He killed them.
Not in theory. Not in some distant, abstract way I could file underbad things happen to bad peopleand move on from.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Rabbit.”
A flicker of something cold slipped under my ribs, sharp enough to make me inhale a little deeper, and for a secondI thought—this is the part where you pull away. This was where a normal person would take a step back and reevaluate everything.
I wasn’t fucking normal.
Because if I knew who took Abel… if I had a name, a face, something real to aim all of that grief at instead of letting it sit inside me and rot—I might do the exact same thing.
The realization sat heavy in my stomach, twisting in a way that made it hard to breathe for a second, because that wasn’t who I thought I was.
But love…
Grief…
Whatever this was that lived under both of those things…
It didn’t feel rational.
It felt like something that would burn through anything in its way if it had somewhere to go.
“Rabbit.” Henry beckoned, grabbing my chin. “Tell me.”
“I’m notjustifyingmurder, per se. But I am saying that a lot of teens are probably safer that they’re dead.”
All the lines in his face seized with his wince, and he tore his hand like he shouldn't have been touching me in the first place.
“I shouldn’t have put this on you,” he spat.
Frowning, I reached for him. “I’m tough enough to handle it, Henry.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Which…rude.
I pushed myself up then, shifting off him, not leaving but changing the space between us so I could actually look at him.
“I mean it,” I added, steadier now. “You don’t get to decide I’m fragile just because you’re used to carrying everything alone.”
Sitting up, he ran his tongue along his teeth. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“No? Good.” I brushed my hands down my thighs like I was resetting myself, even though my heart was still doing something chaotic in my chest. “Now, tell me everything about Dean Randolph.”
Because if someone was coming for my daddy… I was about to come right the fuck back.
Pushing to his feet, Henry dragged a hand over his face, thumb and forefinger pressing into the bridge of his nose as he exhaled.
“I’m supposed to protect you,” he whispered, eyes lifting to mine. “Better than I did him.”
“Daddy.”
Heat gathered between my eyes, and I blinked hard, trying to keep it from spilling over. Something split straight down the center of my chest and pressed there. The space I’d made for Henry stretched wider than it was ever built to hold—and then refused to give.
“Don’t take that and twist it into something that’s yours to carry. Philip isn’t gone because of you, and I’m not going anywhere either. So you can stop bracing for it.”
I took a step toward him. “Let me do this with you, Henry.”