m going to get dressed, but do you think I could have another cup of coffee?”

“Sure thing. Go, I’ll take care of it.” He reaches out and takes my mug from the counter.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

As soon as I’m behind closed doors, everything I learned in the past three hours comes crashing down on me. The voices assault next, constant reminders that I’m not good enough. That I’ve always been a screwup and I always will be.

Did my grandfather think I messed up? That I misread the contract and he signed it? Is that why he never came to me with the details or to confide in me that there was an issue? It stings, and all that joy I felt at my opinion being appreciated dissipates.

What if I was wrong? What if—no. I shove all of those doubts aside. I haven’t touched anything that altered my brain in nearly ten years. That contract was signed two years ago. I was completely sober, and I did not make a mistake reading through it.

Odie won’t think so though.

I can pretty much guarantee that he’ll blame me. Tears prick the corners of my eyes as my mind runs through the argument in my head.

“What a shock; you messed up again.”

“I told him not to let you look through documents like that.”

“You’re not a lawyer, and you won’t ever be one. You don’t have the focus for it. Just stick to what you know. Which, I guess, is drinking yourself to death.”

I begin to spiral, and anxiety chokes me. I rest both hands on the edge of the dresser and let my head hang low.

No. This is not real.

Using slow, deep breaths, I calm the anxiety.

It’s ridiculous that a fake argument can put me in such a tailspin. But years and years of being drowned in my mistakes have brought me here. Because all I want to do is have my brother see me for who I am now and not the mistakes I’ve made along the way.

Odie told me once that I sold my soul when I ran away.

If only he knew that I didn’t sell it—it was stolen from me. Ripped right out alongside what innocence I had left.

My mood has been sour all day, despite the delicious breakfast of eggs, toast, and bacon that Riley made for me. After we ate in near silence, he’d left with Romeo, saying he needed to go out for a ride and the house was being monitored by one of his brothers.

I definitely can’t blame him for needing to get away. I’m terrible company right now.

The book in my hands hasn’t been the greatest distraction, though not for lack of storytelling on the author’s part. I just can’t get the contract out of my head. I can’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with what happened to him. What? I’m not sure, but something.

Riley’s Bible catches my eye where it sits on the coffee table.

Supple leather with his name in gold on the bottom right of the cover. Riley Jude Hunt. I ignore the ache in my gut as I reach for it and pull it into my lap. I run my fingertips over his name.

What I would give for the type of faith he has. The type of faith my grandfather always had. No matter what life threw at him, he believed there was a bigger plan. A higher purpose. That God was always right there alongside us.

He believed that God used everyone to further His plan. That He used ordinary people for extraordinary things.

Is that what the Hunt brothers are doing?

Does He use them to help others when they can’t help themselves?

Even though it’s been years since I touched a Bible, I open it to a random page then read the title on the top of the page. Acts. Verse 8 is highlighted, so I read that one first.

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be My witnesses, telling people about Me everywhere—in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

There’s a footnote at the bottom, explaining that the Holy Spirit grants believers courage, boldness, confidence, insight, and ability to fulfill His plan for us.

But what happens when you don’t believe in yourself? When you feel far too broken apart to ever be put back together again?

I close the Bible and then open it again to a random page. This time, I end up on Psalm 86.

“Teach me Your ways, O Lord, that I may live according to Your truth. Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honor You.”

Nothing about my life brings honor to anyone.

I am unworthy of everything this book promises. Tears sting my eyes, so I quickly close it and put it back on the coffee table.

Unworthy .

That’s what I am. And there’s nothing—not even the Word of God—that can convince me otherwise.