The door shut behind him with a muted thud, red lantern light swallowing him whole.
The rain kept coming.
I kicked the SUV back into gear and pulled away, my chest tight, my hands shaking just enough to piss me off. I didn’t know how long I drove. Long enough to pass our shared house without slowing. Long enough for the roads to empty and the city to thin out until it felt like I was driving through the ribs of something hollow.
Eventually, I ended up at the cemetery.
I’d never talked to anyone about this. Not really. Maybe because it felt ridiculous—confessing fear and desperation over someone who was gone. But he was who I talked to even though he was gone. If he were here he’d recognize the kind ofdesperation that makes people do unthinkable things. The kind that convinces you there are worse options than insanity.
I parked.
The rain softened as I grabbed an umbrella and walked deeper onto the property, gravel crunching under my boots, the air thick with wet earth and old stone. The world felt hushed here, like even the storm knew to lower its voice.
I stopped in front of his gravestone.
And for the first time since Louis walked through that door, I let myself feel afraid.
And for the first time since his death.
I cried.
“Hey, Grandpa Frank.”
I barely got his name out before I broke. I always did when I came here. Always. The tears hit fast and humiliating, my chest tightening as if grief had been waiting patiently for me to show up.
He’d passed a few years ago. Everyone kept it quiet—or at least they thought they did. My dad took it the hardest. But I remember the night like it was yesterday.
A rock hit my window.
I bolted upright, heart pounding, already reaching for my gun—until I saw him standing in the yard like he owned the darkness.
Grandpa Frank.
He was dressed in full gear. And by gear, I mean a three-piece suit—because seeing him in shorts would’ve caused a family-wide medical emergency. His black scarf was wrapped snug around his neck, his hat pulled low over his brow. Cane in hand, he lifted it in warning, likeget out here before I use this.
I changed fast and ran outside.
“Grandpa,” I whispered. “What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “Looking at the moon. Thought you could use some company.”
I laughed. “It’s three in the morning.”
He turned toward the back porch and started walking. “I doubt you were sleeping. Too much going on in that head of yours. Always thinking. Always reacting like you don’t have a thought in your head when the problem is—you’ve got too many, Tempest.”
How did he know?
Sometimes I think he was the only one who really saw me. Even more than my sister.
He sat in one of the patio chairs, and I slumped into the chair beside him.
“I got straight A’s again.”
He grinned. “Good. You proud of yourself?”
Not really.
“I’m bored.”