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“You go on to bed, Darlin’.” My father spoke, gripping the back of my neck once Az was gone. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Alright,” she replied, patting my father’s chest and kissing his cheek before turning to me. “This isn’t the man we raised you to be, Joseph. You need to findthatman and come back to us. I don’t think I can bear to lose two sons.”

My father held me in place as my mother left the room. We stood silently for several minutes as he studied my wall, never letting go of my neck. Finally, he let out a hmph sound and steered me from the room. He used his grip on me to direct me from the house, past my mother’s greenhouse, and into the shed just beyond. Once inside, he pointed to an empty stool next to the counter, where he’d do minor repairs before grabbing a second stool for himself.

His eyes raked over me slowly from head to toe, and I could almost feel their weight. It was like he was trying to find whatever he thought was broken inside me so he could decide how to fix it. I fought to keep still, the feeling that he was peeling me back layer by layer, making me want to squirm on the stool.

“What do you need, son?” He asked finally.

My mouth opened and shut, and I blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m asking you how we fix this.” He rubbed his palms roughly down the material of his flannel pajama pants. “Do you need someone to listen to everything you think you know and point out the flaws in your argument? Do you need to hit something like you used to when you were younger? Tell me how to help you, Joseph.”

“I need my brother back and the bitch that got him killed six feet under.” I snapped.

My father straightened his back and looked at me. “Well, as much as I want him back too, that ain’t gonna happen.”

“I can still get rid ofher.” I insisted.

He sighed and shook his head. “I understand wanting revenge. Believe me, son, I’ve been there, but blaming her because you don’t know who’s truly to blame ain’t bringing him back.” I opened my mouth to protest and shut it immediately when he glared at me. “I saw that mess you call evidence. Now, your brother didn’t call me to talk things over like he did with your mother, but your mother tells me things. Everything on your bedroom wall is something Rich talked over with your mother, except them paternity tests. Those may be new, but they don’t magically make the rest fit your conclusion.”

“They prove she lied about who she is. And if she lied about that, she’s lied about everything else.” I insisted.

“Did she know about them? Before you shoved them in her face and shamed her for it?” My father asked. “Don’t lie to yourself or me now, son.”

“Why does it even matter if she knew?” I demanded. “None of this would have happened if she’d never come into our lives. Rich would still be here if she had never–”

“That’s the crux of it, huh?” My father interrupted. “It ain’t that you think she’s the culprit. You’re looking at the past trying to find any path that doesn’t lead here. Why not go further back? If I hadn’t left the rodeo for the factory so me and your mom could put down roots, you boys would have grown up on the circuit instead of Southside. We probably still would have had our money troubles, but Rich wouldn’t have got it in his head that the way you boys are living now was the only way out of there. He wouldn’t have ended up murdered because he’d never have been in that life. So, why not blame us?”

“That… that’s a massive leap, Dad.” I sputtered. “We still could have ended up here even if you’d never left the circuit.”

“That’s my point, son.” He replied, looking me over again. “I can see you ain’t ready to really hear what I’m saying, so I’m not gonna keep harping on. You think on what I said, now. Really think on it. I doubt you’ll be jumping to the same conclusions about that girl once you do.”

“Unlikely.” I muttered.

He stood from his stool with a disappointed shake of his head before clapping his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. “One last thing before I head on back to bed. You ever speak to your mother the way you did tonight and we won’t be having a discussion with words. Nobody, not even you, speaks to my wife that way without taking the beating they deserve for it.”

Chapter Thirty One

Victoria

The couch cushion dipped beside me, and before I could even blink, Craig’s arm was around my shoulders, tugging me into his chest like he’d been waiting for me to fall apart the second we were alone.

Maybe I had.

The silence between us was soft, not stifling. His hand ran slow circles against my upper arm, grounding me as I stared at the blank television screen. Neither of us had turned on a light, The glow from the streetlamp outside spilled in through the window, striping the hardwood floor in pale yellow lines.

“I didn’t know he hated me that much,” I finally whispered, the words catching on a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “That wall? That’s not grief. That’s—” My voice cracked, and I shook my head, eyes burning. “That’s hate. That’s twisted.”

Craig didn’t answer right away. He just pulled me closer, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, pressing a kiss into my hair.

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” he murmured. “What Joey’s doing… it’s not your fault. Grief warps people. Especially when you don’t know how to carry it.”

“I miss him,” I said, voice tight. “Rich. God, I miss him. And I miss Joey too. I miss who he used to be. Now he looks at me like he’s waiting for me to snap my fingers and destroy his world.”

“You didn’t destroy anything,” Craig said firmly. “You’re not the villain in this, Bunny. You’re the one still standing after everything fell apart.”

The ache in my chest felt like something carved into bone. Like the kind of pain you didn’t just cry out, you bled out. I must’ve stayed tucked under his arm longer than I realized because the next time I blinked, I felt the energy in the room shift. My eyes flicked toward the hallway, and Az was standing there.