“How long did he cheat on Aimee for?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s not like you think. Last spring when I took that business trip?”
“Yeah?”
“I took it with Ryan. It was the first time we…explored our feelings. Feelings I’d learned were mutual and not my imagination. He’d already been expressing his unhappiness with his marriage for months. Hell, I was the one who encouraged him to keep working at it.”
I know the rest. He came back from that trip, and suddenly he was helping Ryan move his things into an apartment because he’d left his wife. It wasn’t long after that, Dad told me they were dating. Months later, they were engaged.
“I don’t know that Canyon will ever forgive Ryan for that,” I say with a sad sigh. “He feels like his dad destroyed their family.”
“I hope with time he will.” Dad smiles at me. “It helps that you’re bridging this transition by being there for those kids. I’m proud of you, Alis. So fucking proud.”
The guilt is nauseating. If he knew we had sex last night and fool around every chance we get, I bet his pride would fly right out the window. Then what? He adopted me, and when I asked if I could call him Dad instead of Uncle Quinn, he teared up, nodding with the biggest smile on his face. If he found out, would I still be his son? Would I be his nephew? Would I be…anything?
The doorbell rings, startling us both. I’m thankful for the break in the heavy conversation. Ginger and Nutmeg yap excitedly at our new visitor. I stride out of the kitchen and to the front door. When I open it, no one’s there. The rain is still falling but not hard. I peek out but don’t see anyone. The dogs are trying to escape, and they’ll track mud all over the house if they do, so I pull the door closed behind me. It’s then I see the large, wet footprints.
“Leon? Is that you?”
A flash of movement from the side of the house charges at me. I realize it’s the same guy who tried to beat the shit out of me the other day and who admitted to paying someone to hit me with their car. Turning, I start to run back inside, but he tackles me hard on the porch steps. I cry out as pain splinters through my still-sore ribs. The guy flips me onto my back and rears back his fist. He’s going to punch me.
No.
He’s got a fucking knife.
All I can do is stare in horror. Everything is in slow motion. The snarl on his lips. Downward movement as he drives the knife toward me. Dad’s yell as he exits the house. Cool rain soaking through my jeans and shoes that are exposed to the elements.
And the echoing crack.
So loud.
At first, I think it’s thunder.
Something splatters on me. Rain? I close my eyes as the guy lands on me heavily, knocking the breath out of me. Warmth floods over my chest, soaking through my shirt.
“Oh my fucking God,” Dad bellows. “Alis!”
He shoves the man off me before yanking me into his arms. I’m frozen in shock. Confused about what’s happened. Why is the rain warm and sticky?
“Are you hurt? My God, Alister, are you hurt? Talk to me, son!”
“Dad,” I croak out. “Dad.”
“Tell me what hurts.” He scrambles for his phone in his pocket while still holding me. “It’s okay. You’re okay, but we need to get back into the house.”
My gaze falls to the lump beside us. The man is completely still and bleeding from a massive hole in his neck.
“You shot him?” I ask, trying to make sense of what happened.
Dad shakes his head as he blurts into the phone. “Someone’s been shot on my porch. Please send help. I don’t know where the shooter is.”
Shooter?
The shock fades as Dad practically drags me into the house and out of the line of fire. What the fuck is happening right now?
“Canyon,” I whimper.
“They’ll come home soon. Don’t worry. The police are on the way. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Will it?
Because nothing feels okay right now.
Nothing.
Canyon
I thought seeing Mom laid up in a hospital bed was hard.
It was—fuck how it was. But it wasn’t like this. Not coming home to detectives and chaos and blood. So much fucking blood.
Alis changed clothes after the…incident…but his neck, hair, arms are stained with the blood of the man who tried to…
Kill him.
The guy who tried to fucking kill him.
Jesus Christ, what is this life?
First Mom and now this.
Unbelievable.
“It’s okay,” Alis mutters, venturing a hand closer to me on the sofa. His pinky brushes against mine. I’m fixated on the blood under his nails.
As our dads talk to the detectives in the kitchen, I take the opportunity to cover his hand with mine, hiding the blood from my view. He says it’s okay, but the tremble in his hand says otherwise.