BREN
My phone woke me the next morning.
Cross was curled behind me, one of his hands on my hip and he stiffened, groaning. “Who keeps f*****g calling you at—” He looked, and then growled. The phone kept ringing, but I didn’t move. This was a small luxury I indulged. Cross would field it for me, and he did, reaching over me to my nightstand.
“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, sitting up and hitting accept.
“This is a call from the Potomahmen Correctional Facility. Do you accept the charges from inmate—”
“Yes.”
A second later, I heard my ex’s voice coming from the phone, and Cross was glaring hard at the room. “What do you want?”
A laugh from Drake. “Can I talk to her?”
“Why?”
Even though Cross hadn’t put my phone on speaker, I could hear Drake loud and clear.
“Just let
