Page 13

He still blamed me.

Five years, and nothing had changed. He still couldn’t look at me without thinking about Bryce. Without remembering that his son was dead and his daughter was the reason why.

Harry’s hand wrapped around my hip, holding me against him, and I belatedly realized I’d stopped walking. My feet had frozen to the floor like it had suddenly iced over, and I couldn’t make myself move forward.

Why on earth would they want me home if this was how he looked at me?

“Sam.” Harry’s voice was still quiet, but there was an edge of concern to it now. “Breathe.”

Right. Breathing. That was a thing people did.

I forced air into my lungs, but it felt like inhaling through a straw. My vision had gone slightly fuzzy at the edges, and my hands were shaking inside my coat pockets where no one could see them.

This was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake. I wasn’t strong enough for this.

In Montana, I could pretend. Pretend to be happy and carefree and confident, like nothing could touch me.

But not here. Not in the face of my family and everything I’d destroyed because I wasn’t the good person I’d been pretending to be in Montana.

I was selfish and destroyed lives.

Jordan hugged Dad and then pulled back as they murmured something to each other. Then Jordan turned back toward me, his expression expectant. Like he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t running into our father’s arms the way he had.

Because I knew those arms wouldn’t want me. Not anymore. His face had already given him away, and I couldn’t stand to hug him now.

But I could get closer. I wasn’t alone. Harry’s steady presence at my side gave me the strength to put one foot in front of the other until I was standing in front of the man who I used to idolize.

“Hi, Dad.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. I guess five years of pretending had been useful after all.

Dad’s gaze finally met mine again, and even though he was smiling, there was still pain in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide from me.

“Sammy.” He said my name like it was rusty, a word he hadn’t muttered in years. “You look good.”

He didn’t move to hug me.

I tried not to let that destroy me, but I was struggling to hold it together. My throat burned with the effort of holding back tears, and I dug my nails into my palms hard enough to leave marks.

“You too,” I managed. I couldn’t say anymore or my voice would break and the tears I was biting back would come pouring out.

Jordan cleared his throat. “Dad, this is Harrison Gordon. Sam’s, uh, boyfriend.”

Harry stepped forward, offering his hand. “Mr. Lowe. It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Gordy.”

Dad’s eyebrows rose slightly as he took in Harry’s size and the protective way he positioned himself at my side.

“Gordy,” Dad repeated, shaking Harry’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

We stood there for a beat, the awkwardness feeling almost oppressive. Dad wasn’t acting like someone who’d been expecting me. I glanced at Jordan and didn’t miss the guilty expression he’d shot me.

Had he kept this a secret from my parents?

“Well.” Dad nodded once. “Car’s this way.”

He turned and started walking toward the exit without waiting for us to follow.

Jordan fell into step beside him, leaving Harry and me trailing behind. I watched my father’s back as he walked—shoulders slightly hunched, gait a little slower than I remembered—and felt the distance between us like a canyon I didn’t know how to cross.

“Hey.” Harry’s voice was soft. He tugged on my hand, pulling me to a stop while Jordan and Dad moved ahead, oblivious. “Look at me.”