Page 132 of Long Way Down

She sniffled, and started to turn her head, brought up short by his palm cupped around her jaw. She could have sat up, or shoved roughly away – but she stayed; she let him hold her. “Granddad–”

“Made his choice. His choice, not yours, and a damn good one, I’d say. I don’t know him, but I’m proud of him.”

She let out a breath that wobbled. “Yeah. I am, too,” she said, quietly. “But everyone who hated me–”

“Assholes. All of them were assholes.”

Her nose scrunched up – adorably – and she said, “Maybe notallof them.”

“No. All of them,” he said, more firmly, and pinched her chin just to earn an annoyed huff. “Say it with me, now:all of them were assholes.”

She rolled her eyes again, but chimed in on the last two words, and he grinned and released her chin; wiped the last smears of moisture from her cheeks.

He didn’t tell her to put it all behind her and not think about it anymore. Something like that changed a person at the most basic level; shaped their journey to adulthood and impacted the way they looked at, thought of, and interacted with other humans the rest of their lives. He couldn’t exorcise her ghosts, or assure her that the world wasn’t as ugly as she’d always thought – knew that, in fact, it was worse.

But he could hold her, and wipe her tears, and let her lean on him, which she was finally,finallydoing.

She shifted into a more comfortable position, in the crease between his side and the back of the couch, her face tucked into his throat, breath warm across his pulse point. “Who do you think it was?” she asked, hushed and uncertain, now, fingers playing along the collar of his shirt. “And was it real blood?”

“Probably, to the second,” he said, in the interest of honesty. “But it might not have been human. Coulda been pig or beef blood they picked up at a butcher shop.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“I don’t have a clue who it was, though. Coulda been anybody. Clearly, your boy Doug wasn’t working alone.”

She took a big breath and let it out in a rush that raised goosebumps across his collarbones, despite his fatigue and his determination to be nothing but chaste and supportive right now. “There’s some possibilities I’m already considering. There’s–” A sudden yawn overtook her, jaw cracking. “A lot to do,” she said, afterward. “Rob and I need to interview To–” Another yawn. “And there’s footage, and–”

He cupped a hand over the back of her skull when a third yawn interrupted her. “Go to sleep, Dixie. All of that can wait.”

“But–”

“Sleep.”

She grumbled, but settled, and within minutes was snoring.

Twenty-Five

Slowly, carefully, Pongo managed to sit up, gather her in his arms, and carry her to the bunkroom he thought of as his. He laid her out on his bottom bunk, covered her with a thick, down comforter, and went back out into the living room to find that he had company.

Toly he’d expected.

Maverick and Shepherd not so much.

Toly was the only one with keys, actively disappearing inside his jeans pocket, which meant they’d arrived at the same time and that he’d let their president and sergeant-at-arms into the apartment. The latter of which was surveying the main room with furrowed brows, nostrils flared as he sniffed.

“Smells like a frat house in here,” he muttered.

“You didn’t go to college, how would you know?” Pongo asked, as fake-cheerful as he could manage, given the circumstances.

“Pongo.” Maverick had donned his Paternal Voice, and Pongo caught a glimpse of Shepherd’s little smirk before he turned his attention to his president. Mav’s expression was as grave as his tone. “What happened tonight?”

“How…do you know anything happened tonight?” Pongo darted a glance toward Toly, who was heading into the kitchen. Had he called to squeal on him? Like Dixie, he was worried about the security footage from the gallery, but surely there hadn’t been time enough for it to hit the news and draw Mav all the way from Albany.

“Prince called and told me,” Maverick said, recapturing his attention.

“What?” Pongo’s heartbeat tripped and then kicked into a canter. “Kat. That fucker.”

Maverick dropped into one of the recliners and held up a hand for peace. He didn’t look angry, only concerned. “Now, hold on. Don’t get pissed at them.”

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