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Athena hadn’t thought about it that way before. She’d seen people in the aftermath of trauma so many times. She’d never thought that perhaps it was freeing. She’d only ever seen justice be freeing, and since she’d never had it… Athena snapped back to the room and the moment.

“You’re avoiding,” Athena mumbled softly.

“I know.” Monti gave a wan smile and shook her head. “I don’t remember it. But Fallon does, and she expects me to remember it or to be as affected by it as she is. And sometimes I just want to tell her to fuck off, you know?”

“No, not really.” Athena furrowed her brow in confusion. Monti still hadn’t told her what had happened. In fact, she’d only gotten more vague by the moment.

Monti groaned and dragged her fingers through her hair, ruffling it. She put her mug on the side table between the chairs and leaned down, elbows on knees. Athena pressed her lips together and did the unthinkable. She reached over and trailed her fingers up and down Monti’s back. Monti visibly shivered before she shrugged off Athena’s touch. Giving up, Athena pressed her hand back into her lap and waited Monti out.

“Our dad killed our mom.”

“Oh.” The wind rushed from Athena’s lungs. She hadn’t seen that one coming, and she should have. Monti stayed bent over her legs, hands cupping her face.

“Then he killed himself.”

“Monti—I’m so, so—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Monti jerked her chin up, shaking her head. She looked Athena directly in the eye. “I don’t. I don’t remember them. They weren’t my parents.”

“But it still affects you.”

“Not really. What affects me is the fact that Fallon expects it to affect me the same as it does her. And it doesn’t. I just don’t care. And I don’t believe in heaven like she does, so I don’t believe I can just talk to them—not that I’d want to anyway. And I don’t believe that anything but a shell of her body is in that coffin.”

“What do you believe, then?” Athena kept her tone calm, trying to use it to soothe Monti’s obvious upset.

“I believe she moved on. I’d like to think she did anyway. That now she’s free from an abusive drunken asshole.” Monti turned, looking directly into Athena’s eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I believe she found peace.” Monti’s voice broke on the last word.

Athena’s heart shattered right along with her. Monti was just as broken as she was. They hid it in different ways, but they were equally broken—smashed by the realities of the world. “You can tell me all you want that this doesn’t affect you, Monti, but you’re crying. It might not be the same as Fallon’s pain, but it’s there. Deep within you. Justice wasn’t served.”

“It couldn’t be.” A deep line formed in the center of Monti’s forehead. “He killed himself.”

“But without that closure—”

“I was two!” Monti’s voice rose. Her fingers clenched the side of the chair tightly, turning white from the force.

“Yes, you were.” Athena folded her hands together, running her thumb against her palm. “Ten years ago I worked on this case where a young woman had been brutally murdered and the investigation was botched.” Athena waved her hand in the air. “The woman had a brother who was five and her mom was pregnant with another on the way. Different dads from the first to the last. It doesn’t really matter.”

“What’s the point, Athena?” Monti’s voice was sharp.

“The point is that even though the second brother wasn’t born at the time of the murder, he still grew up with the ghost of his sister. There is no getting rid of that pain. It wasn’t like his brother’s or his mother’s. But it was still there. Whether or not you and Fallon have different beliefs about the afterlife, you are two individuals. Each and every person experiences things differently, but our past traumas and the family trauma that we come from affect us even if we don’t want it to.”

Monti gaped. She stared wide-eyed at Athena for a brief second before shaking her head and letting out a soft chuckle. “Who’s the psychologist now?”

“Let’s just say, I’m a quick learner.”

“Sure.” Monti closed her eyes and scratched the back of her head. “Some massage today, huh?”

“This is more important.”

“Refereeing arguments between siblings?”

“Learning more about you.” Athena said the words before she could stop them. She should have stopped them. Because the look Monti gave her now was pure fear. This was what she’d been afraid of. The last time they’d been in the same room, something had happened. Something that altered the state of their relationship. Athena wasn’t sure they would ever be able to go back to the way it was.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. No. We do need to talk about that.”