She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve always known. I figured it out when I was about seven or eight, when Knuckles brought Keely over to play with me, while he, Momma, and Daddy went downstairs to their special room. Keely and I looked alike. A lot.” Her words were matter of fact, yet I could sense the undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite grasp, a quiet resilience that both amazed and terrified me.
“You never said anything?” My voice cracked.
She shrugged, a gesture that felt both dismissive and profoundly sad. “No. I thought if they didn’t care, why should I? Why are you bringing this up now? Have you changed your mind about me?” Her question struck me like a blow, a raw nerve exposed. She feared my rejection.
“God no!” I blurted, my words ripped from my chest, kissing her forehead with an intensity that bordered on desperation. Her relief was so profound it was dizzying. “I’m telling you now because Karl Sr. is killing people.”
“Who?” she whispered softly. The tenderness in her voice was a stark contrast to the horror I was about to unleash.
“Everyone associated with Knuckles’ family.”
She stiffened, her body going rigid against mine.
“Keely?”
I nodded, the bile rising in my throat. “Yeah, baby. I’m so sorry.” My apology felt hollow, inadequate. “Knuckles’ sister Karen, and her daughter Kaycee are dead too.”
I watched as her eyes filled with tears, a silent storm mirroring the one outside. She lowered her eyes, the moisture glistening on her lashes, and whispered, her voice barely audible, “I’m sorry to hear that. They were nice to me once before they moved away.” Her sorrow was for strangers, and I knew, with a chilling certainty, that my confession had not only shattered her world but had also stripped away any lingering illusions about the true monsters in her life, and the even greater monster lurking within my own silence.
“Is that why you brought me out here?”
“What?”
“I heard the gunshot, Jackson,” she muttered, her voice so small I barely heard her. “I know someone died out here tonight. Was it him? Is my dad dead?”
I refused to lie to her and slowly nodded my head.
I watched as she took a deep breath and pushed herself up, sitting stiffly as she put distance between me and her.
I didn’t like it.
In fact, I fucking hated it.
Reaching for her hand, I said, “Baby, talk to me.”
She brushed at her cheeks with the back of her hand, trying to regain composure, but the tremor in her fingers betrayed her. The silence stretched between us, heavy and raw, broken only by the distant breeze through the trees. Finally, she spoke, her words clipped, “What happens now, Jackson? Where do we go from here?”
I reached for her, desperate to bridge the chasm that had opened up between us, but she recoiled just enough to keep her pain close, her trust dangling by a thread.
She sat before the small fire, watching the flames dance in the moonlight, her arms wrapping around her legs as she spoke, “My whole life, everyone I cared about lied to me. So much that I wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped me in the face. When I met you, I thought you were different. You never lied to me. Told me the truth no matter how hard it was to hear. It was refreshing.”
“Baby, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to upset you.”
She smirked. “I’m not upset about what he did. I mean, I am, but...” Her words trailed off, and she turned to look at me, the fire dancing in her eyes as I held my breath. “I’m upset because you used me, lied to me instead of trusting me with the truth. I wouldn’t have cared, Jackson. If you had told me my dad needed to die, I would have believed you. I wouldn’t have stopped you. But instead of telling me, you brought me out here and used me to get to him.”
“Baby, it wasn’t like that,” I said, my voice tight, knowing damn well she was right. I did use her to get to him. I used her to remove a threat, and as much as I fucking hated it, I knew I would do it again if it meant that she lived free of her past. “You were perfectly safe.”
She huffed. “I know I’m safe with you, Jackson. No matter what happens, I know you will protect me. I just wish you had trusted me.”
“I do trust you, Karlyn.”
She shook her head, pulling her knees tighter to her chest, her voice barely above a whisper now. “When you hide things from me, it makes me feel small. Like I’m just another pawn in someone else’s game.” Her gaze flickered up to meet mine, vulnerable and fierce all at once. “I thought I mattered to you. I thought my choices, my trust, meant something to you.”
Her words hung between us, thin and fragile, echoing all the things I was too afraid to admit. I swallowed, searching forsomething—anything—that could mend the fracture between us. “You do matter to me. More than you know. I made mistakes, Karlyn, but it was never about not trusting you. I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of what the truth would do to you.” I let my confession spill out, hoping it would reach her through the wall she’d quickly built.
I let the silence linger, searching for the right words, but nothing seemed adequate. The weight of regret pressed on my chest. “You do matter,” I whispered, struggling to find the courage to meet her eyes. “Every choice I made was about keeping you safe, but I see now that I hurt you instead.”
Karlyn’s lips trembled, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might reach for me. Instead, she drew a shaky breath, her eyes shimmering with unspoken questions. Silence stretched between us, heavy but not empty—filled with all the words we hadn’t said and the hopes still lingering in the spaces between. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across her face as I waited, uncertain if forgiveness was even possible tonight.
