Page 110 of A River of Crows

“Sure, but if you want to leave it up, leave it up.”

Sloan looked away from the tree. “I used to love Christmas, but I haven’t enjoyed one since Ridge disappeared. He took away all my Christmases, Dylan. Putting this tree up with him seemed like redemption, but it wasn’t.”

“I get that,” Dylan said. “It’s the same for me with Thanksgiving. My dad was an incredible chef. He cooked Thanksgiving dinner but always needed Mom and me to help. He spent the entire day yelling at us to bring him this or that or to chide us for doing everything wrong. It sucked.”

“I bet.” Sloan leaned in closer. Dylan rarely talked about his parents.

“It just wasn’t worth it. We’d end up with an amazing gourmet dinner, but we were on the verge of tears by dinnertime. I would have rather ordered a pizza and been happy with each other. Thanksgiving is a holiday for being thankful for what you have, not for yelling at the people you are supposed to be thankful for.”

Sloan remembered her last Thanksgiving. She’d spent it with Liam’s family, like always. Two days later, she’d discovered a text from Megan on Liam’s phone. Three weeks later, he’d filed for divorce. Sloan wondered where she’d be next Thanksgiving. Unnerving how much could change between Novembers.

“So,” Dylan continued, “when I was twelve, I decided that when I grew up and had my own family, I’d never be unhappy on Thanksgiving.”

Sloan smiled. “I like that. There are enough unhappy days in life. Thanksgiving shouldn’t be one of them.” She turned back to the tree. “I guess Christmas shouldn’t either.”

Dylan leaned forward and picked Ridge’s broken ornament off the coffee table. “Do you think he left town?”

“Yeah.” Sloan looked again at the glass bunny’s broken ears. “I do.”

Dylan set the ornament back down. “Well, I’m glad you got to see him. I’m glad you know. Because even though the truth can really blow, it’s always better to know.”

“You think knowing the truth is always a good thing?” Sloan asked.

“I do. I mean, Logan Pruitt’s parents told me the same when I met them. Well, not in those words, but they were glad to learn the truth,” Dylan said.

“Wow, you met Logan’s parents? You never told me that.”

Dylan wiped his hands down the legs of his slacks. “Yeah. They were so great, I assumed they’d hate me.”

“Why would they hate you?” Sloan noticed Dylan pull his elbows tight against his sides like he was trying to make himself smaller.

“Because I could have saved Logan.” Dylan clutched his hands together. “I should have gone to the cops the night I left, and they could have busted Eddie then. I justified my silence, told myself that Logan was getting too old and that Eddie would let him go soon, but in reality, I was scared to death of Eddie coming back for me. Coming after Dad.”

Sloan squeezed Dylan’s forearm. “You were a kid, Dylan. One who’d been through trauma. No one can blame you for that.”

“Eddie killed Logan soon after I left. They can’t say the exact date of death, but by the time Eddie left Mallowater, Logan was in the ground. Eddie probably did it because I ran. Because he figured I’d go to the cops.” Dylan pressed a fist against his trembling lips.

“Dylan . . .” Sloan paused, trying to collect her thoughts.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Dylan said. “There’s nothing to say. I only brought it up because you asked if the truth, even the ugly truth, is worth it.”

Sloan kicked at the coffee table. “Does my dad deserve the truth?”

“Yeah, I mean, in theory. But that’s easy for me to say, right? I never told Dad what happened to me, and I waited till he died to tell the world. I guess I thought knowing would be a burden for him, but now, I think him feeling like he couldn’t help me all those years was probably the real burden.”

Sloan stared at her feet. “I kinda want to see Dad again. But not with Anna, and definitely not with Felicity.”

“So, see him,” Dylan said. “On your terms. Go to dinner somewhere. Just the two of you.”

Sloan shook her head. “I don’t want the media attention.”

“Use my house. Don’t make excuses; make things happen.”

“Man, you’re full of quippy bits of wisdom, aren’t you?” Sloan nudged him. “Don’t make excuses; make things happen. The truth can blow, but it’s better to know.”

Dylan grinned. “I should make motivational home décor.”

“How about you make some music instead?” Sloan tapped her feet against the floor. “I’m dying to listen to you play.”