Chapter Forty-Two
The white envelope sat on the dark wood of the bar like a live round of ammunition. The stark contrast of the clean paper against the scarred, beer-stained oak was deafening.
Jake's hand was still hovering nearby, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. His gray eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of fracture, any hint that the FBI agent’s words had shaken the fragile peace we had built.
"You don't have to look at it," Jake repeated, his voice dropping into that quiet, fiercely protective register that usually made all my worries melt away. "Your dad’s trying to pull you back into his mess, Ava. He’s using the feds to do it. Let me burn it."
He reached for the envelope, his fingers just brushing the edge.
For a fraction of a second, my heart screame
