It was easier to compartmentalize my feelings than let them run amuck, messing up what I considered a pretty solid plan.

Because when I let my thoughts run free, I wanted to punch the nearest wall for thinking that I could push Bree toward Travis without suffering even the mildest regret.

Bree was mine — that’s the only thing that made any sense when I tried to untangle the knots in my head.

But she wasn’t mine, I had to get that straight.

Travis was a better man, the best of men, actually.

I was doing her a favor.

Huge.

Epic.

If I knew in my soul I was making the right decision for us both, why was I struggling with the knowledge that Bree would hate me when it was all said and done?

I kept seeing her wounded expression from this morning. Her confusion wasn’t unexpected — hell, I’d put the freeze on thick — but the donkey kick to my chest knowing I’d hurt her was more than I anticipated.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” Travis said as he navigated the city. “That girl loves your stupid ass and you’re planning to walk away for the lamest of reasons.”

I was already feeling prickly, I didn’t need Travis stacking on the guilt.

“I’m doing what’s best for Bree.”

“I get it — if anyone gets it, it’s me — I’ve trashed great relationships because I was fucked-up in the head but Bree is the kind of girl you hold onto, no matter if you’re fucking bleeding out your ass and your hands are broken, you know?”

Yeah, I knew. Bree was exactly that kind of woman.

But reality never played nice with fantasy.

“Listen—“ Travis started but I cut him off, not interested in a life lesson from anyone, not even a well-intentioned one.

“I like what I do,” I said flatly. “I’m not giving it up for anyone, not even Bree, and eventually, that’s going to drive a wedge between us. I’m just skipping to the end and bypassing all the drama in between.”

“Yeah, and all the joy, too,” he pointed out like a motherfucker. My dark glower didn’t shut his trap either. “You won’t get another chance like this, I can promise you. You walk from Bree and you’ll spend your life chasing after a dream that never materialized because you didn’t have the balls to take a chance.”

“Since when did you get all philosophical?” I asked with a snort. “I liked it better when you were a man-whore. Not sure I can stomach this kinder, gentler Travis Rasher. Besides, you don’t even know her. She could be a raging lunatic for all you know.”

“C’mon, stop dicking around, I’m being serious,” Travis shot back, equally irritated. “I know you like to wear the badge of a total asshole but deep down you’re a fucking good guy. Bree already sees the quality in you that usually takes people years to realize. Don’t blow it. And you know what? If you weren’t so intent on proving just how bad you are, you’d see that Bree is your fucking redemption.”

Stiffening, I said, “I never asked for redemption,” cutting my gaze out the passenger window. “I wouldn’t waste my time on something so useless.”

“You can lie to yourself but it doesn’t change the facts. You love her, man. She loves you. It’s as simple as it gets.”

“It’s the opposite of simple,” I growled. “Fuck, why are you going Dr. Phil on me?”

“Because when your buddy is about to go Kamikaze for a stupid reason, you do your best to throw the asshole to the ground and hogtie him until he stops being an idiot.”

Anxiety squeezed my chest. The tiny box I’d routinely shoved all my feelings into was beginning to show the strain.

It was so much easier to just lock the box and throw away the key.

But my box was bursting at the seams.

“Don’t you want the chance to finally live a normal life?” Travis asked.

“What’s normal?” I scoffed. “I killed my old man when I was thirteen. It’s nothing but downhill from there, buddy. I was made for this life. I’ve accepted that but Bree never will.”

“Have you told her your story?”

I shot Travis a dirty, are-you-fucking-kidding-me look before replying, “Fuck no. The last thing I need is Bree thinking she can save me from myself. You can’t save someone who isn’t interested in being saved, so you can fuck your redemption spiel.”

“I love you, man, but you’re a first-rate, stubborn son-of-a-bitch and I was right about that stick being lodged up your butthole. I hate to break it to you but that’s called straight fear. You’re deflecting to avoid admitting that you’re scared of being vulnerable.”

My incredulity deepened. “What the fuck is this shit? I don’t need you to play armchair therapist. I’m fine.”

Travis didn’t take offense, countering with, “Dr. Phil knows his shit. You ought to check out a show or two. You might learn a thing or two. Get in touch with your softer side, Dex.”

“Okay, now I know you’re fucking with me,” I said under my breath, adding tersely, “Whether or not you’re right, none of that matters if Bree isn’t safe.” I needed to get back on solid footing for my own sanity. All this talk about being vulnerable was giving me the newbie-jeebies. “Now shut the fuck up and focus.”

Travis knew I was done talking. Even though he muttered something that sounded like, dumb-ass, stubborn motherfucker, he let it go for now.

We went to the Hall of Records and I waited in the truck while Travis pulled the birth and death certificates for Lily and Caroline Burke.

Travis returned minutes later. “Public record is a beautiful thing,” he said, handing me the paperwork.

Caroline Burke was born September 17th to Lily and Richard Burke in a Manhattan Hospital.

Lily and Caroline “died” three months later.

With a few carefully placed calls, Travis was able to find the name of the law firm handling the estate.

And a few more calls revealed the executor’s home address.

Travis grinned. “Tonight Edward Huntington III, Esquire, is extending his office hours.”

“Damn straight,” I agreed, stone faced. “One way or another, I’m getting answers.”