“Don’t do that.”
His eyes lift.
I step fully into the kitchen. “Don’t decide what I need to worry about.”
His jaw flexes. “Amelia.”
“No. Not after last night. Not after Sophie. Not after you sat there and told me everyone has secrets.” My voice shakes, but I keep going. “Don’t nothing me because you think keeping me calm is the same as keeping me safe.”
The kitchen goes still.
Rain ticks against the window over the sink.
Derby’s face changes.
Not guilty exactly.
Caught.
“I was going to tell you,” he says.
“When?”
He doesn’t answer.
That is answer enough.
Pain moves through me, sharper than I expect.
Which is ridiculous.
He doesn’t owe me every thought. I kissed him once. I slept in his bedroom because the clubhouse wasn’t safe for my child. We are pretending for the town and maybe not pretending in the kitchen. That doesn’t give me the right to every dark thing in his pocket.
But I’m so tired of being the last woman in the room to know danger has a name.
I fold my arms tight. “What happened?”
Derby studies me for one second longer.
Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded paper.
It’s wrinkled and damp, the edges warped from rain. He doesn’t hand it over right away. He looks at it like he would rather burn it, then gives it to me.
My fingers touch his when I take it.
Neither of us reacts.
Both of us react.
I unfold the paper.
A church bulletin.
Pearly Gates Community.
My stomach turns before I even read the words.
A preacher’s smiling face sits near the bottom, printed in black and white, promising salvation through a grin that makes my skin crawl.