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What’s done is done, and I’m so pissed at him, I can’t see straight.

“Intention matters.”

I clench my jaw until my teeth ache. I forgave Avery for breaking my heart because her intentions were in the right place. Could I do the same for him?

“I love her, Dad,” I say, my voice tight. “I always have. And I’ll choose her every time.”

I hang up without waiting for a response, needing to speak with Avery, needing to hear with my own ears that she’s okay.

My fingers shake as I dial her number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Fuck.” I try again with the same result, then head to the area where my friends and teammates wait to board with only one thing on my mind.

I need to get to Avery.

Chapter 35

AVERY

The shrill ring of my phone jolts me from a nightmare where I’m falling through darkness. I fumble for it on my nightstand, blinking at the harsh light of the screen. 7:18 a.m. Three missed calls from Mom.

My body aches as I sit up, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, the memory of last night’s grueling interviews with detectives washing over me. The questions had been relentless, their voices growing grim as they reviewed the files I’d handed over.

By the time they’d finished with me, exhaustion had hollowed me out completely, and I fell into a fitful sleep.

I tap the notification and press the phone to my ear. “Mom?”

“Avery.” Her voice is brittle, barely controlled. “The police are at the house. They have . . . they’re searching it. Your father’s office. Everything.”

My stomach drops. It’s happening. It’s actually happening.

Shots have been fired, and Vinny Huhn may have held the gun, but I pulled the trigger.

“Where are you now?”

“On our way home from the attorney’s office.”

“And Katie?” I ask, my voice frantic as I imagine the toll this will take on her.

“Here with me. She’s okay, but—”

“Listen, Mom, everything is going to be okay,” I say, even though I’m not sure it’s the truth. “Just stay put, I’m leaving now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Without waiting for her response, I hang up, trading my phone for the remote and I turn on the TV, quickly flicking to the news.

The local morning show gives way to a special report, the wordsBREAKING NEWSflashing across the bottom of the screen.Search warrant issued for hotelier Reginald Astor involving the Astor walkway collapse that killedsixpeople.

My heart jumps in my throat as I watch in horror while my mother and little sister struggle to make their way from their attorney’s office into their car. Mom’s face is partially hidden beneath large sunglasses, but I can see her jaw clenched tight, her shoulders hunched as she pushes Katie’s wheelchair. My eleven-year-old sister looks small and delicate; her blonde hair, the same shade as mine, is pulled back in a messy ponytail. She ducks her head as they inch toward the waiting car while reporters shove microphones in her face.

“Mrs. Astor! How does it feel knowing your husband might go to prison?”

“Do you have anything to say to the victims and their families?”

Another reporter steps directly in their path, while Mom shields Katie with her body before their driver scoops her intohis arms, pushing through the swarm of people, which only continues to press in from all sides.

“What have I done?” I whisper, my fingers digging into my thighs.

On screen, Mom finally reaches the black SUV at the same time our driver finishes buckling Katie into her chair. She ducks inside, closing the door and shielding them from view of the reporters.