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We had a good run, Dana.
I reach the front door where he stands, holding it open for me. My gut clenches, my survival instincts screaming at me to run and save myself.
But I made a promise.
I’m going to fix this.
I step inside. John follows directly behind me, a looming presence over my shoulder. He passes me with a few wide strides and leads me into the kitchen.
“Sit down,” he says.
I obey without a word, planting myself on the first stool at the island counter. He continues to the refrigerator and opens it, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the door shelf.
I watch with curiosity as he reaches into the cabinet above his head and retrieves two shot glasses.
He pours two shots and sets one down in front of me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I’m underage.”
John scoffs and raises his shirt to expose his ribs. Three black letters etched with ink. Worn from age, but still there.
Alpha. Delta. Xi.
“Drink,” he says.
I take the shot. It burns, but I’ve had worse.
He nods and throws back his own. “Connor, I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“First,” he says, “how many times have you crawled through my daughter’s window like that?”
“Never,” I blurt. “I mean, I’ve climbed the tree to the window a few times, but?—”
“Why?”
“Just to talk. Or give her candy.”
“Candy?” he asks.
“It’s a… long story.”
“You got somewhere else to be right now?”
“No, sir.”
He waits.
“She had an asthma attack at school when we were eleven,” I say, telling the whole truth. “It was my fault, so I gave her all of my Halloween candy that night to make up for it.”
“That was your fault?” he says, flexing his jaw.
“I scared her.” I take a breath, feeling that shot now. “Didn’t mean to.”
John stares at me for a moment before refilling our glasses. His expression is so hard, but not cold. Not very warm, either. “And tonight?” he asks. “What are you doing here, Connor?”
I drink my shot, avoiding his eyes as I wince through the burn. “I had to see her.”
