Page 22 of Ever With Me

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” He winked at her. “Didn’t you just say you wanted a prince to ride in on a white stallion? You may as well have sung that you wanted more than this small-town life.”

“Oh, stop.” Somehow, his ribbing made her feel better. Strangely, this also seemed like a conversation she could only have with her grandfather. Like he was the only person who would understand.

He hugged her again. “Just keep your eyes—and heart—open. You never know. Your prince might not be so obvious.” He turned to go. “By the way, I hear Cormac Doyle is in town. He might know a band or two willing to play at the fair.”

True.

And he’s probably hanging out with a rock star who owes me.

She needed to banish the manipulative thought. Was she really considering blackmailing Brooks?

“Doesn’t hurt to ask, I guess. It would be good to see Cormac anyway.”

“I think he might be up at the Doyles’ old cabin with a friend.” He patted the back of his truck, then climbed on inside.

It wasn’t until Pops had pulled away from the curb that Maddie processed his words. The cabin? Hadn’t Garrett said something about it not being usable?

But if Cormacwasthere with a friend, it had to be Brooks, didn’t it?

She pulled out her phone. Maybe a quick Google search could tell her if Cormac and Brooks were friends. There might even be pictures of them together. Or she could stalk Brooks’s Instagram and see.

But when she typedBrooks Kentinto the search engine bar, a headline caught her attention:

BROOKS KENT ARRESTED FOR ASSAULT IN MARYLAND.

Maddie’s eyes widened.

What the hell?

The headline was from . . .just a few hours ago.

Wait. What?

She opened the article and scanned it, trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach from whipping into a roiling nausea.

The article was damning.

Brooks had been arrested the night before, apparently, before a concert in Baltimore . . . for attacking a man who had ended up in the hospital with his injuries. And witnesses claimed he’d been drinking—maybe even on drugs—beforehand.

Shit.

Shit.

No wonder his face was bruised.

And she’d let that creep sleep on her sofa?

How was he out of jail already? Andwhat. The. Fuck? Why had he beendriving?

No wonder he hadn’t wanted her to call the cops.

Asshole.

Still, he hadn’t seemed drunk. Maybe he was just that good at hiding it.

His sudden, unannounced departure this morning—slipping out like a thief—now seemed more ominous.

What if he intends to screw me over with paying for the damages?

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