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Mykel whispers, “Holy shit.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
NAOMI
Dad’s chest rises and falls, his mask cracking, the anger shifting into something raw. “You think it was easy?” His voice is hoarse, unsteady. “Watching your mother unravel? Knowing what she did and having to live with it? You think I didn’t want to tell you? To tell all of you? But how do you do that? How do you look your children in the eye and say—” He grips the table like it’s the only thing holding him up. “I never meant for any of this to happen. No one was supposed to die.”
“But they did.” Anne’s voice is steady, though her hand trembles against my arm. “And we’re the ones who paid for it. All of us.”
“I’m sorry.” Dad’s whisper barely carries across the table. “I’m so sorry.”
“I suggest we go now, love,” Landon says.
Anne’s fingers curl around my wrist. “Yes.”
She guides me toward the door while Brandon’s hand stays steady on my back.
“Wait.” Dad stumbles after us. “Please. Don’t leave like this.”
I pause but don’t turn around. Can’t look at him.
“Let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Anne says. “You had years to explain. Decades. I’m only here because of Naomi and Mykel.”
Mykel appears at my other side. “I’ll walk you guys out.”
The silverware gleams under the chandelier. The wine bottle, half-full. The soup, untouched.
For the first time, my father looks small.
I turn, and we move as a unit, leaving him behind.
The night air hits my face, and I gulp it down. “I need—I can’t?—”
“Breathe.” Brandon’s arm wraps around my waist, supporting more of my weight as my knees threaten to give out. “Just breathe.”
Anne’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mykel says. “This is… fuck.”
“Eloquent as always, little brother,” Anne says.
The truth is out. After all these years, it’s finally out. And somehow, impossibly, Anne doesn’t hate me.
“Take her home,” Anne tells Brandon. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Can’t we talk now?” I hold onto her hand.
“I—” Her eyes flick to Brandon before meeting me again. “Sure.”
“Your place?” I ask Brandon.
He nods, keys jingling. “I’ve got that bottle of?—”
“The good stuff?” Mykel perks up.
“The expensive stuff you’re not touching.” Brandon unlocks his car.