“She didn’t need to be saved.
She needed to be found and appreciated, for exactly who she was.”
—J. Iron Word
After swallowing the last bite, my fork clatters against the plate when I see Adam shove Griff against the wall. He’s clenching Griff’s collar so tight his knuckles are white.
Pushing out my chair, I collect my dishes and set them aside then rush toward them. Griff is already turning his back and walking away by the time I reach Adam.
“Hey,” I say softly, running my fingers down Adam’s arm. He’s staring at Griff’s back, his fists clenched and a vein bulging in his neck. “Hey, what’s wrong? What’d he do?”
He’s still watching Griff when his phone dings. He pulls it out of his pocket and swipes the screen, his movements tight. After a second, he grits his jaw and slips it back into his pocket.
Finally, he turns to me. His gaze drifts along my face, eventually landing on my eyes. “Frankie’s sudden modeling gig popped up four weeks ago.”
My brows knit. “Okay?”
“How long have you been here?”
I glance down, thinking it over. When I look back at him, I’m more confused than ever. “Four weeks.”
His hand finds my waist, gripping tightly, then he’s guiding me down the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“To find Raife and figure out what the fuck he’s up to.”
When we reach Raife’s office, it’s empty, but Adam bulldozes straight to his desk, opening drawers and flicking through files. I make my way around the desk and move the computer mouse until the screen whirs to life. But of course it’s locked. A garbled noise of frustration escapes my throat.
Adam glances at me, his lips tipping up at one corner. My stomach flips at the warmth igniting behind his eyes.
When he looks back down at the opened drawer before him, his gaze narrows. He whips out a file, tossing it on the desk and flipping it open. My eyes widen as I see photograph after photograph filling the folder.
Mama on her knees in prayer. Priest Henry scattering holy water around the trailer to cleanse the space.
My stomach twists at the third picture. I reach toward it, picking it up and staring into the flames. Mama found the canvases I hid under Frankie’s bed. Some of them anyway. She’s standing over them in the yard, watching them burn to ash. Right beside them is another box. My pillowcase, clothes, the pictures Frankie and I took together and hid away—none of it is recognizable now.
I close my eyes, willing the tears forming along my lashes not to spill. I don’t know why it hurts. I should know better than to expect anything else by now.
When I open my eyes, Adam is watching me closely. I want to turn away, but the look in his gaze holds me captive.
He gives the slightest shake of his head, his voice low and commanding. “You don’t get to hide anymore. Not from me.”
After a second, my shoulders relax, and I let out a shaky breath. Relief floods me at not having to try. I don’t want to anymore. I nod, and he withdraws another photo from the pile.
I frown, squinting as I look it up and down. It’s a man I’ve never seen before, but I know who he is. He has dark hair, and a small blond-haired baby, bundled in a pink blanket, is in his arms.
“Your father?” Adam asks quietly.
I don’t speak for a moment. I only heard Mama mention Daddy once, and that was to Frankie. She said he couldn’t confront giving himself fully to the Lord. That he made his choice and would suffer eternally for it, but she and Frankie didn’t have to do the same.
That’s the thing about Mama, though. Whenever something threatens her beliefs, or her journey to Heaven, she forbids it—or them—from being spoken of under our roof. She is happy to pretend we never existed at all.
“If you can call him that,” I finally whisper. Setting the photo down, I flip to the back of the file and see copies of my birth certificate and social security card. Behind that is a copy of Frankie’s and Mama’s, too. “What is all this? Why does Raife have it? Why has he been watching my family?”
Adam runs the backs of his fingers down his jaw, his expression thoughtful. He pulls out his phone and starts on a text. “He thinks he knows something about you, and he’s determined to work it out.”
I chew my lip, curling my arms below my chest. I’ve heard enough of Katerina now to know what he’s referring to. “Well, he’s wrong, you know. He’s searching for a connection that doesn’t exist, and it’s only going to drive him more crazy when he realizes it.”
