“They’re only weeds to those who’re mad they can’t get rid of them,” he said, kissing my forehead. “And we’ll never be around people like that anymore.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, sweet boy.”
And as the grief kept breaking and breaking inside me, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—this was the one thing that wasn’t a lie.
15
Jace
“No,” I said simply, closing the door. The latch clicked, solid and final—and then the knocking came back, sharper this time. Insistent. Like he thought persistence might make me forget the last time he was here.
I curled my hand into a fist.
“Fucking Patel,” I muttered.
From the living room, soft and tentative, Elior called, “Daddy? Who was it?”
My spine went rigid.
“Just someone who’s lost,” I said, pitching my voice carefully. “Stay where you are, baby.”
The knocking didn’t stop.
Once. Twice. A third time.
I opened the door before Elior could get curious enough to move, stepped out, and shut it behind me with deliberate care. The porch was cool, the late light slanting low and gold across the railings. Patel stood there with his hands in his jacket pockets.
“What,” I said flatly, “do you want?”
“Jesus, chill,” he said, holding up his hands. “I knew you’d be home. I wasn’t trying to get him alone.”
I didn’t blink. “You show up unannounced after what happened, and you expect me to believe that?”
His mouth twitched. “You’re being dramatic.”
I stepped closer, just enough that he had to look up at me instead of past me. “And you’re being really fucking stupid, sticking your head where it doesn’t belong.”
Something in my face must’ve finally registered, because the humor drained out of him and he straightened, his thick dark brows lowering and his lips thinning.
“Okay,” he said, quieter now. “Fine. I deserved the door. But this isn’t about that.”
“Then say it fast.”
“They want Elior to testify.”
The words hit like a live wire.
“The fuck? No,” I said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Patel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Jace—”
“Aarev.You’re out of your fucking mind,” I snapped. “He just found out a few days ago that his mother was murdered by his pathetic excuse of a father. He’s barely holding it together. Putting him on the stand across from Malachi would only retraumatize him.”
“I know,” Patel said. And for once, it looked like he meant it. “But listen to me.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to shove him off the porch andlistento his head bounce against the concrete walkway.
