Page 48

We roll onto Cartwright Street, and my stomach clenches like it’s trying to fold in on itself. I suck in a breath, bitter and dry. It scrapes my throat like sandpaper—useless, doing nothing to silence the chaos inside me.

I dig my fingers into the seat and stare out the window, trying to quiet the storm in my chest. A row of decaying tenements lines the street, each one flanked by overflowing dumpsters. Larry’s building squats between two identical ones—like a bad memory sandwiched between regrets.

Brooklyn always made me feel like I was trespassing on something already broken—like the city itself never wanted me here. I used to come here for Larry—to see my dad. But that was before everything shattered. I felt obligated back then. He was still my dad—even if he and Mom were divorced. But now, I’ve got more than enough reasons to never set foot here again.

Ray parks across the seat. His hand brushes my cheek, gentle, deliberate. Grounding and centering in a way I need more than I could ever admit out loud.

“I’ll be waiting,” he says, his voice soft but sure. His lips press a warm kiss to my cheek, and even in the dark, I see it—that glow in his eyes. “If I hear anything—anything—I’m coming in. I don’t care if you’re mid-sentence. I’ll bust the door down.”

A jagged laugh slips out—half comfort, half disbelief. He’s serious and I can’t explain how much that means to me. I nod in understanding and push the car door open.

The city hits me in the face—wet pavement, sour garbage, and the metallic tang of old rain clinging to brick. The kind of New York smell that burrows under your skin. I cross the street without hesitation, eyes locked on the dented gray door like it’s a target. I’m not second-guessing this. I’m walking straight into the lair of a man I once trusted. A man who shared his bed with my mother, swore vows to her—and killed her with his betrayal.

I’m going to treat him the way he treated her. My hand is up before I can think it through. I press the button for his apartment.

“Who is it?” his voice crackles from the rusted, tinny speaker.

I pause, gathering myself enough to speak.

“It’s me. Stacy.”

“Oh! Hey, honey! What a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you!”

My skin crawls at the cheer in his voice. Does he know what he did? Does he know it was his fault?

“Buzz me in.”

The buzzer screeches, and I slam the door open like it owes me something I can’t ever get back. The elevator sits in the corner, ancient and tired, but I don’t bother. Larry’s apartment is on thethird floor and I don’t have the patience to wait for anything that slow.

I take the stairs two at a time, adrenaline pounding under my skin like drumbeats in a war march. Cold spreads through me as I climb, wrapping around my bones like frostbite. It’s that kind of cold that numbs and sharpens all at once.

I reach his door in time to hear him undoing the chain. The door opens and I don’t wait. I shove the door open and slap him—hard. My palm cracks across his cheek. His head snaps to the side, his mouth hangs open, stunned, but I’m not done.

I curl my left hand into a fist, twist my arm and punch him hard, right in the stomach. His breath whooshes out in a grunt.

“Jesus!” he wheezes, doubling over. “What the hell’s got into you, girl?”

“Don’t you dare pretend,” I snarl, kicking the door shut behind me. The echo bounces down the hall like gunfire. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know. You knew about my mother. Don’t lie to me.”

He groans, still hunched, a hand clutching his gut. “Knew what?”

“She wasn’t human!” The words tear out of me like claws. “You knew. You had to have known!”

He straightens slowly, pale and shaking. “Oh…”

Swallowing hard, he backs toward the living room, raising his hands like I’m a threat. Maybe I am.

“Sit down, honey,” he says hoarsely. “Please. It’s not that simple. Just let me explain.”

“Which part?” I snap. My voice spikes, shrill and furious. “The part where you kept the biggest secret of my life from me, or the part where you destroyed her?!”

“All of it,” he says, gesturing to the armchair like we’re about to catch up over coffee. “Have a seat.”

“I can’t.” My breath’s coming in short, sharp bursts. “Just… talk. I’m listening.”

He scrubs his face with both hands and sinks into the chair, like the weight of everything just caught up to him.

“Your mom was… an extraordinary woman. I met her at this?—”