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He kept his expression blank, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Sometimes I think it would have been easier if my parents had turned,” I admitted. “You grow up expecting it. Preparing for it.”

“What happened?” August’s voice was gentle again, empathy returning.

“I know only the version I was told.” When he stayed silent, I continued. “When Serena ran off, they got careless. My dad fell and got himself banged up pretty good. My mum did what she could to look after him, but financially, they were already on a losing streak they’d never recover from. Things got worse, and then they both caught something. No one knows what because they couldn’t afford to see the doctor, and if they had scraped enough together, they wouldn’t have been able to afford the medicine anyway. According to the neighbors, they died within days of each other. Unless they told me that because they wanted me to feel better. If I’d known I could have done something, but―” Guilt thickened my words. Guilt, I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried. “I should have been there to provide for them. I shouldn’t have left them. Any of them. The neighbor kept the ring for me. She could have sold it, and I’d never have known. But she didn’t. They should have sold the damn ring. I don’t know why they didn’t.”

Fingers curled around my arm and tugged me sideways. Confused, I allowed August to pull me until my cheek rested against his bare chest. His hand smoothed gently over my hair—so carefully I knew it was new for both of us. I relaxed into it.

When I didn’t pull away, he grew bolder, stroking my hair more firmly. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured.

“It is.”

“It isn’t. You had to live your own life.”

“And because I did, they’re dead.”

“Yeah, well… join the dead family club.”

“You still have your grandma.”

Silence followed, heavy with the thought that neither of us voiced: how much longer could an eighty-nine-year-old who’d been through so much, who’d seen so much, survive?

“Do you know why I con people?” August said out of the blue.

I turned my head into his chest, breathing in the musky scent of sex. “Why?”

“Partly the thrill and the excitement. Partly because if you make other people your victims, you can’t be one yourself. Or at least that’s what I thought. Then I ran into you. And Oz. More Oz. He made me look sane.”

“You are sane.”

“My father died going out in the rain. And here I am, conning people into believing I can make it safe when I can’t.”

“That makes you a bastard. It doesn’t make you insane.” I tipped my head back to see his face. “Are you going to keep doing it?”

“Not that con.” August’s lips twitched. He tried to fight the smile but lost. “I was damn good at it, though.”

“You were,” I admitted. “You fooled me.”

My eyes drifted shut, lulled by the rhythm of his fingers in my hair. When I surfaced again, I caught August saying something, but had no idea what. “Huh?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. It wasn’t important. Sleep.”

I did, my body deciding that was all the permission I needed.

Chapter Twenty-one

August

This was all new to me, the having someone in my space, sharing my bed, and conversing after sex, even if it had taken a rather dark turn into shared pain and grief. It was also new to wake up in the night to find Keaton over by the candle we hadn’t bothered to blow out. He was hunched over, my alarm instinctive. I shot upright in bed, certain something was wrong. “Keaton?”

Only after he turned his head did I see the book he pored over on his lap. I’d brought the encyclopedia upstairs for him and left it by the door. He’d obviously gotten out of bed and retrieved it. I relaxed back against the pillows, marveling at this feeling of concern for someone I wasn’t related to.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He returned to the book, tracing his finger over something. “This book is fascinating.”

“Apparently so. More fascinating than my naked body. I should take offense.”

Keaton’s chest expanded in a silent laugh. “Not really. I just struggled to sleep, and curiosity got the better of me.”

“What are you reading about?” The silence that followed was so heavy I knew instantly I’d said the wrong thing.