Page 537 of End Game

Let that sit.

Four men.

Four different roles.

No victim.

No spectator.

Family.

We stay another hour.

It isn't magically better.

Mom cries.

Dad asks more questions than she does.

Some are awkward.

A few are unintentionally offensive.

One makes Clay tell him, “Don't ask that,” before I can.

But nobody throws us out.

Nobody tells me not to come back.

Mom hugs me when we leave, even though she whispers, “I still don't understand this,” against my hair.

“I know.”

Dad hugs Griffin.

That surprises everyone.

Especially Griffin.

Clay gets cornered at the door by Mom, who apparently has decided he is personally responsible for keeping me alive forever.

He takes it with impressive patience.

When we reach the car, my entire body feels hollowed out.

Griffin looks at me over the roof. “You okay?”

“No.”

He nods.

“What do you need?”

My throat tightens.

Always.

But not right now.