And it’s terrifying. It also might explain why there’s a huge string of guilt in my stomach, spinning and coiling into a nauseating roll. It might also explain why I’m standing outside the bar, staring at the door instead of actually going inside. Jesus. Why am I doing this to myself? I should listen to the guys in my life and let my brother arrest Mitch. I shouldn’t be outside a bar, giving him one final chance to explain himself. My problem is that I’ve always been too curious. I’ve always had to have an answer for everything. It’s like I’m convinced that, if he talks and tells me everything I need to know, I really can move on from what he did to me. I’ve talked myself into a rut inside my head, and now, I can’t get out. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and walk in. Mitch sees me instantly and waves from a table in the corner, and I turn for him. I slide into the seat opposite him.
