“It doesn’t matter,” I say. I turn to Judas, my chest rising as I force the words out. “We have your back. But our stories have to be the same.”
Judas nods.
“He slipped when he got home,” I say, looking at Catherine. “Got it?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes.”
The sirens are loud now. I can see red and blue lights through the windows, painting the walls. Judas signs something to Catherine, then he looks at me.
“He’s right,” she says quietly. “You can’t be here. You just got here, and I don’t want them jumping to conclusions.”
Tears burn my eyes because they are both right.
“Go shower,” she says. “Then hide in the garage until Judas comes for you.”
I nod.
I step away from Judas slowly.
I run upstairs, my feet slamming the floor. And as I get inside, I lock the bedroom door behind me and lean against it, my breath coming in broken gasps.
ELEVEN
CARMEN
Ihear the ambulance drive away, the sound thinning until it disappears, but the police lights still bleed through the garage in red and blue. Over and over. I stand there, trapped inside my own body, unable to move.
Judas was right. If they had found me there, they would have twisted my words. They would have found a way to make it all my fault.
I start pacing. Too fast. My thumb slips between my lips. My nail presses against my teeth. I don’t notice when the lights finally fade, only when the slow footsteps come closer.
My heart beats faster.
The door opens.
And Judas stands there. His white shirt is no longer white. It is soaked with blood. The smell of iron reaches me before he does. I rush forward and wrap my arms around him.
But he is standing stiff, staring past me at the wall, then down at his hands. Blood coats his fingers. It sits in the lines of his skin.
I tighten my grip, my cheek pressed to his chest, my voice barely there when I whisper, “I am here.”
But he doesn’t answer, nor does he pull away.
I can see it in him. The way he is not fully in this room. The way his body is here, but his mind is still somewhere else. I search for the right words and find nothing. I have been through this. He has been through this, too. And still, it never gets easier. The pain never gets easier. It just finds new places to settle.
Something in him finally snaps.
He moves me back, guiding me into the garage. Every step he takes, I take one too until my back hits the wall.
His hand slams into the space beside my head. The other lifts my jaw.
He leans in until his forehead rests against mine. His eyes close.
I feel the weight of it. The way the pain pours out of him without a single word.
No matter how bad the judge Harrington is, this doesn’t hit any softer. He is still his dad. He is the man who raised him. Blood or not, family doesn’t disappear just because things break.
“Hey,” I whisper, my palms cupping his tight jaw. “Judas, it will be okay.”
