He presses his lips together, shaking his head once like he’s trying to stop himself—but failing.
Talon hasn’t said a word. When I glance at him, he’s watching Sierra instead, his gaze sharp, focused. Sierra’s hands have slid over the back of Reid’s hand, her fingers curling slightly, holding on, grounding him, like she’s trying to anchor him to something solid.
There’s something in the way she looks at him—steady, intent. Like she’s telling him not to do this.
Reid doesn’t look back.
“Maybe we should talk about this another time,” Sierra says carefully. “For now, we should?—”
“It’s true.”
The words come out fast. Flat. Final.
For a second, I don’t process them. They just hang there, wrong, like my brain refuses to accept what it just heard.
Maybe I misheard.
Maybe I imagined it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, lifting a hand and hooking my pinkie into my ear like that’s somehow going to fix this. “What did you say?”
“Reid—” Sierra’s voice sharpens with warning, but he cuts her off with a small shake of his head.
“No. They deserve to know.” He exhales once, steadying himself. “It’s true. I did kill my father.”
My jaw drops.
Beside me, Talon sucks in a sharp breath, the sound loud in the silence that follows.
It feels like something just slammed into us—like a boulder dropped out of nowhere—and we’re both just standing here, stunned, trying to process the impact while everything inside us rattles loose.
The only one who doesn’t look surprised is Sierra.
She looks… conflicted. Tight around the edges. Like she hates that this is happening, but she knew it might.
“You knew?” I hear myself ask, my voice quieter now, edged with disbelief.
Her gaze shifts to me, regret flickering across her face as she nods.
“Yes. He told me a long time ago.”
“What the actual fuck?” I rake both hands through my hair, pacing a step before stopping again, my thoughts scrambling for something—anything—that makes this make sense.
“Close the door behind you,” Reid says. “Then I’ll tell you the story.”
Still reeling, I step aside automatically so Talon can move past me. The door clicks shut behind us, sealing the room off. The air inside immediately feels heavier, thicker, like it’s harder to breathe.
We wait.
Or maybe we just stand there because none of us knows what the hell else to do.
“My dad was an abusive piece of shit,” Reid starts, his voice steady in a way that doesn’t match the tension locked through his body. “Used to beat on my mother, who was also abusive, by the way, but I didn’t accept it at the time. I thought I got rid ofhim when I was twelve. I threatened him with a knife and told him that if he ever came back, I would kill him.”
“At twelve?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“I didn’t mean it then,” he says. “I was just trying to get him to leave us alone.” His fingers flex slightly at his sides, like he’s remembering it too clearly. “It worked for a few years, but then he came back. I think my mom invited him, but I didn’t know at the time. I just came home, and he was there—mocking me, threatening to hurt my mom when I left home.” His jaw tightens. “We got into a huge argument. Then we started trading blows.”
I can almost see it—the shouting, the chaos, the violence thick in the air.