Damian notices.
I feel his eyes on me, the slow shift of his anger crumbling into something else. Something softer. Something he doesn’t want to feel.
Bridger climbs into the passenger seat this time, and Cody takes the wheel.
As soon as his door shuts, Bridger turns slightly, just enough for his voice to reach me but not his brothers. His throat works like he’s forcing himself to say it, like the words are foreign in his mouth. “Thank you,” he whispers.
I swallow hard and give the smallest nod.
Then Cody pulls away from the curb, and for a moment, the only sound is the hum of the tires against the wet road.
Then, out of nowhere?—
“Oh, boys!” Delilah’s voice is light, bright, like sunlight breaking through a storm. She beams at them, eyes shining with warmth, looking at each of her sons like she’s just now noticing they’re here.
“You’re all here,” she says, squeezing my hand once before letting go, her frail fingers pressing against her chest as she takes them in. “Where are we going?”
Cody’s knuckles tighten around the steering wheel. Bridger stares out the window, his expression distant.
But it’s Damian I look at.
And Damian looks wrecked.
Chapter Fifteen
DAMIAN
Mom’s voice fills the SUV, bright and easy, like she hasn’t just spent the last half hour soaked in rain and fear, clawing at me like I was the devil himself.
“Are we coming back from church?” she asks, glancing around. Her hands smooth over the damp fabric of her dress, but she doesn’t ask why it’s wet. “I must have fallen asleep. That pastor issoboring.” She pats my thigh with a weathered hand and gives me a little wink. She’s only sixty, but dementia has already hollowed out the woman she used to be.
Marlowe catches sight of the wink and offers me a soft smile. I don’t feed into it. I can’t play nice with Vick’s spawn. I hate that she’s here, being witness to all this. Being vulnerable in front of people like her is not something I enjoy. But here she is, calming down mom. I can’t figure out if she’s a threat or a miracle.Fuck that, she’s Vick’s daughter, she’s a threat…a fucking thief.
“Oh, I know,” Marlowe says, her voice light, conspiratorial, as if she’s been sitting next to my mother in church pews for years. “I nearly nodded off myself last time. And that woman in the front row? She always wears that awful perfume. What’s it called again?”
My mother perks up. “White Diamonds!MyGod, the pastor’s wife, you can smell her coming a mile away.”
Marlowe laughs, shaking her head, treating the moment with the ease of a Sunday afternoon chat.
“And that hat she wore last Easter?” My mother groans, pressing a hand to her temple. “Looked like a whole damnbird’sneston her head.”
Bridger exhales softly. Cody stares hard at the road.
And even though I try my damnedest, I can’t stop staring at Marlowe. She keeps talking, keeps handlingthis better than any of us can. I bet she’s done this before, because somehow she knows how to step into a world that isn’t real and make it feel solid beneath my mother’s feet.
I just don’t get why she’s doing it for us.
And I hate that I feel anything other than resentment toward her.
She shouldn’t have been able to do what I couldn’t. I should have been the one to calm my own mother down, to talk her through it, to bring her back. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I never fucking can.
And yet, Marlowe? She slid into the moment so easily, so naturally, I almost believe she belongs here.
I study her, every detail: her hands still slightly damp, the way her wet hair clings to her face, the careful way she speaks, her soft, steady voice keeping my motherherewith us.
Why did she have to be that asshole’s daughter? How the hell is she related to someone like Vick?
But then again, even Vick could be charming when he wanted to be. He could sweet-talk, lie, manipulate, make you believe he cared, especially if there was something in it for him. If there was money on the table, Vick always made sure to slip it in his pocket when no one else was watching.
