“Bess, she was in charge. I was the one ultimately responsible, but she was the adult. I need you to give that to me.”

“Did you hear me? I know that. But it’s time for you to heal yourself,” she said, her exasperation clear in her tone.

“Yeah, I heard you, but I’m not Lane. He harbored all this guilt for nothing, and now he has you, so cut me a break. I got no one.”

“Jake,” Lane said, somehow breaking into the conversation.

“What the fuck are you doing on the phone?” I roared.

“I grabbed the phone from Bess. It’s enough. She’s pregnant . . . she doesn’t need to hear from Shirley. Let it go, man,” he said earnestly, punctuating each word.

I hung up and began jogging back, catching a graffiti tag out of the corner of my eye that read GRAFFITI GOD.

It had hit me hard, and I’d realized then and there. No one was God. Not Bess or Lane. Not Shirley, and certainly not me. I’d fucking killed my parents—even if I was a young kid—with Shirley’s help. But no one was God, and for some fuck-all reason, God wanted my parents dead and Shirley to get away with it all. Why the hell else would she reappear in our lives right when the statute of limitations was up? That wasn’t a goddamn coincidence. That was God playing a joke—one in bad taste.

The rain had pounded down my back, soaking my shirt, as my thoughts clogged my throat. I wanted something, anything, more.

That was a year ago, and I still pretty much believed that shit. God had a cruel and sick sense of humor. I did leave Shirley alone, but only after ripping her a new asshole about contacting Bess.

There was no appeasing me. No amount of success, and no dirty fucks or heavy workouts were going to absolve me. I was still constantly seeking more, but I was clueless as to when it would be enough.

Buzzing the bell outside the doc’s office, I realized I didn’t even recall the short drive over or walking up to the building. Doc—as I liked to call her bony ass—beeped me in, and I collapsed onto her uncomfortable couch. The whole room was a sea of puke pink, the furniture dainty and not built for a man my size. Despite the blatant femininity of the room and lack of comfort, I found some relief within these four walls.

“So, what’s up?” she asked, peering at me over the top of the moss-green-framed glasses resting on the bridge of her freckled nose. “You’re late, exhausted, and obviously wielding a short fuse. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that behavior from you, Jake.”

Dr. Wells cut right to the chase, sitting in front of me with her legs crossed primly at the ankles, her brown hair scraped back in a bun. She was cute, but so not my type. Too straitlaced and sensible. Although I knew someone else like that, didn’t I?

“Fuck!” I bellowed.

She didn’t even flinch. Doc was used to my outbursts. After all, I’d had plenty in her office.

“Major shit storm at work,” I explained. “Camper quit, which is fine with me. The contractor is flaking out on the new place. And I have this dipshit of a new member.”

Doc narrowed her eyes on me. “Dipshit of a new member? Since when do you judge who pays the dues to use your place of business?”

I leaned back into the sofa, its hard edges digging into my shoulder blades, and let out a long breath. “He’s just this prick I met a few weeks back. Rich guy, hair all perfect, thinks his shit doesn’t stink.”

“That doesn’t tell me much. Why is this guy so upsetting to you? You make good money now, enjoy your business, and stay in shape yourself.”

“That’s all fucking Lane. Ever since he bailed me out with the deal I fucked up with that smoothie company, and then became a silent partner, I’m doing well. He’s backing half the new gym, and shit . . . I just want to do something myself.”

I breathed deeply as I swept the hair out of my eyes. It was getting shaggy, and I couldn’t have cared less. It hid the fear in my eyes; no way I was buzzing it off.

“We’ve discussed this before,” Doc said in that cultured monotone of hers. “Your brother may know business and have funds available to help you grow your business, but he doesn’t know fitness machines or personal training, how to design layouts of gyms, or what gym rats want in a locker room. You’re the idea person and the executor; don’t short-change yourself. Now, tell me about this other guy.”

“Don’t forget the smoothie incident where I agreed to buy protein from the girl I was sleeping with for a two-hundred-percent markup.”

She raised an eyebrow, which meant she knew I was avoiding her question. “Well, that was a while ago, a year or more maybe, during a time before you made a conscious decision not to have sex with ‘everyone on two legs with a vag.’ I think that was the way you put it.”

A loud guffaw erupted from my chest. “Yeah. So, I’ve just been fucking my marketing director instead. Some resolve that was.”

“The man, Jake, the customer you mentioned. Tell me what bothers you about him.” She took a sip of her tea, looking at me over the rim of the delicate floral teacup. It was probably full of sunshine.

“Remember when I landed in jail? Over Camper?”

“Yes, we discussed being more professional when it came to her. Sounds to me that problem is solved as of today.”

“Well, there was this PD in jail, the one who let me off the hook, but not before interrogating me. She was a vixen. Sort of. Gorgeous, but you could tell she had a softer side. Anyway, I lied to you. I tried to charm her. In jail. I’m such a cocksucker, I know. My fantasies went a little wild while I stared at her, but my damn heart beat faster at the way she handled herself, all confident and tough. Tough with a heart, you know? A couple of weeks ago, I ran into her again. She was with this dweeb, the new guy.”

“I see.” Doc tapped her pen onto her pad. “So you liked a girl? Not just for her looks, but her brains too?”

“I don’t know.” Leaning forward, I dropped my head into my hands. “I just want something good in my life. One thing, that’s it. Not a Hummer or a BMW, or some dumb girl to blow me when it suits me. Something genuine. Will I ever be free of my memories? The one on constant replay where I’m responsible for my parents’ deaths?”

Doc set her pad down and leaned forward. “We’ve talked about this before, Jake. You were a kid playing outside, imitating your dad. You had no idea that pretending to fix the car would result in the wheels coming off and your parents dying an untimely death. That’s why your parents left you with a sitter, to watch over you. That’s on her, not you.”

“Shirley! I hate her!” I stood, roaring like a lion at mealtime. I wanted the woman dead since it was too late to put her behind bars.

“I know you do,” Doc said calmly.

“Why does she get to live and love? Be absolved but I can’t?”

I roamed toward the window and looked out at the quiet neighborhood, breathing hard. Down below, I saw a couple in love, walking hand in hand. It reminded me of what Lane had now and was a jab to the heart, reminding me of what I would never have.

“But she doesn’t, Jake. As I recall, you told me she fights addiction and thrives on controversy in her small town. If I had to guess, she lives with a heavy heart. Plus, this is about you. You have to let Shirley go.”

“That’s what Bess says, but . . . fuck. I want her good and gone.” I banged my wrist into the wall.

“Sit down, Jake,” Doc quietly demanded. “Let’s look at this, really look at it. You met a woman, albeit under unlikely circumstances, but you liked her. I will remind you, she’s not a girl or a chick, but a woman with a postgraduate degree, if she’s a PD. Perhaps this is what you liked most? She was different from the young women you meet at your gym, even Camper. From what I gather, this woman shot you down and it hurt. May I remind you, you were in jail for beating up another man while defending a different woman. You see where I’m going?”