I followed them inside, greeted by the smells of steak and potatoes. A massive salad already sat on the dining room table. My dad set down a platter full of meat, fresh off the grill. “Perfect timing.”
Calder headed into the kitchen and took a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes from my mom. “I’ve got these.”
“Thank you.” She kissed his stubbled cheek. “You always were my favorite for a reason.”
“We’re right here, Mom,” Beckett said with a laugh. “And he’s not even your son.”
“He is now,” she called back.
Dad looked in my direction. I saw the same concern from earlier, but something else was there, too. Or maybe the lines the emotion created were just deeper now.
A wave of anxiety passed through me, and I started for the kitchen. Moving to the sink, I turned on the faucet and washed my hands. I felt heat at my back. My hands fisted in the towel as I turned around.
My mom studied me, her gaze probing. “You okay?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her lips pursed, and my dad moved in behind her, his hands landing on her shoulders. “Not tonight, Julia.”
My muscles locked, and my fingers began to tap, the terrycloth of the kitchen towel rubbing against them.
Her lips thinned further. “I’m not overstepping. I’m allowed to be worried.”
“Of course, you are. I just—”
“What’s going on?” Beckett asked, stepping into the space.
Our kitchen was large and open, but it suddenly felt as if I couldn’t breathe. Too many people. Not enough room.
Mom looked from Beckett to me. “I got a call from Victims’ Rights today. They wanted to make sure we’d both received our letters.” Hurt filled her expression as she met my gaze. “Why didn’t you say anything about Howard Kemper?”
The room went deathly silent around me.
“What about Howard Kemper?” Fury laced Beckett’s tone, and Addie moved in to take his hand. I saw the worry in her eyes, both for her husband and for Everly. Addie loved her cousin like crazy, and as much as she despised Howard, hehadbeen her uncle.
“He died in prison this week, and Shiloh knew.” My mother’s words were accusing. I knew it came from a place of hurt forme not sharing, but that didn’t matter. It was just one more cinderblock of pressure.
Addie sucked in an audible breath, her knuckles bleaching white as she gripped Beckett’s hand.
“Julia,” my dad warned.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mom prodded.
To avoid the scene we were having now. So I didn’t feel everyone’s eyes on me the way they were currently. “It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about.”
Her jaw dropped open.
Dad squeezed her shoulders. “That’s understandable. If youdowant to talk, you know we’re here.”
“I called Dr. Kensington and left a message. I’m sure she’ll make time to see you this week,” my mom said.
I dropped the towel onto the counter. The telltale trembling was back. I hated that little show of weakness. I clenched and flexed my fingers, fighting the anger and panic creeping in on me. “I don’t need to see Dr. Kensington.”
“Of course, you do. This is bound to bring up old trauma. You need someone to process with. I’m not saying you need to talk to me, but you have to talk tosomeone. It has helped me so much—”