“I know, kiddo.”
“I want to. You’re like my dad. You did everything for me, took me in when you didn’t have to. Put up with so much. Even when I attacked my classmates.”
“That’s my biggest regret. When they removed you after the cemetery incident, I should've raised hell. Made them listen.”
“Youdidfight.”
“Not hard enough.” His shoulders sag. “But I didn’t know what to do.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Larry probably didn’t have a choice. I was a foster kid. After I’d gotten arrested for attacking those kids, CPS removed me for safety and mental health stabilization. Put me in that group home that broke whatever wasn’t already broken.
I went back to Larry’s after. He did everything to help me, to make sure no one tried to take me away again.
He wipes the corner of his eye, then clears his throat. “Where's your bear?”
“At Crestwood.”
“With that boy?”
I nod.
Last night I thought Larry was going to drive to Crestwood and strangle Connor with his bare hands. He’d been furious when I told him what happened.
But no matter how much I wanted to let him, no matter how easy it would be to hate Connor and never look back . . . my chest twists at the thought. Because it isn’t that simple.
Not for me.
I look down at my bed, wringing my fingers. “I’m in love with him.”
He grumbles. “Yeah, picked up on that last night. The way you talked about him, even angry and hurt, there was something else there.”
“I'm stupid.”
“You're not. Love doesn't follow logic. If it did, I never would've fallen for my ex-wife. She was a disaster. Impulsive, stubborn, and drove me absolutely insane. But I loved her anyway. Sometimes you can't help who you connect with.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Then how come you left her?”
“Kiddo, she left me. Found someone else.” He pats my knee. “Now, get dressed and come downstairs. Made pancakes.”
“Not hungry.”
“And I’m not asking.” He gets up and walks to the door, pausing at the threshold. “Ryan, I love you. And I’m here. Always.”
“Love you too.”
He closes the door softly behind him. I sit there for a moment, staring at the space where he was.
Larry fought for me. Sat through eight years of nightmares, anniversary breakdowns, and trauma responses. Never once made me feel like a burden. Never once gave up on me.
My legs shake as I stand. Everything aches—my eyes from crying, my ribs from sobbing, my chest from the Connor-shaped hole torn through it.
But I tug on a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt. Because Larry made pancakes, and he's not asking me to be okay. He's just asking me to try.
And maybe that's enough to survive the next three days.
Chapter 25
