Page 152 of Corpse Roads

“I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m fine too.”

Sighing, he places his beer down. “I really hate that word.”

“Then don’t use it.”

“You started it,” he says, moving closer. “Look, this is hard. We haven’t done Christmas in a long time. I thought I’d forget, but seeing everything laid out brings the memories back.”

Making myself some green tea to avoid looking at him, I sense his imposing frame approaching me. Enzo is a physical presence, an unmovable mountain in an ever-changing landscape.

There’s nothing impermanent about him, and I love that. He’s the certainty I never had growing up. I know he’ll always be here, no matter what, picking up the broken pieces of the people he loves.

“I keep getting snippets of memories after Devon,” I admit quietly. “Glimpses, here and there. It’s coming back quicker now.”

“Your childhood?” Enzo guesses.

“Yeah. I remember more about my parents. The memories don’t feel real though; it’s more like remembering a story someone told me.”

Enzo stops in front of me, his huge hands engulfing my legs. Unable to put it off any longer, I look up at his sad, accepting smile.

“We’ve been trying to find your dad this week,” he reveals. “We need to question him now that we’ve reopened your old case.”

“What? Did you find anything?”

“Not yet. The guy doesn’t want to be found. He stopped checking in with his parole officer after a couple of months and vanished. Probably abroad.”

“Because he doesn’t care,” I snap angrily. “None of them do. Even Giana moved on and found a new family.”

Enzo squeezes my knee. “Or he cares too much. People don’t leave their lives for no reason. Either losing you broke your dad so much that he couldn’t stay, or there’s something we don’t know.”

“Like what?” I frown.

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Looking back down at the floor, I feel my throat catch. “What if you find him… and he doesn’t want to know me? You said it yourself. He doesn’t want to be found.”

“Harlow, look at me.”

I stare down at my sock-covered feet.

“Come on, little one.”

When I finally manage to look up, Enzo’s face is soft. He takes a strand of my hair, twirling the length around his index finger and absently studying it.

“How could anyone not want to know you? Fuck, Harlow. You’re strong. Beautiful. Intelligent. So goddamn kind and giving, it puts the rest of us to shame.”

“Just stop.”

“Why should I?”

“Because it isn’t true.” I push his hands away. “I am none of those things. Do you have any idea what I’ve done? Who I really am?”

When I try to push Enzo backwards to escape, he steps between my spread legs and plants his feet. I can feel the smooth planes of muscle that make up his torso against my thighs, holding me trapped.

“Those girls’ deaths were not your fault,” he insists fiercely. “Is that what this is about? You can’t keep blaming yourself.”

“How do you know it wasn’t my fault?”

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