Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(85)

I turn to look at them. Connor’s head is down, and I know that posture; he’s guarding himself against the pain. Lanny is staring at Sam, and there’s pure horror on her face.

It sharpens into rage. “You bastard,” she says. “You monster!” She’s quoting her father’s letter. You don’t know who he is, Gina. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing. I’m laughing at the thought that you only bring monsters into your bed. You deserve that.

Maybe I do. My children don’t.

Sam’s face has gone starkly pale now, his gaze still on me. “I came here to hurt you in the beginning, and yes, Miranda knew, but then things changed, they changed, and when I say I love you and I love these kids, I’m telling you nothing but the truth. I understand why you said no to me. I get it. But please. Please believe me.”

I hear the pain in his voice. I see it in his eyes, glittering with tears like the ones running down my cheeks. All this is said in quiet tones, but I want to scream and keep on screaming until the world stops. I’ve never imagined Sam as the kind of monster Melvin was until this moment, but now it’s all too clear. All too real.

Because he’s hurt us just as much.

“I don’t believe you,” I tell him. “Miranda just paid your bail. Didn’t she?”

He makes a sound like I’ve gutted him. For a moment he doesn’t move, except to bow his head. He just breathes. I wait. If he reaches out toward me, toward either of my children, I will grab that arm and break it. I will keep twisting, and he’ll bend forward and I’ll crush his throat with a hard, straight fist. The sequence is clear to me, but his face isn’t there when I try to imagine it. It’s just a blank space. Because right at this moment, I can’t fathom who the man sitting across from me really is.

He opens the car door and lunges out, like he can’t wait to get away from me. But then he staggers and has to lean against the car, on Lanny’s side. He doubles over and braces himself with palms on his thighs and gasps for air.

“Go,” Lanny says. “Just drive, Mom.” There are tears running down my daughter’s face. “I want to go home!”

I’ve failed them. Again. I don’t know how to ever make this right. “Okay,” I tell her. “We will.”

Before I can put the car in gear, Connor opens his door and gets out. I freeze because I don’t know what he’s doing until he walks around the car, faces Sam, and says, “Are you telling us the truth now? Everything? Are you sure?”

Sam nods. He’s still trembling and trying to breathe. I can’t imagine what my son is feeling, but I don’t want to stop him. I can’t.

“Mom!” Lanny hits the back of my seat with a hard fist. “Do something! Get him back in the car, and let’s go!”

“Connor!” He’s not listening to me. I climb out of the driver’s side. “Connor, get back in the car!”

But my son’s ignoring me—and Lanny, who’s going ballistic in the car. He’s watching Sam with steady focus.

Then he says, “I understand.” He’s not talking to me. He’s talking to Sam. “They’re mad. I’m mad too. But it’s easy for somebody to tell you what you need to hear. I listened to my . . . my father even when I knew better.” He swallows, and I can see how nervous he is. And how much it takes for him to do this. “We knew who you were before. It’s not different. It’s just . . . more.”

“Kid . . .” Sam hangs his head. “You should get back in the car. Your mom and sister want to go home.”

I want to say something, but I can’t. There’s something happening here, and it’s important.

Connor says, “You hated us once. Then you got better. I still believe you.”

It hurts. Everything’s in chaos inside me now, whirling edges of steel that cut and cut and cut. Connor’s a child, he’s just a child, he can’t understand. But in some ways, my son understands more than I ever will.

Sam lets out a tortured gasp, and he grabs my son into a hug so fierce it makes me ache. Connor hugs him back. And I know that look. I’ve felt it, all the way down. I know the loss and the fear and most of all, the love.

Sam loves my son.

He really does.

“Mom!” Lanny gets out of the car now. She’s pale and frightened and unsure what’s going on, and I put an arm around her and pull her close. “Mom, Connor can’t just . . . he can’t just forgive him.”

But she’s wrong, and I see it like a sudden flash of sunlight. There’s something beautiful in front of me. Something precious. Nobody earns this. But Sam deserves it.

“Lanny,” I say quietly. “Connor’s right.”

“Mom, we can’t trust him!”

I know that. There’s not a reason in the world to trust him except . . . except what he’s done since coming to us. At no point has he hurt us except when his past has come to light. At no point has he done anything but be my partner, protector, champion. That isn’t an act. It can’t be an act, because I am seeing the consequences right now, in real time, for being truthful. He knew this would happen. And he told us anyway.

That’s brave. That’s the Sam I know.

Sam kisses my son on the top of the head and says, “I love you, Connor. Remember that, okay?”