That question wasn’t concern. It was control. I glanced at his phone in his hand—screen lit, the kind of glow you get when you’ve been tracking something.
“Did you follow me?” I asked.
Ryan’s eyes flicked away for half a second. “Don’t be paranoid.”
I felt my face heat. “Answer me.”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “I checked the location. Married people share stuff. It’s not a crime.” Then his expression sharpened. “So who’s coming? Derek? Your mom? Don’t embarrass me, Claire.”
Embarrass him. I almost laughed.
I crossed my arms, buying time. “Why do you care? You said it’s my thing.”
Ryan’s mouth twisted. “Because if you’re broke, it’s my problem too. We have an image. People talk.” He took a breath and softened his tone like he was doing me a favor. “Look, I can float you a couple hundred, but you need to stop being reckless. And you need to tell me what’s really going on.”
There it was—his offer wrapped in a lecture, a leash disguised as help.
My phone buzzed again. I’m here, Ethan texted.
A small sedan rolled into the row and parked behind my car. Ethan jumped out, not dressed up, not trying to impress anyone—just jeans, a hoodie, and urgency on his face. He looked from me to Ryan and immediately stepped closer to my driver-side door like he was shielding me without making a scene.
“You okay?” Ethan asked, eyes locked on mine.
Ryan blinked, thrown off. “Who the hell are you?”
Ethan held out his hand politely. “Ethan Brooks. Claire’s cousin.”
Ryan didn’t shake it. “Why are you here? This is between me and my wife.”
Ethan’s voice stayed calm, but it got colder. “She texted the family for help. I came.”
