I knew they were trying to protect me back in college. I knew it now, hated it then, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like one of them was going to unleash some seven-year, built-up wrath on me whenever I even thought about Harlow. And even though Jagger and Grey had warned me to stay away from Harlow, everything was different now that I knew the truth about her marriage.

But I was choking on the words, not sure how to make them come out.

“Christ. Tell me you didn’t, Knox,” Graham said. “Tell me you didn’t get some girl pregnant.”

“Damn it,” Deacon said in a grave tone. “Is it mine? I’m not ready to be a mom or grow a vagina.”

Despite the frustration and worry that had been building, I barked out a laugh, and Graham cracked a smile, but I knew he was still waiting for an answer.

“No, no kids coming.”

Deacon gave Graham an uneasy look, then they both walked over to sit on one of the couches. As soon as they were seated, Deacon said, “We’ve been talking about you and your drastic change the last couple of weeks. You haven’t gone out with us even when you’re not working, you haven’t had anyone over or been anywhere since the one who walked out naked, and this is the fourth time we’ve caught you pacing. So I already texted . . .” He trailed off and looked at his phone to check. “. . . Melanie, and she’s not expecting me anymore. And we’re all going to sit in the living room until you tell us what’s going on.”

Throughout everything he’d said, Graham had sat there nodding, and now they were both looking at me expectantly.

“I don’t know how to,” I admitted, and Graham’s brow rose in shock while Deacon looked hurt.

“You’re serious right now?” Deacon asked. “You don’t know how to tell us something? When have we ever not told each other anything, no matter how fucked-up, disgusting, or ridiculous it was?”

“You sound like a girl,” Graham mumbled to Deacon, then cleared his throat and looked back to me. “But he’s right. We’ve been best friends for over a dozen years; we don’t know how to not tell each other things.”

My head was shaking slowly. “You guys don’t understand. It’s not just telling you, it’s what can happen because of telling you. It’s how I’m struggling with this just knowing about it,” I said through clenched teeth, and realized my entire body was vibrating with the need to get Harlow away from her husband. “And it’s also years of not talking about it, and then years before that of the two of you harassing me for it.”

Both looked confused but didn’t say anything, just waited for me to continue even though it took me a couple of minutes of pacing to figure out where to start.

“You know Flynn Doherty?” I asked.

“Nope,” Deacon responded immediately.

“Yes, you do,” Graham said in an annoyed tone.

“Yep,” Deacon amended.

“He’s the Benton County prosecutor,” Graham explained, and Deacon made a face.

“Ah. The guy with the smile and the son.”

I nodded. The prosecutor was known for his too-perfect smile, and his son—who was supposed to be running for something in the near future—had it, too. They were always all over the news together. “Yeah, him. His son’s name is Collin.”

“Cool?” Deacon offered when I didn’t continue, but Graham’s eyes had zeroed in on my hands fisting over and over again.

“Do you remember when I went to Walla Walla for Harlow’s eighteenth birthday?”

Surprise covered both of their faces; they hadn’t expected her name to ever be mentioned again.

“When I was there, this guy talked to me for a second, but I didn’t really pay attention to him because I’d just gotten off the phone with Harlow. I didn’t think much about him then, but I recognized him when he started showing up on TV with his dad.” When I didn’t get a response, I continued, but didn’t look at the guys. “That was Collin Doherty. He lives in Richland.”

“Again . . . cool?” Deacon said slowly, drawing the words.

After a few rough breaths, I sneered, “He lives there with Harlow . . . they’re married. He is the reason I didn’t end up with Harlow.”

“How long have you known this?” Deacon asked.

“How do you know?” Graham interjected.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. How do you know?”

I finally stopped pacing and looked at them, and Graham’s face morphed back into confusion when he saw the agony and rage I’d been trying to conceal the last couple of weeks. “I ran into her when I was on my way home two weeks ago.”

“Shit,” Deacon breathed.

“Then they were at the fund-raiser for the firehouse that weekend, and he—” I cut off and ground my teeth. After a few seconds I gritted out: “In front of everyone, he was using pressure points on her. He’s threatened to kill her family, he abuses Harlow, and she’s fucking terrified of him! This is the guy she left me for, and I can’t help her!” I raked my hands over my face and groaned. “She looks sick. She’s so thin; I thought she was dying. She’s not who she was, and it’s because of him.”

“Knox, you can’t go through this again with her,” Deacon said.

I glared at him. “Go through what again? Her husband is beating her!”

“So she says,” Graham said.

“No—what? Why do you guys do this every time Harlow is involved? It’s like you have to make her seem as bad as you can!”

“Knox, she played you for over two years. Now it’s been, what, shit, almost five? And all of a sudden, you run into her and she just happens to tell you that her husband—whose dad is the prosecuting attorney, as we already talked about—is beating her and threatening her family? Who just comes out and says that?”

“She didn’t! And I told you, I saw him doing it in front of everyone. I saw the fucking bruises!”

Both stayed quiet for a moment, then Graham sighed. “If what you’re saying is true . . . if she is in an abusive relationship, what exactly is it you think you can do? You’ve known for two weeks, and since you’re just telling us, then I’m guessing you haven’t gone to the police yet. Do you plan to?”