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“We’re five minutes away,” she said. It sounded like she was crying. “I’m trying to reach my dad to get more information, okay?”
“Do you know anything now?” His voice was hollow.
“They’ve found—” Her voice broke. “They don’t know—Michael, I’m sorry.”
“What, Hannah?” He had to choke the words out. Her emotion said more than her words did. “What have they found?”
“No bodies,” she said.
“No bodies,” he echoed. It should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. He felt as if someone else were having this conversation. “Then what?”
Tyler parked the truck beneath some trees a little way down the road. He killed the engine and didn’t move. Michael held his breath, waiting for Hannah’s answer. Hunter shifted closer, trying to listen.
Her breathing kept shaking. She was still crying. “Let me find out more, okay? Wait for me to call you back.”
“No! Hannah! What did they find?”
She choked on a sob. “Parts, Michael.”
“Parts?” He couldn’t make sense of the word.
“From the explosion.” Another hitched breath. “But they don’t know, okay? They haven’t identified anyone. Just wait. Wait ’til we get there.”
Michael couldn’t speak.
Parts. From the explosion.
“Thanks,” he said, and again, it was as if someone else were speaking for him, because his thoughts were tied up in panic and rage.
No wonder the building was still burning. No wonder they hadn’t found any survivors.
His brothers hadn’t been able to stop it.
Michael grabbed the door handle, but Tyler hit the locks.
“Stop,” he said. “Think about what you’re doing. We should have a plan.”
Michael could barely process that. Smoke was in the air and he needed to get out of this truck. He clawed at the lock as if he’d never seen one before. He needed—
Tyler grabbed him. “If some Guide blew up this place,” said Tyler, “he might still be here.”
squo;re impossible to talk to.
I’m not the only one.
She remembered getting the positive pregnancy test, how she’d cried to her mother for an hour straight. By the time her father had come home, she’d been so ashamed and humiliated that she’d screamed at him and hidden in her bedroom.
She hadn’t been able to make eye contact with him for weeks.
Had she started it? Had she been blaming him for something she’d initiated years ago?
Maybe. But he hadn’t helped.
Hannah looked up at Irish, and she felt a familiar shame creeping up her cheeks. “I don’t know who James’s father is.” She hesitated. She’d never shared this whole story. Not even with Michael. “When I started high school, my father got super strict. I didn’t mind, really—I’d always done everything my parents expected of me. But it almost wasn’t good enough. He’d grill me on where I was every minute of every day. I’d go to the library after school, and if I wasn’t home exactly when I said I’d be, he’d flip out. Once he sent police officers to a friend’s house to make sure I was really there for a sleepover. Just because I didn’t answer my cell phone. Can you imagine how humiliating that was?”
Irish smiled. “I don’t need to. My dad was a cop, too. He used to treat my friends as if they were smuggling pot and whiskey into my house. I wouldn’t accept a ride home from anyone because my dad would be standing in the driveway, wanting to smell their breath.”
Hannah faltered. “Really?”
