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“Stop, Dad,” I said. “Let her go.”

He turned on me. “A little support would have been nice.”

“I’m sure Dakota is thinking the same thing.”

He glared. “What’s gotten into you both? I don’t understand it.”

I went to the kitchen and got a Tupperware and dished out some stew for Dad. When I returned, he was sitting at the table, glaring down at his hands.

“All I try to do is help, and she hates me for it. But the guy who did this to her is A-okay? Makes no goddamned sense.”

I set the bowl in front of Dad. “Dakota doesn’t want help. She wants to be seen as the same person she’s always been. And Joey…” I shook my head. “I don’t totally understand it, but she’s trying to move forward and be happy, and forgiving him is part of that for her.”

“He doesn’t deserve her kindness.”

“Maybe not, but Dakota wants to give it, and we can’t stop her from doing that. We shouldn’t. She was right about one thing. She’s the one living with the consequences of that accident. It’s her pain, her body, and we have no right to tell her how to feel about it.”

Dad left shortly after, dissatisfied with my answers. I didn’t blame him. No one but Dakota could really understand her motives. But I knew enough about Piper’s counseling work at the rehab center to know that emotional healing was a big part of the recovery journey for most patients, and Dakota wanting to shed the last of her resentment was part of letting go of her pain.

I cleaned up the kitchen, then carried a bowl of stew back to Dakota’s bedroom. We’d installed a pocket door that slid sideways to make it easier for her to get in and out. I tapped on it. “Can I come in?”

There was a lengthy pause.

“I guess.”

I slid the door open. “You okay?”

Dakota was already in bed, propped up against some pillows. Pogo was curled up beside her, and she had one hand buried in his fur. Good, he’d comfort her more than I ever could.

“He frustrates me. I shouldn’t have brought up Joey. I knew he wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not the only one.”

I ventured into the room. Dakota held a tablet in her lap, and she’d undoubtedly watch television for a while. Sometimes we hung out together in the evening, but not always. Dakota had her favorite shows, and I had mine, and they didn’t always match up. Lately, she’d been binging a show with lots of lords and pretty dresses and balls. I was more of a Reacher type guy. Give me action and explosions over hetero-normative courting rituals any day.

“Kit, what he said about Mom⁠—”

“He was wrong to say that.” I set the bowl of stew on her side table, in case she decided she was hungry later.

“I want to believe that,” she said.

“Then do believe it.” I sat on the edge of the bed and lay my hand on her leg. My sister was paralyzed, but she still had some sensation in her upper thighs. Not enough to walk, but enough that the weight of my hand would register. “Mom loved spending time with you. Once she got over the shock of it, you guys got so close.”

Dakota blinked shiny eyes. “Yeah, we did.”

“You went shopping together, and gossiped, and she painted your toenails.”

She gave a watery laugh. “I miss having someone do that for me.”

“You should make Joey do it,” I joked. “That would be true penance.”

She smacked my arm. “You just want to see him suffer.”

I smirked. “Maybe I do.”

“Or maybe you’d just like to see him on his knees,” she teased.

My pulse spiked. I liked it too damn much. Dakota saw something in my expression.