“But you got a dead husband out of it.”
Landry shrugs. “Yes, and if you don’t hurt my kids, I’ll do whatever you want. Yet, I suspect you see something in me that’s not there.”
“Maybe, but I still think I’m right.”
Sighing, Landry says, “You probably are. I’ve never been the least bit insightful. I hope you weren’t looking for a smart woman to replace the one you now hate.”
“I don’t want you to replace Kati. I want you to be the woman I thought she was.”
“What if the only way for me to be what you want is to lie?”
I don’t know how to respond. For months, I’ve had ideas in my head. None of them are working out now. The kids are asleep in one bed like a fucking “Hee Haw” episode. Landry tried to give me a handjob—I assume she wasn’t planning on getting on her knees and sucking me off—as a thank-you for offing her asshole husband.
“I’m going to clean your knuckles,” she says when I remain silent. “Then, I’m going to sleep. Wherever you want me to lay my head, I will, but I need rest. I’m feeling nauseous from being up for too long. Is my plan acceptable?”
“You don’t have to clean my hands.”
“I want to,” she says and steps toward the door. “I like knowing how you busted them up.”
I guide Landry to the kitchen, where witch hazel and cotton balls are kept in the pantry. She doesn’t soak in the sight of the large room or fancy touches. She only watches me, even as she dabs my cut knuckles.
“Was it hard to kill him?” she asks as we sit with a single light on over the sink.
“No.”
“Were you scared?”
“No.”
I catch a smile on her face before she dips her chin to see my knuckles better.
“Was he scared when he died?”
“Yes,” I reply before asking, “Does that make you happy?”
“Yes, but also sad. Life is filled with fear and pain. I guess it makes sense for an unhappy person like him to die scared.”
“He was a piece of shit.”
“Yes,” Landry says and blows on my knuckle bleeding again from the astringent. “But he was a human being. We’re all the same deep inside.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she says and lifts her gaze. “Even scary bikers who kill bad men want to be loved. Neal just never did anything good with the love he found.”
“But you didn’t love him,” I mutter, wondering if she lied earlier.
“No, but his children did. Even Blair who grew to hate him. But her love felt too easy. In his mind, a child’s love held no value.”
“Do you wish he suffered more?”
Landry studies me. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You broke him with these hands,” she says and blows on my knuckles again as she closes the witch hazel bottle. “The problem with revenge is you can’t really make the punishment fit the crime. You’d need to keep him locked up and punch him every day for years. Punishing him would become a burden. Or we can celebrate his death and move on.”
“You’re too calm,” I grumble. “He hurt you.”