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“Yeah.”

My dad reached over and gently patted my knee. “You’re a good man, son.”

That caused far more emotion than I’d have expected, and I chalked it up to a shit day—and night—and not nearly enough food or sleep. I swallowed around the feeling, blinking to keep the tears back, partly because they’d have upset my dad, too. “Thanks, Dad.”

“It was still stupid,” he told me.

“I know.”

“You’d do it again, wouldn’t you?”

I sighed. “Probably. I would ideally like to get through life without watching someone get murdered.”

Dad was quiet for a few minutes. “You scared all of us, Val.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—”

“Couldn’t let someone else die without doing something.”

“Yeah.”

Another few minutes of silence. My dad is good at silence. “Your mother thought you were going to die,” he said softly.

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for doing what was right, Val.” My dad’s voice was firm and steady. “But you might want to make sure that you tell the people you love that you love them.”

“I love you, Dad.”

I turned my head far enough that I could see the smile hovering on his lips. “I love you, too, son.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“You’re welcome.”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence, and I felt a bit better knowing that at least my dad understood why I’d done what I’d done.

And, yes, I knew it was fucking stupid. I knew it even as I made the decision to open the car door. I knew I had a snowball’s chance in hell—and not the Hell in Michigan—of coming out of it unscathed. I just hoped that I’d make it out a little less worse for the wear. And I’d been lucky. Well, lucky and protected by a seriously pissed-off Xolo weighing about a hundred pounds, which is fucking huge for a dog, especially if he’s as wiry as Taavi is.

Dad pulled into the garage, Elliot right behind him in the driveway. I obediently waited for El to come over to my door to help me out of the SUV, letting him ease me down onto the cement floor.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“This is your one stabbing, you got it?” he told me, and I could hear the edge in his voice. “You don’t get to get stabbed again, okay?”

“Got it,” I told him. I also decided not to tell him about the one last fall. Because that one hadn’t been nearly as bad, and Taavi had already yelled—well, barked—at me about it.

Taavi, still in dog form, was standing at the bottom of the steps leading into the house, his head tilted so that his sharp brown eye could watch my careful progress from the SUV to the mudroom door.

I looked down at him. “Not going to die on you today,” I told him.

I didn’t even get a chuff.

Fuck.

From under my armpit, Elliot let out a sigh.

I guess that hadn’t been the right thing to say.