Chapter Eleven
~ Levi ~
We walked up the porch steps that night like men headed for the gallows, the old boards flexing under our boots, the door frame throwing a crooked shadow across the mat.
I had my hand twisted in Quiad’s so tight my fingers had gone bone-white, but I didn’t care. If I let go, I was pretty sure I’d vaporize, or run screaming into the woods, or maybe just tip over backward and shatter on the hard-packed earth.
Inside, the main house was brighter than normal. Every single lamp was on—someone must have thought more light would make this feel less like a firing squad, but it just made every blemish and stain on the old wallpaper stand out like a bruise.
The air smelled like onions and lemon polish and whatever pie Grandma Minnie had cooling on the stove. I heard voices, low and tense, just beyond the door to the living room.
Quiad nudged me forward, his palm sweaty against mine. “You ready?” he murmured.
“No,” I said, my voice cracking on the word. “But if I stall any longer, your mom’s gonna come out here and drag me in by the ear.”
He actually smiled at that, but it was the brittle, pre-execution kind of smile.
I wiped my free hand on my jeans, then opened the door. Inside, every single McKenzie in the county was crammed onto the ancient sectional and the battered recliners, like a reunion that had gone slightly feral.
Ma and Pa held court on the loveseat, Ma with her hands folded tight and Pa with one arm slung over the back like he was keeping her from bolting.
Knox and Newt perched on either end of the couch, Knox’s hand on Newt’s knee and his face set like concrete.
Ransom lounged in the rocking chair, arms crossed, with Floyd standing behind him looking weirdly sheepish for a cop.
Harlow and Dan flanked the far wall, both standing—Harlow looming and twitchy, Dan giving him little shoulder-squeeze reminders to chill.
Bodean was sprawled on the rug, cross-legged and picking at the label of a beer bottle.
All eyes turned when we came in. The silence that followed was so loud I actually heard the tick of the big wall clock, and then, faintly, the plunk of a drip in the kitchen sink.
“Hey, guys,” I said, and immediately wanted to curl into a fossil.
No one said anything for a second. Then Ma’s mouth did this little quirk at the corner, the way it did right before she dropped the hammer on someone.
“Levi, dear. We’re all ears.”
“Shit,” I said. “I mean—uh. Okay.”
I looked around, tried to make eye contact with someone less scary than Ma, but all I got was Ransom’s faint smirk and Bodean’s wide, unblinking stare.
I licked my lips.
“S-so, um, we have something to tell you guys,” I stammered. My voice had gone up an octave, and my hand started vibrating like a tuning fork in Quiad’s grip. He didn’t let go, just squeezed back once, a silent keep going.
I pulled in a breath, tried to channel every inch of backbone I had, and told them.
“We—uh—so. There’s been some family drama. On my side, I mean. Gloria—the woman who made me—showed up in town a couple days ago. She’s been, um, kind of…stalking me. Not in a fun way. I mean, I guess stalking is never a fun way. Butshe was saying all this stuff about my dad’s estate and about how if I didn’t sign some paperwork she’d lose her chance at, I don’t know, living? Except the whole thing is bullshit, and she’s actually been running a scam on people for years, which Knox and Quiad and probably everyone else already knew, and I just…” I trailed off, realizing I’d started talking so fast my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth.
I shot a glance at Quiad, who nodded, calm as you please, like I was absolutely crushing it.
“So yeah,” I said. “She lied about being sick. She lied about there being a will. She just wanted money. She wanted me to sign away my rights to whatever was left of my father’s name, I guess, so she could cash it in with some lawyer and move to Nevada or wherever old con women go to die. And I—uh. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
There was still total silence. Even Harlow had stopped his nervous swaying and was just watching, eyes big and wet.
“And, um, we—meaning me and Quiad—we went to the courthouse this morning and put in the paperwork for a marriage license.” The words landed in the center of the room like a claymore mine. “Not to, like, get her off my back or anything, that’s not the point, it’s just—” I stopped. “I wanted to. We wanted to. We’ve wanted to for a while.”
I realized I was still standing by the door, hovering on the threshold like I might bolt. I made myself step forward, dragging Quiad with me.
