Hannah watched her breath continue to cloud. She tried to wrap her head around this new information, but there were too many memories, too many years to scroll through quickly. “But she’s been so supportive of my becoming a firefighter. She watches James at the drop of a hat.”
Her father gave her a look. “He’s her first grandchild. Your mother would watch James if you were jumping out of planes all day long.” He paused. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but . . ” He trailed off.
“Yes. You should definitely tell me.”
“I don’t want to drive a wedge between you.”
“You don’t have to worry about my relationship with her.”
He winced, then hesitated so long that Hannah worried she wouldn’t get an answer at all. “She hates it just as much that you’re a firefighter. She’s counting down the days until you get your paramedic license.”
“She’s never said a word!”
Her father narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? She hasn’t encouraged you to find a less stressful job?”
“Well, yes, but.. ” Hannah stopped. Her mother did encourage that, all the time. Hannah had never realized it had anything to do with her choice of occupation. She’d always thought it had more to do with being a working mother while trying to go to school.
“When you enrolled in fire school,” her father continued, “she wanted to forbid it.”
Hannah set her jaw. “She couldn’t have stopped me.”
Her father smiled—the first real smile she’d seen from him in forever. “That’s what I told her.”
Hannah jammed her hands in her pockets. “Don’t try to turn this around, like you’ve been the perfect parent all along, and this has all been some misunderstanding.”
He lost the smile. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“You expect me to believe that you gave up a job you loved because you didn’t want Mom popping a few Xanax?”
“No, Hannah.” His voice went low and dark. “I chose to be a fire marshal because I didn’t want your mother to leave.”
If her car hadn’t been right there, holding her in place, Hannah might have fallen back a step. She studied his face, looking for any clue that he was exaggerating.
He looked just as steady as ever.
She couldn’t handle this. She wrapped her fingers through her key ring and turned to open her car door. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.” He paused. “I was just explaining why I didn’t tell her about the shooting.”
“It doesn’t explain anything. I wish you’d never told me.”
He didn’t have anything to say to that.
Hannah slid back into the car and turned the key, ready to throw it into reverse despite the fact that her father was still standing against the opposite vehicle. He reached out and tapped on her window again.
Against her better judgment, she rolled it down.
This time, she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You can pin all this on Mom if you want to,” she said, “but I think you’re being a real coward. You’re the one who hates that I’m a firefighter. I see it every time I run into you on a job.”
“Hannah—”
“And I know you hate that I got pregnant when I was seventeen. You know what? I made a mistake. I can’t undo it. You’re just going to have to get over it.”
He frowned. “Wait—”
She didn’t want to wait. She’d been waiting for years, and now she was done with it. She slid the car backward, then pulled out of the parking lot without a backward glance.
CHAPTER 24
Michael couldn’t believe he was sitting at a dining room table, eating Chinese food with Hunter and Tyler like it was an ordinary Sunday evening.
He couldn’t believe it was over. He couldn’t believe he was still alive.
And the Guide was dead.
Every time he blinked, he saw the gun. The blood on his hands as he’d driven that stone into the man’s body. The fire that had threatened to destroy him.
The rage had never fully dissipated, leaving Michael feeling somewhat charged, ready for another threat. The past three days had been so full of terror and panic and worry that he couldn’t talk himself down. He’d found it hard to keep still while talking to the fire marshal. He barely had any recollection of what he’d said about the events in the woods, but it must have sounded good, because they’d let him go. The cops had even bought his “adrenaline” excuse about the handcuffs—because what else could they think?
He’d thought for sure that they’d take his cell phone, but they didn’t. They didn’t need it. Any text message evidence was on the phone the police had taken from the shooter. They’d found evidence tying him to the fires. The fire marshal had killed him, so Michael was off the hook.
The man was dead, so there’d be no need for a trial.
Dead. Another dead Guide. Michael wondered how long he’d have before they sent someone new.
It didn’t matter if it was five months or five days or five hours. This time, he wasn’t screwing around. He’d get his brothers out of that group home and then they were leaving. There was nothing to tie them to this area anymore. Nothing.
Hannah, his brain whispered. And your brothers have ties here, too.