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“I forgive you,” she whispered.

His shoulders shuddered, and he dropped his chin to his chest. As his fingers began to shake in hers, she tightened her grip.

“I know you never meant to kill him. I know it was an accident. And I know how much you regret it. I forgive you for having any part in Trace’s death. It’s not your fault he’s gone, and I’m sorry I’m admitting it three years too late.”

Too late? She was still too early. Way too early. It had been his fault. Trace wouldn’t have fallen, wouldn’t have hit his head if Logan hadn’t punched him. He deserved a lifetime of hatred and disgust from her. He deserved eternal punishment and…and…

“I’m sorry I ever blamed you.”

When he tried to pull his hand away, a freaking embarrassing sob tore from his throat because she wouldn’t let him go. “Paige,” he gasped, pleaded. “Don’t…”

She shouldn’t be the first person to forgive him. It wasn’t right. She should keep blaming him.

But she stepped toward him and pressed her forehead to his. With the hand that wasn’t holding him prisoner, she reached up and wiped at his damp cheeks.

God, how horrifying. He hadn’t even realized he’d begun to bawl.

“As soon as you can forgive yourself, I think you’ll be ready to move on with your life completely. And I think you’ll be just fine.”

Unable to stop the tears, he interlaced his fingers through hers and held on for dear life, breathing her in. Their bodies barely grazed as she hugged him.

In those few precious moments, she was his entire universe, what grounded him and also what helped him float up with a freedom he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that, but it wasn’t nearly long enough. He wanted more time. He wanted to press closer to her and hug her. He wanted forever.

A brisk breeze swept in around them, but Paige’s small soft hand was warm in his. He didn’t think he’d ever be cold again.

He sniffed and tilted his face slightly away in a hopeless effort to hide the fact he was still crying. But in doing so, he only slid his cheek alongside hers. Their flesh brushed and one of his tears sealed their skin together, compressing it as someone would press a sentimental flower petal between the pages of a book.

He wanted to kiss her. His mouth watered as if he could already taste her and he licked his lips, tasting salt from his tears.

But he’d kissed her best friend, turned her father into an abusive alcoholic, started the wheels in motion to make her mother commit suicide, and he’d murdered her brother.

With a sigh, he stepped back. She let him go so he could scrub his face with both hands. When he looked at her, he realized she was right. He might not have quite forgiven himself yet, but he found he did want to move on with his life. Except who he wanted to move on with was unfeasible.

His lungs heaved for more air. After a sniff and another palm-brush across his eyes, he forced a brave smile. “Thank you. You’ll never know how much this means to me.”

Chapter Twenty-One

SHAKEN AND EMOTIONALLY DRAINED, Paige pushed into the back door of her childhood home. She paused half a second before looking around and stepping inside. When she didn’t see a dead parent sprawled on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, she breathed out a relieved breath and silently shut the door behind her.

She waited a beat, keeping her back to the exit, and watched the occasional flash of colored light spray into the kitchen from the living room where her father had left the television on.

In the few weeks she’d been home for Christmas break, she’d yet to talk to her dad aside from a greeting hello and to ask what he’d like to eat at mealtimes.

Relieved he hadn’t made a mess of the kitchen while she’d been out, she treaded quietly down the hall and peeked around the corner into the living room.

A half empty beer bottle clutched in one hand and cradled almost lovingly to his chest as a sleeping child might cuddle a teddy bear, her father lay passed out on the couch with his head tipped back and his mouth hanging open.

If she tried to talk to him the way she’d just spoken to Logan Xander—if she tried to tell him she forgave him for abandoning her these last three years—she knew he wouldn’t thank her the humble, honored way Logan had thanked her. He’d probably deny ever leaving her, saying something along the lines that she was the one who’d left and gone to college.

Shaking her head, Paige took a throw blanket off the back of the rocking chair and gently draped it over him.

“Good night, Dad,” she murmured. “Merry Christmas Eve.” Or Christmas Tree Night as Logan would call it.

When he didn’t even alter the tenor of his snore, she found the remote and turned off the television.

After changing into some warm pajamas, she crawled into bed and thought of Logan Xander. And Kayla.

She knew exactly why Kayla hadn’t told her the truth. And she knew why Kayla had acted as if she’d been doing her own penance these past three years. It was the very reason Logan had been doing the exact same thing.