I thought I wanted to know what happened next, who my father was, how he could have ruined his whole life in a single instant of rage,but what I need is to understand where I belong, how I’ve fit into this story for all these years, and what’s kept me on the outside, looking in. “What if I asked the wrong question?” I say. “If I’d kept my mouth shut and not run around trying to tell this story, would my mother be alive?”
“You can’t own someone else’s terrible decision,” Freya says. “Whether the choice was made twenty-five years ago, or twenty-five minutes ago, the choice was theirs to make.”
We gather the rifles and retrieve the aluminum cans from the shooting range. Freya releases Ginger from the line, and we make our way down the trail. When we reach the stream, a text beeps into my phone. Then another. And another. I glance at the screen. A text from Julian sits over all the others.??This thing is gaining traction!??he writes.
I click his name. He picks up on the first ring. “We’re at two thousand downloads,” he says.
“Of what?” I ask.
“I edited together some of your narration,” Julian says. “There’s a story here! I posted a teaser for the podcast.”
Right then, a growl begins at the back of Ginger’s throat.
“What’s wrong?” Freya says to her.
The dog takes off toward the trailhead. Freya swears and chases after her.
I imagine the other texts on my phone, from Reid and Paul—from Seton—each expressing some version of betrayal. “Take the teaser down,” I say to Julian. “Now. Right now!”
Then I disconnect the call, sling the rifle over my shoulder, and run down the path toward the road, my boots pounding through mud. A few moments later, I emerge from the trees. Freya stands beside Ginger, her hand on the dog’s collar.
“I’m going to strangle my producer,” I say, between gasps.
Freya doesn’t speak. I follow her gaze. Sun glints off her truck’s windshield, whereWelcome Homehas been smeared in what looks like blue paint. “He’s back,” Freya says.
I search the forest for whoever she means. Something moves in the trees. I lift the rifle and find the scope as someone tackles me from behind.
Chapter Thirty-Two
As I crash toward the ground, the rifle slips from my grasp and clatters across the forest floor. I struggle to escape the weight on my back, trying to catch a glimpse of who took me down. I scramble after the rifle, but my arm twists, and I’m back on the ground, my face shoved into a pile of wet leaves. An elbow presses into my back. And auburn-colored hair cascades across my face. “Do you have any idea how many perps I’ve taken down in my day, Harold?” Freya hisses into my ear.
I try to turn. Ginger lunges, and Freya shouts “Off!” before the dog’s jaw can clamp onto my leg.
“Don’t point a gun at anything besides a target,” Freya says, tightening her grip on my arm. “Ever. You’re not trained, and I don’t need a protector.”
“The rifle wasn’t loaded,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter,” Freya says.
I breathe in the loamy scent of wet leaves and mud and will my heart rate to slow. Usually, I do my best not to act the part of an alpha male, but getting taken down by a woman crushes the ego. I stop struggling, and Freya relaxes her grip, if only a bit. “Can I trust you?” she asks.
I nod.
She releases my arm and rolls off me. “Are you hurt?”
I spin away from her, keeping my hands visible, until I’m sitting cross-legged. Dampness seeps through the back of my jeans.Ginger crouches at Freya’s side, transformed into a snarling, drooling killing machine.
“She’ll rip you to pieces if she thinks I’m in trouble,” Freya says, catching Ginger’s eye. “Down.”
Ginger drops to an active down, but the snarls don’t stop. Freya crawls to the rifle, breaks it open, and checks the empty chamber. Then she sits by the truck, her legs splayed out. I join her, but when I put my hand on the rifle, she yanks it away. “You lost your privileges.”
Another text beeps into my phone. I silence it without looking at the screen, and nod toward the graffiti on the truck. “What’s that?”
“Nothing for you to worry about,” Freya says.
“What if whoever did that is still here?”
“Ginger will let us know. And I can load a rifle in two seconds flat.”
