Page 122 of Look, Don't Touch

She nods, and her hair falls over her cheek just a little. “On purpose.”

My brow quirks.

“If he’s still alive, I’d want to go kill him and make it look like an accident.” She says this without a hint of humor. “There are some meds I can get that would do the trick. But then, I’d want it to hurt, and those would make it too easy for him.” Her gaze slides left, and then back to me. “If he’s already dead, I’d want to dig up his bones, spit on them, and burn them.”

I love you.

I damn near blurt the declaration. I don’t because I know she’s not ready.

Hailey straightens, straddles my lap, and then pulls the covers over us.

“The just of it is, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. Only you do.”

I hug her middle. “I want to tell you, but it might change things for you.”

Her head shakes. As if she has any idea what I’m about to say.

“I want to hear it, Arlo.”

“I want to tell you, but…”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve heard a lot. I can handle a lot. From you, I can handle just about anything.”

“Officially…” I swallow so thickly, I feel like I’m choking. She waits patiently for me to gather my nerve. “Officially, he’s missing. Has been for seventeen years.”

She nods, encouraging me. Her eyes are intent on mine.

“Unofficially, I know exactly where he is.”

“Dead and buried, please? Because if you tell me he’s hiding out in some city in South America, we’re going on a road trip, and I’m bringing my old shotgun.”

“I’d never let you do that.”

“And I’d never ask your permission,” she rasps.

I hug her to me, pressing her head under my chin and holding her so close there’s no air between us. I take a heavy breath and let it out.

“Very dead. Very buried.”

“Good.” She nods against my chest. “Did you…?”

It’s my turn to nod.

She squeezes me so tight I might not be able to breathe, and I’m okay with that.

“I’m sorry you had to.”

“Me too.” I enjoy her touch for a moment more before pulling her back to look into her eyes. “But it wasn’t cut-and-dry like yours.” I chew my bottom lip for a second. “Yours was self-defense. Mine was long, thought-out, planned, and precisely, violently executed. Also known as premeditated murder.”

I think about the look of total shock on his face and have to trap my smile inside.

“Had he stopped abusing you?”

My skin goes itchy and cold. “No.”

“Did you stop him?”

Tears fill my eyes. “Yes.”

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