Page 147 of Hot Shot

“You gave me no choice!”The cords in my neck are so tight they might snap.

Cass raises her chin. “Paul, I love him and we’re very much together. I swear to you, nothing about this is fake.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe now, but you weren’t when it mattered most. And right now, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to believe you. How am I ever supposed to believe you?”

“And what about Cricket?” I shoot. “What about what she wants?”

“She’s six! She wants a pony, for Christ’s sake!” His nostrils flare, his eyes hurt and hot with fury. “I have beenlegallycharged with her safety and wellbeing, and right now, that’s right here with us.”

“You can’t keep me from her, Paul. I’m her father.”

“I know. But I’m gonna ask you a question. One you recently asked me—if the tables were turned, if you were where I’m standing, what would you do?”

The anguish that answer leaves me with, I will carry for the rest of my life. “I’d call me a liar.”

He gives me a pointed look. “So I will ask you to go. And we will figure out what to do another day.”

Tears choke me, pricking my eyes, stinging my nose. “I love her. Please don’t take her from me.”

Paul glances at the ground and shakes his head. “I love her too. And I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

When his gaze meets mine, his chest rises and falls with a heavy exhale. I stare at him in disbelief through a sheet of tears for a long, painful moment.

“Come on,” Cass urges, the words raw. “Come on,” she echoes. “Let’s go home.”

But I don’t want to. I want to sit here and stare at the front door and will her to come back out. I want to wish everything okay again.

It will be. I’ll make it right—I will.I will.Just not tonight.

It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to turn around and get in the truck. Paul stands on the front porch, arms folded across his chest, still as a statue until I’m out of sight. Maybe longer. Maybe whenever I come back, he’ll still be standing there.

I would be, if I were him.

When I’m around the corner, I pull over. Park the truck. Sink into my hands, into the fucking ground, lost to the pain. The sight of her fighting, my head echoing with her calling for me…I wonder if I’ll ever sleep again for the sound ringing in my ears.

Somewhere far away, Cass flips up the console and pulls me into her, tries to wrap her arms around me. But when I close mine around her, I crumple heavily onto her shoulders, unable to hold myself up. I can’t stop myself despite knowing she can’t support my weight, but she finds a way, knowing I can’t do it myself. And I cry harder than I maybe ever have.

It takes a long time for the release to wash over me, to empty out, to leave me hollow. I still haven’t opened my eyes when my forehead meets hers, my hand cupping her neck, hers holding my jaw. When I finally straighten up and look at her, her face is puffy from her own tears.

“It’s going to be okay,” she promises.

“I know,” I rasp. My head pounds, and for a second, I consider just climbing into the back bench seat with Cass and sleeping for a minute.

“Want me to drive?” she asks, but I shake my head.

“I need something to do. If I have to sit there for an hour with nothing to do but stare out the window, I might fucking die.”

She nods, but she doesn’t slide back over, instead buckling into the middle. Grateful, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and tuck her under my arm, the weight of her head on my chest comforting me all the way to my marrow.

It’s started to rain again, the sound pinging off the roof and the windshield as I get us going again, anxious to get home and desperate to stay where I am.

Whenever Cricket is with us, we avoid the fast way home so she doesn’t have to see the carcass of the house where Ashley died. It’s always hard to see, always strange, but always something I feel the need to do. To take that moment and think of her, to remember her. To remind me of what Cricket has lost. To whisper from my heart to the woman I share a child with and hope somehow that she knows how much I love Cricket. To promise that I’ll take care of her. To assure her she did the right thing by telling me. To forgive her for not doing it sooner.

Anticipation sobers me each time, and this time it’s coupled with pain. We turn onto the street, and my heart jumps like it always does when I spot it, the black, jagged remnants behind yellow flagging tape.

But I don’t expect the jolt of shock that draws every hair on my arms to attention.

Because standing darkly in the driveway of Ashley’s house is a familiar truck.