“I was cleaning my guns in the backyard, and in hindsight I should have never even been allowed to own them…” he trails off. “He was doing great, the sun was out, and he never misses the net even at that age. My daughter’s painting—maybe drawing, I don’t know—the details get fuzzy because I hear a gunshot. Loud and clear. And I’m back there. Staring down the barrel of a gun. Ten feet in front of me in the grass is a man with a gun. Threatening everything. I move in quick, tactical steps and snuff out the threat. But I’m not fast enough, and there’s a second gunman.”
Landon pulls up his shirt to show me an ugly scar on the side of his stomach.
I can’t.
I want to get up from the couch so badly, I need to. I need out of here, away from him. Rhea’s devastated eyes flicker across my memory, and I grind my jaw together to keep from moving or saying anything.
“The pain knocked me from the episode, and she was standing there, her tiny hands shaking around the gun, and my son is unconscious beside me in the grass,” he says, and I shoot from the couch. “Sit down, Bright.”
“You knew,” Ibark. “You knew that day at the bowling alley. It’s why you’ve been avoiding me. Avoiding the guys. You saw her.”
“I did. It was the first time in thirteen years I’d seen her, but I’d never forget that face.” He stands to match me. “I just don’t know if it’s the right time to—”
He raises both hands when I charge and slam him back against the bookshelf. It rattles under the blow, and a few books fall to the floor. “I should fucking kill you.” My voice is low and violent.
Her voice still shakes when she tells stories about you—like she can feel your hands on her, like she can still smell the gunpowder on her skin.I’m vibrating with unchecked rage. I don't know what to do with it.
Landon doesn’t even flinch. “You should.”
The omission is worse than him trying to talk his way out of it. It means every horrible thing he did to them, to her, is true.
“Does she know you’re still in Harbor?” I ask him next, and he shakes his head. “Listen to me right now,” I say, and tighten my grip on his shoulder, pressing my forearm into his throat. “I don’t know what the fucking point is in telling me that story. What twisted game you're playing, but if you ever even contemplate the idea ofevergoing near Rhea, I will make sure it’s the last time you ever do.”
“I’m not that man anymore, Bright,” Landon says. “You know me.”
“I don’t know you,” I snarl. “Were you going to use me to get to her?”
He doesn’t say anything, and I scoff.
“If I'm being honest, I don't know. But I had to make sure you were a better man than me,” he finally says.
“That’s the problem. All you’ve taught me tonight is that I’m no better than you. We’re a mirror. Rhea’s better off without either of us.” I spit.
“That’s not true.” Landon shakes his head and tries to get air, but I push harder. “You came here ready to talk after how long? And you did it for her.”
“Don’t you fucking play some moral high ground bullshit with me,” I bark.
“I might not deserve a second chance,” he says, and I shove him.
“You won’t get one,” I remind him.
“But you do,” he says. “Don’t let my daughter think she failed a second man. Protect her from this, from me.” He whispers the last part, and I realize how serious he is about it.
“This is a fucking joke. She didn't fail me, and she can protect herself. She's been doing it long before I barrelled into her life.” I snap. “She told me about you, she barely sleeps…”
“Are you going to tell her about this?”
“She has a hard enough time moving through the mess you made without having to look over her shoulder, so no.” I can barely look at him anymore. “I trusted you.”
“Trust that you’ll never become me.” He tries, but it just pisses me off even more.
“Stay away from her, Landon,” I let him go finally, backing away toward his front door. “And me.”
He nods, his jaw ticking shut tightly as I reach for the doorknob.
“Fuck.” My entire body wracks with tremors as I shut the door and storm back to my truck. I dig my phone out from where I threw it earlier and turn it on to dial a number I should’ve forgotten a long time ago. They answer after the first ring. “Hey, you wanna meet up for a drink?”
“Do you remember when Huxley tossed that grenade at Noah and he thought it was unpinned and wrote him up?” Jackson rolls back in his chair, drunk off about six too many shots and teasing everyone he can think of.
