Page 8 of Weight of Guilt

The stranger nodded toward the top step as if he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to get closer. “I couldn’t wait until I could join you on stage. Dad always said I couldn’t. That I wasn’t a sister. He said maybe I could learn guitar instead. That maybe I could tour with you when you hit it big.”

Marlowe let out a gasp, that memory obviously hitting on something tender. “It’s him!”

The next instant, she crossed the yard, her arms outstretched. She practically collided with the stranger before throwing her arms around him and sobbing.

The man-boy raised his arms slowly and uncertainly around her.

Wren didn’t move to hug him. Neither did Nora. They matched in their hesitation the way they used to match in harmony.

But as Wren watched the reunion, something inside her cracked. It wasn’t exactly belief. Not yet. But the space where her doubt used to live was emptying out faster than she wanted.

If this man-boy was a stranger, a cruelty someone had dressed up and sent to their door, the doubt would still be there. Right?

It wasn’t.

“I need to call someone.” Nora reached for the phone in her scrub pocket, her voice cracking under the calm. “The police, or—I don’t know. Who do you even call for this?”

“Wait!” The word cracked as it left the man-boy’s—Christian’s?—lips. “No! Please. Not yet.”

Nora softened her voice. “We have to⁠—”

“I know how it sounds. But please. No.”

“They can probably come here, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nora continued. “We wouldn’t have to take you to the station. They’ll probably want to do a DNA test.”

“It’s just—” He stopped, shook his head. “I don’t want people looking at me. Not yet. Please, just—” His breath came ragged, uneven. “A few hours. That’s all. Please.”

Wren’s thoughts raced. Was he hiding something? Was that why he wanted a delay?

But . . . if he really was Christian, then his explanation made sense.

Wren glanced at her sister. Nora’s thumb didn’t move. Neither did the rest of her. Her shoulders locked, and her jaw was tight.

Bo picked that moment to abandon his post between them and trot back to the porch. He pushed his head against Wren’s leg as if he sensed she needed him.

She did.

She dropped a hand to his ears and worked her fingers through his fur.

She needed something solid to hold onto while she waited to figure out what they were going to do.

Chapter

Four

Wren watched as Nora’s thumb hovered over her phone screen another moment. Then finally, she lowered the device.

Wren relaxed her shoulders. She’d been bracing herself for a fight and trying to figure out a way to soothe things when it got tense. Maybe she wouldn’t have to.

“How did you get here?” Nora asked, her voice still tinged with skepticism. “Today. Right now. How did you end up on this road? At this house?”

The man-boy’s eyes unfocused a second, almost as if he was searching for something that wasn’t there to find. Marlowe kept one arm around him but moved to his side.

“I don’t—” He pressed his fingers against his knees. “I don’t know. I remember running through the dark. I fell and hit my head on something. Then I was just . . . here. Walking. I don’t know how long I’d been walking before that. It’s all . . . it’s all a blur.”

“What else?” Wren could hardly breathe as she waited for him to continue.

“I . . . I don’t know. I’ve been trying to remember since I woke up on that road, but my brain won’t work. Pieces come back, and then they’re gone again.”