That doesn’t sound right. “And my dad was still awake?”
“Oh, no. He heard me in your room and then we chatted.”
My heart stops in my chest. “You broke into my parents’ house, Jansen?”
He shrugs. “It made the most sense.”
“Instead of knocking?”
“Clara, no offense, but your mother’s a menace and you dad did shit-all to protect you from her. All those things that spiral around in your head, that break you down, yeah, a lot of that is Bryce’s voice, but a good chunk is from your mom. She tore you apart, made you believe you weren’t enough, taught you to always think about what others think about you rather than what you want for yourself. She shaped you just right for Bryce to weasel his way in. So yeah. I broke into their house. You weren’t safe there. They shouldn’t be either.”
I stare at the wall, tears making my vision blurry. The words are right, but they don’t sit in my heart straight. My parents weren’t perfect, but it was my mom that made things hard. At the same time, my dad stayed. He always chose my mom. He still does. It always felt like neither of us had a chance to leave. Like my mom had locked us into her disastrous orbit, dragging us inexorably into the black hole where her empathy should have been.
His arms band around me, my nose pressing into the comforting scent of his shirt.
“I’m sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have been so blunt.”
“But you meant what you said.”
“Yeah. You deserved better, Clara. So much better.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. Because did I? If I’ve learned anything over the last few months, it’s that I might not be as good of a person as I thought I was. Or maybe good doesn’t mean shit. I care for people, all the people around me. I’d do anything to keep them safe.
Flashing to the threat to my parents, I know they’re on the list of people I’ll sacrifice myself for. Even if they aren’t what I thought they were. I love my dad.
I don’t think I’ll ever trust or speak to my mom again.
Why does Dad stay? Why didn’t he get us out of there the first time mom yanked me stumbling down the stairs, only staying upright by the force of her nails in my forearm? Or the first time she slapped me so hard my mouth bled?
So much blood. So little compared to what my dad survived, but still. Was it not enough for him to have left? Should it have been?
And their fights—bloody, knock down matches where my mom screamed and swung, and my dad just stood there, taking it. He said my mom saved him. Did she? Or did she just make him a prettier cage?
Jansen cuts into my thoughts. “It’s almost time to get Emma. Are you ready for some bluegrass?”
I pull away from him, looking up at his twinkling green eyes. Still hazier than I’m used to, but happier than he was earlier. “I was coming to check and make sure I look okay.”
“I think we just agreed that you’d look good in a tablecloth. But give it a spin for me.”
He sets me on my feet in front of him, circling his finger in the air. I take a spin in my jeans and thin black sweater, literally not dressed in anything special, but wearing makeup with my hair down in its natural curls, a mess down my back that I will probably put up later. Hence accessorizing with a hair tie on my wrist. I have on the military boots I got on the way to Chicago with Walker, splitting the difference between practical and fashionable.
Jansen’s on his feet in front of me, pulling me against him. “Gorgeous. Give me thirty seconds and then we can go.”
He drags down a cowboy hat from the top shelf of his closet, his hair loose around his face and work boots on his feet. Then he spends the rest of the time tidying his room and scratching Fluffington behind the ears before ushering me through the door.
Time to learn what bluegrass music actually sounds like.
Chapter 23
Clara
The venue is narrow and long, the floors unfinished concrete and the tables wobbly high-tops. The only food is pickles and chips, but there are twenty different beers on tap, so the audience is happy. Meanwhile, Emma has been peppering Jansen with information on his sister since we picked her up, a fresh fake ID for her in hand.
I’m happy for her. She’s been single longer than either of us thought she’d last, and I know she’s been lonely, even if her classes fill up nearly all her free time. Pre-vet isn’t easy.
There’s a section toward the front of super exuberant fans, and when Evie steps out onto the small stage, the group starts screaming and jumping. And it’s easy to see why. Evie haspresence. Shining green eyes, a grin full of mischief, blonde hair falling over her brow but undercut all around her head, long, dangling earrings, and an outfit that somehow looks both stage-worthy and like she just threw on some jeans before she came out to play. And when she speaks, her voice has a husky quality that makes you feel like she’s only talking to you.
One glance at Emma, and it’s easy to see that she’s totally smitten.
