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“On?”

“How much trouble he gives you.” At that, he smirked. “I could also just stand there and look intimidating.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Jonah narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

I reached for my keys on the bench. “Yeah.” I shook my head, breathing out a laugh. “This is mine. I’ll take care of it.”

Jonah’s expression softened. “Lane.”

I looked over.

“You’ve got people in your corner.” He tapped his chest. “Sor would be here before you finished the sentence. And Landry . . .” He laughed. “We both know she’d probably throw the first punch.”

A real laugh escaped this time.

“I need to do this.”

Because Jonah was right. People had been standing in my corner for years, even while I insisted on fighting alone, threw myself in front of them without thinking twice, and let Bryant convince me I wasn’t worth defending. I was done believing that lie. Jonah headed for the exit, and I fell into step behind him.

“And Lane?”

I glanced over.

“If he says something stupid . . .”

I waited.

Jonah grinned. “Call me after. I’ll still be available to look intimidating.”

I shook my head, laughing under my breath. I glanced back at the heavy bag. It still swayed, each pass a little shorter than the last.

Eventually, it would stop.

For once since last night, my chest didn’t feel like it was carrying the weight of the world. Not because anything had been fixed. Not because it didn’t still hurt. But because I finally understood something I’d been too stubborn . . . too afraid to see before. I hadn’t been carrying it alone.

Fifty-Four

Lane

Tonight was Bryant’s appointed family dinner night. The kind where he expected me to show up, sit at his table, and play the role of the adoring son. I’d use the opportunity to tell him this would be the last dinner. The last obligation. The last time I sat at his table and pretended we were something we weren’t.

I expected him to get loud, but he hadn’t raised a hand to me since he started having to look up to me. Bryant had always preyed on anything he thought couldn’t fight back. I no longer fit that description.

I was grateful for the medication keeping the panic from swallowing me whole. I wasn’t scared of Bryant—not exactly—but standing in his presence still dragged me backward. Back to every moment he’d found a way to make me feel small. Back to the times I’d curled inside the closet, knees pressed to my chest, wishing the door would open into somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere like the magical worlds inside those books Jonah always loved.

Julia opened the door wearing a dress that looked like it belonged in a 1950s kitchen-appliance advertisement, but I guessed she was just playing her part.

“Lane.” She offered the word like a greeting as she shut the door behind me. “I made filet mignon and roasted vegetables with a bourbon glaze. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Sounds good.” Julia wasn’t the enemy. She was simply another person who had been caught in the web Bryant had built. We walked toward the dining room, and the quiet stretched as I waited for him to announce himself.

“There’s my son.” Bryant’s voice carried too loudly through the house. I already knew what waited on the other side of the room. The smell reached me before he did—bourbon and something sharp underneath it. My shoulders tensed because there was no part of me that wanted to belong to him.

“It sure is, dear. Would you like water?” Julia moved toward him, her voice careful and practiced and demure. Her eyes flicked toward mine. She knew he’d had too much.

His heavy arm wrapped around her waist, his gold pinky ring catching the light. She smiled self-consciously at the action.