The haze evaporated, but in its place came the mess I’d been in the first time I’d ever raised my hands to someone. Nausea flared in my gut and spread out, its acid tendrils creeping through my veins like lava.

I spun around as Sal emerged from the feed store. She was fine. Joe’s anger vibrated through me, but he was fine too. They were all fine. It was done. It was over, and I needed to get the fuck away from it all before I lost my shit all over again.

Joe touched my shoulder. I brushed him off and walked away from him, ignoring him when he called my name. If my car keys had been in my pocket, I’d have made my escape that way, but they were upstairs in my room, and before I knew it, so was I.

I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, my heart thumping in my chest. Fighting wasn’t my bag, but I was good at it⁠—I’d had to be⁠—and a sick part of me got off on it when I didn’t keep myself in check. When I let myself be like him.

’Cause let’s face it . . . it was in me, whether I liked it or not.

I closed my eyes, parroting the bullshit I’d fed Emma to get her out of the house. “The only constant in life is change. And I’m ready for it.”

But was I? Until now, the farm had seemed a sanctuary from the real world⁠—the last place I’d pictured myself squaring up to someone⁠—but it was clear now that I’d been naive. Joe’s family had drama just like everyone else. More than everyone else, if the scene in the yard was anything to go by.

A shudder passed through me. Those men had stood no chance of getting anywhere near Sal, even before Joe had appeared, but they’d meant business when they’d first arrived. If I hadn’t been there, how far would they have gone? Would they still go? They’d threatened to burn the farm down if Joe didn’t get to them first. Did they mean it?

Pondering that question reignited the anxiety dancing in my chest. I exhaled long and slow, trying not to fight the inevitable. A full-on meltdown was probably avoidable if I could get out for a run, but that would mean facing Joe and Sal, and I wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

I went to my desk and forced myself to work. The words didn’t flow, but I hammered them out anyway, until my cracked muse gave up on me. I was staring moodily at nonsense I’d typed when a knock at the door made me jump. “Come in,” I called, expecting Sal.

Joe slipped through the door and shut it behind him. He leaned on it in much the same way I had, but didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he stared at me, curious⁠—expectant, even⁠—like he was the one waiting for an explanation.

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” he asked quietly.

I turned back to my laptop. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Not if you were paying attention. Pretty sure Dicky McGee told you all you need to know about my family drama.”

“So, what else is there to say?”

Joe pushed off the door and came close enough that I could smell clean sweat and hay. “Whatever you want to tell me? I mean, I’m grateful that you twatted them, but I’m curious about the death moves. You wanted to kill him. Why?”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was disturbed that Joe had read me so easily, but I stood by my actions, however he’d interpreted them. I forced myself to look at him. “You wouldn’t kill someone who put their hands on your mum?”

Joe’s eyes darkened. “She didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, well. You know how it went down. He wanted money, she wouldn’t give him any, so he got tricky with her. I moved him on . . . that’s all. Guess he’s lucky it was me, not you, eh?”

“Not necessarily. I had a row with him a few weeks ago. Got nicked for it. But he still came here and got in my ma’s face, so I can’t be that intimidating.”

I begged to differ. The fact that a man as big as Dicky McGee had felt the need to come back with two equally large men said a lot, even if they had taken the pathetic route of harassing Sal. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

Joe came closer still. He crouched beside me, his elbows on my desk, his forearms tanned and strong. “I don’t know.”

“Are you worried?”

“I’m always worried, but having an idiot drunk for a father will do that.”

“Is he violent?”

“Christ, no. I wish he was. Perhaps I’d understand him better.”

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “You’d understand your father better if he hit you?”

“You said violent. You didn’t specify that it had to be towards me. Am I missing something here?”

He was missing the world⁠—my world⁠—but why would he want to share it with me? Why would anyone? I tapped a key on my laptop to bring it back to life. “Trust me, you’re not missing anything. Is Sal okay?”

For a protracted moment, Joe stared at me, his eyes deep pools of something I couldn’t escape. Didn’t want to escape. But he sighed before I caught up with him, and the moment passed. “Ma’s fine. She’s used to dealing with my dad’s mess. If you’re okay too, I’m going to head out and try to get to the bottom of this bullshit.”

“You’re going after those blokes?” Tension rippled through me. The urge to kill had simmered down while I’d sat and brooded on where it had come from, but the thought of Joe fighting alone reignited the worst kind of fire.

He touched my arm, lightly at first, but then his fingers closed around my wrist, his thumb pressing against my pulse point. Sometimes I wondered if people could hear my thundering heart, but I didn’t care if Joe heard it, if it outpaced his by a mile. How could I care about anything when the heat of his touch reached every part of me?

“I’m not going after Dicky,” he said. “I want to, but I’ve fucked up too many times to believe it will change anything. Besides, I can’t get nicked again for at least a year.”

“Got a record?”

“Little bit.”

“But Dicky McGee’s the one harassing you.”

“Don’t mean nothing in this town. We’ve got too much gypsy blood in us for the police to ever take our side.”

Gypsy blood explained Joe’s wild eyes and dark complexion, and as I glanced around my borrowed room, little clues that I’d missed made sudden sense. There was even a Romani trailer abandoned in one of the fields outside. How had I not made the connection before? “Your grandpa was a gypsy.”

It wasn’t a question, but Joe nodded anyway. “Roma. Came over from Bulgaria in the thirties. He was travelling with a circus, but when it all kicked off in Europe again, they couldn’t go back. He trained horses in Norfolk for a while, then came here to work as a farrier.”

“How did he end up with this place?”

“He won it in a card game. We’ve bought more land legitimately over the years, but this house is someone else’s history.”

“Sounds like you have plenty of history here.”

Joe’s eyes darkened again. “Too much. Listen, Sal’s going to be downstairs for the rest of the day. Would you mind keeping an ear out while I go deal with my old man? I know it ain’t your problem, but⁠—⁠”

“It’s fine.” Everything was fine while Joe’s hand was still millimetres away from holding mine. “Your mum is safe with me.”

“I know.” And then he was gone, away and to the door before he looked back. “Hey, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Come have a beer with me later, if you’re not too busy. Maybe we could both use the company.”