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I saw Pat come up behind Mandy, and she reached for her arms.

But Mandy clung—like Brian had. She screamed, she cried, she begged. And then, finally, she stood and walked with them.

She’d given up. The first part of the fight.

I took a deep breath, knowing what was next, knowing it wasn’t over. And I sat down and filled out the paperwork. Making sure they knew the amount of Vitamin R that I found. That this had been the first time Mandy had been confronted. I pulled out our insurance card and wrote everything down. When I handed it over to Pat, my hands were shaking.

“You okay, dear?” she asked kindly.

I shook my head and then I turned and left.

On the car-ride home, I called Tray. When he answered, I asked swiftly, “Where are you?”

“I’m at home. I drove by your place, but it was dark.”

“I took Mandy to rehab.” I choked on a sob, and stomped it down. “I can’t…I’m coming over.”

“Okay,” Tray murmured and I heard the strength in his voice.

It nearly broke me, but I kept driving.

Almost an hour later, I pulled into his driveway.

When I went inside, all the lights were off. No cars were in the driveway, except Tray’s and mine, thank God.

I found Tray sitting in the glass-encased patio, where we’d congregated the night before. He had an open bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him and two shot glasses. He’d been staring outside.

I looked and saw the pool’s glistening reflection from the moonlight above. It had been raining last night, but tonight it was clear as day. There was a full moon shining its ray of light down on the water.

Tray didn’t look at me, but he pushed out the chair beside him. I bypassed it and curled up in his lap, resting my forehead against his chest as his arms came around me.

We sat there in silence and he held me for a while.

“Jenkins is gone,” Tray murmured, holding me tighter, “and his employer is done. I made a few phone calls.”

“To your cop buddies?” I asked in a whisper, my forehead burrowing closer in his chest.

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“How’s Mandy?”

I looked up at him, sitting up a bit. “She’s…not good. She’ll hate me for a while. I’m sure I’ll be getting hate voice messages from her soon, but I think she’s just in shock right now. I told her no one would find out at school.”

Tray nodded, watching me intently.

I knew he wouldn’t say anything. Just like he knew I wouldn’t say anything. Maybe that was why we paired up, we both had secrets—and we both knew how to keep those secrets.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m just—” Tray faltered, shaking his head. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and through his hair, not sure of what to say. “If you want to get forgetful drunk, I got the provisions.” He gestured to the bottle.

I rested against him again, my back pressed to his chest, and lifted up his hands. I traced my fingers gently over his knuckles, inspecting the bandages. He did the same to me, running his hand tenderly over my cuts.

“This morning,” Tray started, I heard a slight hitch in his voice, “I hated seeing Galverson here. The fucker took away my family. I couldn’t choose between my dad and Chase, so I pushed all of ‘em away. Chance, he was just a dipshit. He hated that I chose Dad’s side. And dad…he was so fucking smug, he thought I chose his side. And,” he took a deep breath, “I thought about it, I really did. But I heard mom crying one morning. I’d come home early from soccer practice, so she thought no one was around. I heard her when I went to the kitchen, and I found her in their bathroom. She had a fucking razor in h

er hands and she was filling the tub.”

I closed my eyes, seeing it all in my head. Tray, as a child, finding his mother like that.

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