Then the smile softens. “That’s not what I meant.”
No.
It ain’t.
I look toward the open door.
Legend’s voice comes from the main room, low and rough, arguing with Derby about something. My heart moves toward him automatically. It always does.
“I’m carrying something I need to tell Legend,” I admit. “About my father.”
Amelia stills.
“About your father?” she asks.
“My father may have been connected to some things around here before,” I say carefully. “Money. Church people. Maybe more. I don’t know enough yet.”
“But enough to worry you.”
“Yes.”
“And you haven’t told Legend.”
“No.”
“Because he’ll be angry?”
“He’ll be furious.”
“At you?”
That’s the question, isn’t it?
I want to say no. I know Legend. I know his love. I know the difference between fury and blame. But fear rarely asks permission from knowledge.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Amelia looks at me for a long moment. “Secrets turn into cages too.”
The words hit so hard I have to grip the edge of the desk.
She looks almost apologetic. “Sorry.”
“No.” My voice is rough. “You’re right.”
A silence settles between us, strange and new. She ain’t only the woman I’m helping. Not only Legend’s possible sister. Not only Derby’s fake girlfriend. She is a woman looking back at me from inside her own wreckage and seeing mine.
That is how family starts sometimes. Not blood. Not proof. Recognition.
From the main room, Becki’s voice rises. “Royal, if you tell our child one more thing about death as metaphor, I’m naming the baby after your least favorite enemy.”
Royal answers something too low to hear.
Becki snaps, “I will. Try me.”
Amelia laughs through her tears.
I breathe easier.