Billy took a sip and set his glass on his knee. The record moved through the first verse, strings building under the guitar. “You know she's not asleep.”
That wasn’t even a question he was thinking. Even if she’d been asleep —at seven in the evening— she wasn’t anymore. The house carried sound well.
Judah turned to the shelves, not to get anything — just to have something to look at that wasn't Billy's face or his mother's photograph, or the window facing the drive where Lauren's taillights had gone.
He pulled a book out. Didn't look at the spine. Started paging through it, too drunk to evenseethe letters. And when he decided hewasn’ttoo drunk to see them, he quickly realized the book was not in English.
“She had this book calledPriest,”Judah said, remembering the first time he’d seen it. “I looked it up. Curious.”
Billy leaned forward, glass dangling between his fingertips. “And?”
“It's about a priest who fucks one of his parishioners.” Judah's laugh was short and hollow. “Romance novel. Apparently quite graphic.”
Billy's eyebrows shot up. “You don't say.”
“Ironic, isn't it?” Judah slid the foreign book back onto the shelf. The room felt like it was breathing around him, expanding and contracting with the music. “She reads that filth, while I—”
“While you what?” Billy's voice had an edge to it now. “Actually do it?”
Judah's eyes snapped to Billy's, hard and cold despite the alcohol. “While I cover for human traffickers,” he said.
Billy went very still, the whiskey in his glass catching the low light. “Don’t go there.”
But Judah didgothere. “Thirteen years, Billy. Thirteen fucking years I’ve been doing it and telling myself that I am not likethem.”
“We don't—” Billy stopped himself, then tried again. “That's not what it is.”
Judah leaned back in his chair, feeling the leather cool against his neck. “Keep telling yourself that. Helps you sleep at night, don’t it.”
“You want to do this now?” Billy's voice was low, dangerous. “Now, Judah? I’m telling you, don’t fuckinggothere.”
They both were quiet for a long moment. The music swelled and settled.Never cared for what they say. Never cared for games they play.
“How do you live with it?” Judah looked at him, his gaze exhausted. Bone deep exhausted. “How do you… turn the guilt off?”
Billy's eyes went distant. He took a long drink, and Judah could see the calculations happening behind his expression — weighing how honest to be, how much truth the moment could bear.
“I don't,” Billy finally said. He set the glass down softly. “Turn it off. I just... put it somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Same place you put yours, I imagine.” Billy's smile was thin and sharp. “Right next to all the other shit we don't talk about.”
The record crackled between verses. Metallica had never sounded so mournful, so confessional.
“I’m afraid,” Judah admitted after a while, his voice low, almost blending in with the electric guitar. “The child she’s carrying — what if it’s a girl?”
Billy didn't answer immediately. He took another long drink, emptying his glass, and set it down on the desk with a soft thud.
“I don’t have an answer,Preacher,” Billy said.
Yeah. He didn’t either.
The vase hit the floor at 6:26.
The crash came up through the floor like something had broken loose at the foundation.
I was out of bed before I'd decided to be.
