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“Try? It comes natural, darlin’.”

“He tried to ruin you already. You know he’ll try again and again.”

“Try being the operative word. I’m thinking I might send the old man a basket of muffins because I’ve realized that man is part of my origin story.”

“He’s the villain. And so was I, you should remember that.”

I watch those big blue eyes widen as I stand, but I’m going nowhere as I scoop her up.

“Troy! What are you—”

I take her place on the edge of the bed, pull her in tight, and drape her legs over mine. “We’re gonna talk about this now. Put it all behind us and move the fuck on. Tell me. Tell me what I didn’t see that night. Put it right, Clara.”

“What would be the point?”

“Because you owe it to yourself.” I see that hit. “You crashed your car,” I prompt softly, rubbing the silky strands of her hair. “I went to get you. Took you home, and the police were there.”

“Yes.” A tiny whisper.

“Your dad called them. He had me arrested, but you said nothing.”

This time, her answer is a tiny sob.

“Tell me why you didn’t defend me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t, not wouldn’t. Because you were scared.”

“I froze.” Her words are barely above a whisper. I tighten my hold on her as her body begins to shake. “I crashed my car because I think I wanted to die. He said so many things to me that night before he hit me.”

My blood turns to ice water in my veins, and though I tighten my hold on her, I keep my thoughts to myself. Edwin Forbes, I’m coming for you, because a man who hits a woman doesn’t get to call himself a man. And a father who raises his hand to his child . . . well, there’s a special place in hell for them.

“He told me that my mom didn’t die of cancer when I was small. He said that she . . . that she killed herself. That it was my fault.”

“Ah, Clara.” My heart hurts so bad for her. “You know that’s not true.”

“But it is—she killed herself.”

“Adult or child, you can’t shoulder that blame. Your mother must’ve been in so much pain to leave you.” I pull her close as her body is racked by sobs. “You suffered an unfathomable loss, and you can’t turn back the clock. But you can honor your mother by living your own life to the fullest.”

We sit there for a while, my arms, my love holding her as she grieves. Eventually, her tears lessen, and she sits straight. “It’s been hard not to . . .” She shudders. “But you’re right.”

I try a reassuring smile.

“That night, when he told me, I wanted to die myself. I felt so wretched and I didn’t care as I lost control of the car. But then my head hit the car door, and I knew I wanted to live. I don’t remember calling you—it was like you just appeared in front of me, like you knew I needed you.”

Crushed. I feel fucking crushed as I tighten my grip on her.

“Then police.” She inhales a deep breath. “My dad. You. Talking and talking, mouths moving, but nothing making sense. I felt like I was underwater. But I didn’t choose him,” she whispers, her watery eyes beseeching as they meet mine. “I just . . . I just couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything.”

“You were in shock.” She was terrified. And I didn’t see it, I think angrily. All these fucking years, my narrative was bullshit.

“That’s why you have to let me do this, Troy. I need to put things right. Let me choose you this time.”

“And make us both sad? Life isn’t a set of scales, Clara. If I let you do this then we’ll both be miserable. I mean, what the fuck? I chose you. Jesus, I’m beginning to sound like a Pokémon.”

She gives a wet, stuttering laugh, though she presses her fingers to it and whispers, “It’s not funny.”