She sucked in her breath, her mouth twitching down.

Footsteps came from behind her, and she moved back. My dad filled the doorway, frowning at her and then us. “Wha—Mackenzie?”

His gaze switched to Ryan, whose hand tightened around mine. “Can we, uh . . . can we come in?”

I don’t know why Ryan brought me there—if it was closer than a mental hospital, if he didn’t want to deal with me, if he wanted to pawn me off on my dad. It could’ve been any of those reasons. When I’d realized where he was taking me, I had tried to pull my hand from his in the truck.

“No, Ryan. Take me where I need to be to get the right help. Going to see her won’t do it. I was wrong.”

He hadn’t let me go, and he’d pulled our hands from the console between us into his lap. “We’re going to see him.” His voice was gentle but firm, and his eyes were tender as he looked at me. “And that is where you’ll get help. Trust me.”

His gaze almost sent me off on another crying escapade, not that I had really stopped. But as he kept holding my hand, a fifth piece had melded with the others. I didn’t know why, or how, but it had happened. I was coming together even as I was falling apart.

Go figure that one out.

“Yes. Come in, come in.” My dad ushered us in, his hand falling to my shoulder. I heard him murmur to Mallory, “Can we use the screened-in porch?”

“Yes. Sure, sure. Anything you need.”

“I’m sorry.”

I stiffened and whipped around. “Yes.” My tone was scathing. “Please, Dad. Keep apologizing. Tell your whore you’re sorry we showed up here because I’m losing it over my dead sister. So goddamn sorry to inconvenience you.”

“Wha—”

She turned to my dad, but he coughed, interrupting her. “We’ll be outside if you need me.”

“Phillip.”

His hand tightened on my shoulder, but Ryan tugged me out from beneath my dad’s hold and led me toward the back patio. He opened the glass door and shut it behind us, leaving my dad behind.

I took the seat farthest away, and Ryan sat beside me.

He didn’t reach for my hand again, and I didn’t know if I wanted him to. He watched my dad and Mallory talk just on the other side of the door.

His hand went to her arm, but she pulled away. She looked out at us with angry eyes as she said something else to my dad. His shoulders drooped, and she crossed her arms over her chest, disappearing down a set of stairs.

“I might be crazy, but I don’t think your dad is with her like that.”

I grunted. “Trust me. No one will be calling you crazy.”

He grinned at me, leaning back in his chair. “You know what I mean.”

“Still no. You’re amazing. Not crazy.”

Raking a hand over his head, my dad regarded us through the glass doors. I noticed his clothes. Sweatpants and a thermal long-sleeved shirt—he paused just outside the door to slip his feet into a pair of black slippers.

A low growl started in my throat.

“Where’s your robe, cigar, and newspaper?” I asked as he opened the door. “You look more at home than you ever did at the new-new house.”

He stiffened and then stepped out and shut the door behind him. I looked for the bags under his eyes that I saw last night, but they were gone. The bastard looked almost refreshed.

“You’re angry.” He sat across from Ryan.

I snorted. “What gave it away?”

Fuck him.

He got the new job.

He wanted to take it.

He made the decision to move.

He was the one who brought us to this town.

I leaned forward and hissed, “You promised us a better life.”

He looked at the floor.

Ryan coughed, sitting forward too. “Uh, Mr. Malcolm?”

He was a lot nicer than I was.

My dad looked up, and I saw the anguish on his face. It was real and genuine. He mirrored everything I was feeling inside. Torn and twisted.

The bags under his eyes might’ve disappeared, but a grayish tint had settled under his skin, making him look almost half-dead.

He tried for a kind smile. “Yes, Ryan?” The smile faded fast. It’d been only a small blip.

“I don’t know my place here, but I feel like I should speak up about something.”

This was it. My heart started to press into my chest. He was going to tell him about Willow. I was slipping to the mental side.

Ryan folded his hands together on the table, and looked at them. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with your daughter—enough to know I shouldn’t have been.”

What?

He looked up then, staring right at my dad and not looking away. “I’m aware of the hell your whole family has been put through, but if you were still doing your job, your daughter wouldn’t have been in my bed half those nights she was.”