Chapter Forty
PENELOPE
By the timeSilas and I leave the house, my stomach feels like it learned how to tie knots by itself. Minxy’s parting wave from the couch is way too cheerful for someone who threatened to bury me earlier, and Talon’s warning totext him every ten minuteswas only half a joke.
Gideon comes too, but only to sit in the backseat of Silas’ car. Insurance, he called it. He didn’t bother hiding the fact that if things go sideways, he’s stepping in. Otherwise, he’ll be happily staying put, organizing every scrap of evidence and documentation into neat little folders with color-coded tabs and bows for the cops.
Silas opens the passenger door for me and waits until I’m settled before circling the hood. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t try to fill the silence. He drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh, occasionally glancing at me like he’s checking to make sure I’m still in the car.
The closer we get to the park, the more the world seems to sharpen. Trees crisp against the blue sky. Kids chasing each other on the grass. A couple walking a golden retriever. Normallife everywhere, and none of it fits with the tension buzzing between my ribs.
“You’re quiet,” Silas says.
“I’m trying not to throw up.”
“That’s fair.”
He reaches for my hand. I let him take it. His fingers wrap around mine with a steady weight that feels like a seatbelt.
“Remember,” he says, “you don’t need to give your father excuses. You don’t owe him softness either.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” he asks gently.
I stare out the window. “I guess I’ll find out.”
The park entrance comes into view. My dad’s car is already in the lot. A sleek graphite SUV, polished to the extreme, which I know he does every weekend. He’s leaning against the hood, arms crossed, phone in hand. His posture says irritation. His expression says accusation. His jaw ticks before we’ve even opened the car doors.
Silas parks two rows away.
“You ready?” he asks.
“No,” I admit.
He squeezes my hand. “Let’s go anyway.”
We step out. Dad spots us immediately, and his posture straightens, eyes narrow. He tucks his phone away and begins walking toward us.
Behind me, I hear the soft, crisp shuffle of paper—Gideon resettling his papers like he’s fluffing a pillow. He doesn’t get out. Doesn’t even look up. But I see the shadow of him in my peripheral, calm and lethal, waiting.
Just in case.
“Penelope.” Dad’s voice carries.
I swallow hard. “Hi, Dad.”
His gaze flickers to Silas, assessing, judging, already irritated. “You broughthim?”
Silas stays a half-step behind me, letting me lead, but his presence radiates like a wall.
I lift my chin. “Yes.”
Dad scoffs. “Penelope, he’s your stepmother’s ex–brother-in-law. Abi warned me about him. She said he was volatile, unstable. That he was a bad influence on Dominic.”
Silas’s jaw works once, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.
“She lied,” I say.
