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He climbs out, jaw set.

When he storms toward us, Tess flinches and wraps her arms around herself.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, just loud enough for me to hear. “I love you.”

It’s manipulative and sweet all at once. “Jesus, Tess, you’re not being sentenced to death.”

Dad stops in front of us, his eyes flicking between us before he barks, “Get in the truck. Now.”

Tess tears away from me, slipping into the passenger seat of Dad’s old pickup with a hushed apology.

“You knew she was here?” he accuses, eyes flicking to Wes behind me.

You’d think after all these years, I would be used to this. Used to the confrontation.

Rolling my shoulders back, I set my jaw and urge my hands to stop trembling. “I guessed this is where she’d be after you called and said she was gone.”

There’s a flash of something across his face that I can’t put my finger on.

He takes a menacing step forward, not to hurt. He never has, and he never would. That much I’m sure of. But it’s the only way he knows how to speak to me. “You let her get away with too much. This is your—”

His words snap short as Wes suddenly steps forward, positioning himself between us. With his broad shoulders squared, his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He doesn’t even touch my father. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone creates an invisible barrier, effectively pushing him back a step.

“I’d watch your tone when you speak to her.” Wes’s voice is low and controlled, carrying a subtle threat beneath those words. “Lower it. Now.”

Dad’s gaze flicks back to me, softened slightly by hesitation. “Sorry. I was worried about her. Can we talk…alone?”

I glance at Wes and nod, letting him know it’s all fine. He studies me for a long second before he dips his chin and steps aside.

We move a few feet away, leaving Wes by the truck with his arms folded. His eyes don’t leave my body. Even when I look away, I can feel the heat of his stare burning my skin.

My father rubs a hand over his face, looking bone-tired. “I don’t want to push Tess away like I did with you. I don’t know how to handle her.”

Push her away like he did with me?

That’s probably the closest thing to an apology I’ve ever gotten.

“Then talk to her. She’s a teenager and she’s rebellious, but she’s not bad.”

“I know that. She’s a good kid.” He looks at Tessback in the truck before returning his eyes to mine. “She didn’t tell you why I said no to that sleepover at Sophie’s, did she?”

“No... ?”

“I caught her kissing the older brother. She’s fourteen. I’m not letting her stay overnight in a house with some teenage boy she’s been making out with.”

My mouth falls open.

Oh.

Damn it, Tess.

“Well, that changes things,” I manage, mentally cursing Tess for leaving that detail out. “But you still could’ve—”

“I know,” he cuts in. “I’m not much good at talking.”

It’s the understatement of a lifetime. Memories flash: the silent dinners, the nights he locked himself away after Mom died, the years of stepping in to fill his shoes for my siblings.

I swallow the painful lump in my throat. “She doesn’t need perfect. She needs to know you care enough to try.”