Kyle gives Faith a crooked smile as they head to the door. “Take care of yourself, Faith.”
“Thanks, Kyle,” Faith whispers.
They leave us in the soft light of the apartment, the scent of tea and coffee clinging to the air like comfort.
I turn to her, voice low but certain. “I’ll never resent you.”
She gives me a trembling, watery smile. “I…I’ll wait for it anyway.”
“Sweet thing.” I lift her gently into my lap, wrapping my arms around her like I can hold all her broken pieces in place. “Why would you brace yourself for something awful?”
Her breath shudders. “Because good things don’t happen to me, Cain.”
I press a kiss to Faith’s forehead, grounding both of us. “I know you don’t trust me yet. Or the universe. Maybe not even yourself. But I’ll earn it, Faith. Every day. I’ll show you—good things can be yours.”
We sit quietly for a while, just breathing, just holding one another.
Finally, she kisses my jaw and stands up.
“Where are you going?” I ask, rising.
She smirks. “You already told me I’m not going to work.”
“Damn right.” I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. “But you can argue with me in bed. You know, just to keep things spicy.”
She laughs. Really laughs.
And just like that, the dark lifts.
Not gone. But no longer everything.
29
THE LAST LINE
CAIN
The interrogation room smells like sweat and old metal. Lo told me that Paula may not do time, considering her role in the assault, unless I press charges for theft. I am thinking about it.
My parents don’t know what to do. They’re on their way back, and they’re blaming themselves, convinced that leaving Silverton was what let Paula drift so far from everything they raised us to believe in.
My baby sister looks up when I walk in.
She doesn’t look defiant. She looks wrecked.
“Cain,” she whispers, like the sound of my name might be her last chance.
I sit across from her. A part of me wants to warn her that Lo is listening to our conversation—this is not privileged.Butanother just wants her to confess the truth and pay for it.
I pull out my phone and find pictures of when Faith had been beaten up by Jamie, the last time that had propelled her to run.
“The man Melody gave my apartment keys to, Paula, he did this to Faith.”
She looks horrified. “Oh my God. Is she okay?”
I don’t bother correcting her—those photos are from the past. And given that Faith clocked the bastard with a cast-iron pan, he’s probably still seeing stars. But Paula doesn’t need to know that. I want her to stay in the dark and feel guilty.
“Do you care if she’s okay?” I demand.
