I’m not sure what anyone at this table knows, so I dive in without emotion, simply stating facts, starting from the very beginning. I was a kid desperate for cash and got in with a high-rolling racing crowd. I grew up envious of Alex’s wealth, and I thought I could be in business with him without actually being in business with him. I was wrong. I’m his bitch. Bristol is my daughter. And Alex has the power to hurt anything and anyone I care about—and the men to enforce it.
By the time I finish, Tom and Bailey’s dad are both sitting back in their seats, wide-eyed and a little shell shocked. You’d think I took them for a lap around the track in a Jeep. I don’t think the part about Bristol took Tom by surprise, but the depth of the threat I’m facing? That hit him hard. This is his family, too.
His lips part as he leans forward, elbows resting on the table, ready to edge into these treacherous waters with his usual calm demeanor. It’s a façade he can somehow uphold under the highest pressure situations, and I admire it as a man who wears a similar mask whenever I’m behind the wheel. Before he can speak, though, Hannah walks through the front door with Bristol on her hip and her mom behind her. Those two women have no façade, and I instantly read the fear in her eyes and surge to my feet.
“What happened?” My eyes flicker from Hannah’s to our daughter, who thankfully seems oblivious and is happily licking away at a sucker. Hannah’s mom takes her and ushers her upstairs, clearly so we can talk, which has my stomach somehow sicker than it has been in the last two days.
“He knows.” Hannah’s expression resembles death. Her pupils big, eyes unable to focus, mouth slack, and skin pale. Even after a morning walk, her cheeks aren’t flushed. I see the awareness disappear in an instant, and my hands sweep under her arms just in time.
She isn’t out for long, a few seconds at the most, but in that time I lift her and take her to the sofa in the living room while her dad rushes for a glass of water and Tommy and Bailey’s dad join me in the living room. Her brother feels her head with his palm, but his eyes meet mine. He heard what she said. We all did.
Hannah comes to and slips a note from her pocket, then she points to the counter where she discarded the envelope this morning. Tommy grabs it while I read the ominous words meant to intimidate me. The handwriting isn’t Alex’s. It’s too nice. I’ve read enough of his chicken scratch to recognize it instantly. But those are his words. It’s his style. Subtle and on the cusp of threatening. One of his assistants probably sent it off for him from his offices. All this, of course, means he could be here. He could be outside right now.
My eyes dash to the front door and, reading my mind, Hannah’s father moves to lock it. He uses the deadbolt too.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter, not really to anyone.
I stare at the floor while Hannah pushes to sit up. Her brother nudges her shoulders, encouraging her to lay back. Bailey’s dad slides a pillow behind her back so she can drink water.
“This is all my fault. I brought him into our lives, and I’ll find a way to get him out. Even if I have to trade myself.”
“Stop it,” Bailey’s dad says. He’s a man of few words, and his insistent declaration takes me off-guard. I lift my gaze to him and he stares at me with lowered eyes and sucked-in lips.
Before I can question him, he reaches over Hannah’s body and grips my shoulder. His fingers dig in and he gives me a good shake. I’d usually light up with anger, but his sense of authority grounds me fast.
“None of this is anyone’s fault. That’s not how life works.” He releases his grip on me as his focus shifts to Hannah and Tommy’s dad. The two men hold their stare for a beat before they look at me.
“If you hold a stick over a flame and it catches fire, you can say you started a fire. But what if your family was cold, and those tools are all you had? What if that fire leaps to something else and burns down a forest? Was it your fault? Was it your intent? Or were you simply doing the best you could with what you had, making decisions to take care of the people you loved?” Mr. Tingle’s riddle makes me uneasy, and I don’t think it applies.
“What if I made the choice to light the fire not because I wanted my family to stay warm but because I wanted to make a name for myself, because I wanted to run a business and be successful, and it was the only way I knew how?” I challenge him, but instead of relenting, he digs in, pushing back.
“But you did make that decision for family. You made it because your family abandoned you. Because you had a father who beat you and died and left you with nothing. You made that choice because when you were a baby, the system failed you. I failed you.”
I blink and cock my head.
“What do you mean you failed me?”
“We failed you,” Tom interjects.
I shift my gaze from Mr. Tingle to Tom, but the two of them are busy exchanging glances of their own. I shake my head and wave my hand.
“What are you saying?”
Hannah’s hand snakes into mine at that very moment and she squeezes gently, urging me to look at her. I’m breathing harder than I want to, and I feel edgy. I don’t want to take this trapped, angry feeling out on anyone in this room, but what the fuck is going on? She pulls me toward her, so I drop my chin and meet her eyes.
If you want to know, my dad will tell you. Like I said. Her words stir my memories back to meeting my mom, and the room swirls with conflicting emotions.
“You . . . failed me?” I tilt my head up and meet Tom’s red eyes. He nods, the movement tiny and seemingly difficult for him. I flit my gaze to Bailey’s dad and while his expression is more resolved, regret tinges the corners of his eyes as well.
“Your mom always wanted you, son,” Tom begins. “She was the last custody case I ever handled, and it is the one great regret I have in life. If I could go back—”
His breath hitches and mine does the same. Hannah squeezes my hand harder, and while instincts caution me to pull away, to run from this room and drive miles out into the desert, angry and bitter, I battle against them. That’s what I do. I rage and I run. Those two elements mix for even more dangerous choices, and this spiral, it’s what landed me here.
“You lit a stick on fire,” I croak out.
Before Tom can respond, Bailey’s dad steps between us, cutting off my view, placing his hand on Tom’s chest.
“We lit a fire. We made a choice based on paper and a broken family and paystubs and histories, and the facts were wrong. We placed you with a monster, Dustin. We didn’t know, and it was never our intent, but we did it. So here I am, several years too late, owning up to my decision, hell-bent on making things right for you.”
The two men exchange glances, and seeing them on the same page is jarring as hell. Even more disrupting is the way Mr. Tingle rests his palm on Tom’s shoulder. It’s like the scene when Luke finds out Darth is his father. It’s Batman working with Superman. It’s oil and water, and I feel utterly out of control. And I’m still not so sure that any of this doesn’t land squarely on my shoulders, but I’m struck by this odd sense of hope brewing in my chest.
15
These four men, who at some point in their lives either hated or had major beef with one another, sat together all afternoon fighting as one in search of solutions. All to help Dustin. To help us.