Sophia and I know if we type our porn names in we’ll have pages of search results to go through. I’m sure our videos from Jameson Industries still float around, and some of my older stuff as well. I’d hate for my kid to ever come across that shit.

My fingers still tap on the keyboard as I hesitate... and finally take the plunge and type, c-o-v-e e-v-e-r-t-o-n.

Two results. One’s the Scarlett, of course, and the other’s Sophia’s Facebook site. I click on it and see she has me listed as her husband, with photos of the two of us on her wall... all public. Fuck, I wish I would’ve known she had my face plastered across her site. I suppose it’s nice; makes me feel secure in a sense, and I’m glad she doesn’t list her maiden name. Whoa.

“Who the hell are all these people?” I whisper, going through her friends’ list. Over two hundred, and I didn’t even know she had one. Wait, my mother? My mother has a Facebook site? Jesus.

Her wall shows a recent post by some guy named Evan. It’s a photo of her, looks a few years old, like she was in college at the time. I click on his name but his site’s private, and his profile photo is of a rusty old SAAB. There’s no picture of the guy anywhere. Why the fuck is she hiding this stuff from me? Again, with the dishonesty.

I gaze at the ceiling and sigh. I shouldn’t be a shithead and spy on her... but it’s public... not even set to private for Christ’s sake... and there’s a second message from this Evan fucker asking her to meet him for a coffee. She commented that he should text her.

Wait, this guy has her number? Who the hell is he? I’m about to type a search for his name when I see Ivy on the front security cam. She looks drunk in the dim streetlight, stumbling and reaching for our door. I hear a knock and the screen shows her banging at the door.

I look back at the Facebook site, and then at Ivy. Damn it. Breathe. I unclench my fist and try to change my thoughts. I need to give Soph the benefit of the doubt, and if she had something to hide she would’ve set her stuff to private. But... who the fuck are all these people?

There’s a second knock and then I see Ivy slide to the sidewalk. Her back’s against the door and her position copies mine when I held the gun to my head. I glance at it, still on the floor then look back to Ivy. If she feels anything like I did an hour ago, she needs help.

I place my phone in my pocket, put my shirt back on, and head downstairs. She falls backward as I open the door and then moans when her head hits our concrete floor. Fuckin’ A, she’s wasted.

Our eyes meet and she smiles. “You’re my brother,” she says with an awkward laugh that fills the room and echoes down the street. A few people are out; walking to Murphy’s Grill no doubt, but not much else is open in the early part of the week, and they don’t seem to care that a drunk girl is spread across the entrance of my business.

I pull her all the way in and close the door. The last thing I need is another call placed to the police about an incident at the Scarlett.

“Can you get up?” I offer my hand but she misses it by a good two inches. I’d say she’s in that first drunken stage when everything is kick ass, but soon the room’s gonna start to spin and the next hour will be hell.

“You need a ride home?”

“I met my dad today,” she whispers. “Why do you think he never loved me?”

Her question breaks my heart and I try to change the subject. It’s hard to hear her over the ringing noise still in my ears from the gun. “What are you doing here, Ivy? And how much did you have to drink?”

“My dad here?”

“No. Just me.”

“You’re my brother,” she repeats with a slur. “Do you love me?”

“Damn it,” I exhale and run my fingers through my hair. Maybe I should call Kaitlyn to come get her, but I think twice about that as I study her face and can tell she’s got more in her than just alcohol. Her mother said she dealt prescription meds to her friends, and most likely that means she’s an abuser as well. I kneel and touch her cold hand. Her eyes start to roll back. “Shit, Ivy. Stay with me.” I shake her and she smiles once more, then starts to slip away. “What the fuck did you take?”

I can’t rouse her.

Son of a bitch.

Fuck me.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The ambulance pulls away and the small groups of onlookers who have gathered disperse. She’s alive. Thankfully she didn’t die.

“Long day for you, Mr. Everton?” Detective Ferguson, who I met earlier, shakes my hand while his eyes scan my business.

“And for you as well,” I reply.

“My days are always long,” he smiles. “A rape, a suicide, and now a second attempted suicide? Think your business may be a little unlucky? Seems like a pretty big coincidence for us to keep showing up here... and twice in the same day? Two suicides?”

“One suicide.”

“Yeah, well. Let’s hope she pulls through.”

His presence in the Scarlett makes me uncomfortable and my palms start to sweat. “I know I look suspicious. I’m not ignorant when it comes to these things, and I have an idea of what’s going through your head, Detective, but I have Ivy on my security camera. It’s up in my office. I can prove that she showed up this way.”

“Mr. Everton, I didn’t say you were guilty of anything, I only mentioned it’s more than unusual for something like this to occur.” He puts his notebook and report away then holds out his hand for me to lead the way. “But, anything you have will be helpful.”

We walk toward the stairs and my ringing ears remind me of the shot I took. Dear God, my gun is on the floor. Shit. And my flask is next to it. I fired a weapon, inside city limits, while drinking. Oh fuck me; that could easily mean a few years in prison. Why didn’t I think? How could I be so...

I hear a loud bark in the bar area. Haverty’s scolding voice sounds, a relentless howl is next, and then an explosion of barks echo throughout the room as we reach the top of the stairs and walk into the office. The Detective heads to the railing and looks down at the scene; giving me just enough time to take a seat at my desk and slide the gun back in the bottom drawer. He turns and sees me reach down and pulls out his gun in defense.

I raise my splinted hand above my head, and then set my flask on my desk with the other.

“It fell earlier,” I say, pointing to the flask. He lowers his firearm and nods.

“Show me the footage, Mr. Everton.”

I hear footsteps and Haverty appears in the doorway with Prudence and Max drooling on my office floor. It must be time for their final walk for the night, and I’ve never been happier to see those two little shits... as well as their big shit owner. He flips the light switch on the wall and my two floor lamps turn on, bringing us out of the dark.

I wave him in as I stare at the screen and find the footage. The Detective and Haverty stand next to me and wait. It only takes a few minutes before I have it set and let it play.

“She okay?” Haverty asks once he sees the footage and realizes what’s going on.

“I hope so. Can you stick around for a while?”

“Dogs okay?” he holds up their leashes with his request.

“More than you know, buddy.”

The Detective plays the footage a second time then says he’ll have to send a guy out to get a copy for the report. “Too bad you didn’t have one of these set in the back,” he says.

“I know. Did David leave a note, or anything like that?” I question.

“Cove,” Haverty shakes his head. “Knock it off.”

The Detective looks at him inquisitively, before answering my question.

“We’ve found a few things on his phone, and we still have some texts and emails to go through, but from what we’ve uncovered, I would say David was undoubtedly suicidal.”