Sylas clears his throat.

“I think you owe her an explanation,” he says. Dad looks at Sylas as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen him before.

Dad blinks and then stutters as he says “Let’s go to my office.” He robotically walks back to the door and then holds it open for Sylas and me.

He locks it behind us and everyone sits down.

Dad looks a little better, but he’s still rattled.

“I never thought you were going to remember. That it was too much for you,” he says and I want to interrupt him, but I don’t. I need to hear his entire explanation.

“When I found you, your eyes were totally glazed over. I called your name, but you didn’t answer. I got you home and tucked in your bed, and then took a shower so I wouldn’t be covered in blood when you came back around. By the time I went to check on you, you were asleep. The next morning you acted like nothing had happened. As if the event had been erased from your brain. I asked you leading questions and… nothing. You never said anything. Never asked. I thought you had repressed the memory. I was so angry that you had seen that.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath, as if he needs a moment.

“Over the years, I waited for the memory to come back and then when it didn’t, I thought you were out of the woods. That your brain had protected you from something too awful. Too terrible to be real. I thought it was for the best.”

I can understand where he’s coming from, but I still need answers.

“What were you doing there?” I ask.

He leans on his desk, as if he needs the support.

“I had people watching the house. Watching her. I knew that husband of hers was up to something and sooner or later, she was probably going to be collateral damage. I was trying to protect her that day. But I was too late.” His eyes are wet and red with unshed tears. I look at Sylas beside me and he’s rigid in his chair. His face unmoving.

“I… I thought I could save her but I was too late. It was already done.” He’s looking at Sylas as he speaks.

Sylas breathes in a jerky manner, as if it’s not easy. His hands are shaking and I reach out to hold one of them.

“Is there anything you want to say to me, Sylas?” Dad says.

“No,” he says. “No. I don’t want to hear anything from you. I’m sorry, Saige, I need a moment.” I tell him it’s okay, and he gets up and leaves the room. I let him go, giving him time with his grief.

“This is really fucked up,” I say, but Dad doesn’t reprimand me for cursing.

“Yes. It is.”

We’re both silent for a while.

“Is this the last secret?” I ask.

“Yes. This is the last secret. I promise. And I’ll tell you the details about anything else you want to know. No censoring.” I shake my head.

“I don’t need it. I just want to make sure this is the last secret about me that you’re keeping from me.” I need to hear him say it again.

“Yes. It is the last one.”

“Do you feel better now that you’ve killed him?” I ask. I’ve been wanting to know the answer to this question ever since he got back.

“Yes and no. It doesn’t solve anything, but it was still the right thing to do. For her.” Marina. I wonder what she thinks. If she’s looking down on all of us and watching us make mistake after mistake.

“I know what you did and why you did it. I’m not angry at you for hiding it from me. I just… I just wish I hadn’t hopped in the trunk that day,” I say.

“I know. I wish that too. I wish I hadn’t gotten in my car and driven that day. Seeing her like that… it’s an image I will never get out of my head. When I close my eyes at night and when I wake from nightmares, that’s what I see. If I could take that image from your mind, I would.”

He falls silent and we’re both lost in our thoughts for a few minutes.

“I should go find him,” I say.

Dad gets up from his desk.

“Can I give you a hug?” He’s never asked me that before. It seems strange.

“Yes,” I say and he comes around the desk. I put my arms around his waist, lightly at first and then tighter. I don’t remember the last time he hugged me like this. He kisses the top of my head.

“I’ll eat you up, I love you so,” he whispers and I look up at him.

“What was that?” A small smile lifts his lips and his eyes glitter.

“Marina used to say that. It’s from a children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are.”

“I know,” I say.

I find Sylas in the garden, sitting on the bench swing in the gazebo. He gives me a tight smile as I walk up the steps and sit down next to him.

“I want to ask you if you’re okay, but I know you hate it,” I say. My feet don’t touch the floor of the gazebo, so Sylas rocks us back and forth.

“I’m more okay that I was, I suppose. Just more material for therapy, right?” He turns his head and gives me a wry smile. I’m shocked he’s being calm about it.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I still feel like I should say it.” He slides over and puts his arm around me.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. We’re all victims in this circumstance. I’m sorry you had to see that. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I’m sorry your father saw it as well.” I rest my hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask. He puts his hand under my chin and tilts my head up.

“I don’t know. But I know I want to go wherever it is with you. I want to marry you, Saige. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but someday. I want to marry you and have children with you and call you my wife.” All of my breath leaves my body.

“I don’t know what to say.” Sylas does not seem like the marriage/children/picket fence kind of guy.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. I’m not asking. Just letting you know it’s coming. I want a life with you.” I want to cry again, but this time it’s happy tears.

“I want a life with you, too. I just never thought I would want this. Want normal things.” He laughs.

“Well, it won’t be normal. It will be our kind of normal. You’ll have skulls on your wedding dress and we’ll have weapons in the closet and we’ll spend our nights fucking in alleys and dancing in restaurants.” I like the sound of all of that.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says and then seals his mouth over mine.

Twenty-Seven

No longer crippled by my nightmare, but still having problems dealing with its implications, I take Sylas’ advice and go and see his therapist. She’s middle-aged, mild-mannered and I find myself spilling my guts to her. Well, almost all of my guts. I’m able to keep my illegal activities to myself, but everything else is open.

I come away from my first session feeling light and at peace. I enjoyed it much more than I thought I would.

Sylas moves the rest of his stuff into my place and I decide we need some new furniture items, so we go to a store and pick out a new couch and some more art pieces for the wall. He demands that we frame the drawing I made of his naked back and hang it in our bedroom, over my protestations.

As payback, I call Cash and invite the rest of the guys over for dinner and don’t tell Sylas. He’s been spending his days trying to figure out what he wants to do. He’ll spend some time at the library checking out new books, or on the computer researching college classes and he’s also signed up at the local learning annex for a few classes on different things. I’m so proud of him taking control of his life like this and I can tell he’s happy doing it.

But when he walks into the house and his friends are sitting around my dining table as I dish out slabs of lasagna, the smile fades. His eyes narrow.