Ethan suddenly wished he wouldn’t have made that call at the grocery store—the one she took as a break-up.
It hit him right in the gut that he could be making a mistake—even if Willow wasn’t a vengeful person, she had certainly never claimed to love him, and if Antonio didn’t give her any details, she wasn’t likely to make such a claim. How would she know to?
“Could I call her?” Ethan asked.
Antonio merely shook his head as he placed the phone to his ear and waited.
It felt like the phone was ringing for an eternity. The room wasn’t quiet enough to hear through the phone, but eventually the older man ended the call without ever speaking.
She hadn’t answered the goddamn phone.
Antonio’s eyebrows shot up. “Too bad.”
“Let me call her. I just talked to her maybe a half hour ago. She’ll answer if I call.”
He was making a lot of promises he couldn’t keep, but he couldn’t seem to stop.
For a moment, the older man merely stared at Ethan, then he finally nodded his head. “Reach for the phone slowly—don’t try anything stupid.”
“I won’t,” Ethan promised, fumbling for the phone in his pocket. His hands shook as he unlocked the screen, his fingers unsteadily tapping in his passcode, and then he dialed her number, praying she would pick up the phone.
“Put it on speaker,” Antonio commanded.
Ethan pressed the speaker button and waited one ring, then two.
“Hey,” she answered, her tone warm.
For the first time since he walked in the door, he felt like he could actually breathe.
“Willow,” he said, although it sounded almost like a groan to his own ears. “Thank God you answered the phone.”
She laughed. “Miss me already, friend?”
“Willow, your dad is in my living room—”
“No specifics,” Antonio barked, his eyes burning irritably.
“What?” she demanded, clearly confused. “What are you talking about? Am I on speaker?”
“Hi, honey,” Antonio called.
“Dad?” she asked, disbelievingly. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
“I need you to answer a question for me,” Antonio called loudly, as if she couldn’t hear him through the cell phone.
“Is someone crying?” she demanded.
Alison was still crying, and one glance toward the girls was incapacitating—Amanda’s face was red, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she was looking at him with a kind of loathing he had never seen on anybody’s face before.
Not that he could blame her.
Even if he made it out alive, what was going to be left of his life?
“I was just paying your buddy a little visit—”
“Who’s crying?” she interrupted, her voice wavering as it rose. “What have you done?”
“Nothing. Calm down,” Antonio replied, his tone that of a man clearly used to being in charge.