Page 224 of Midnight Curfew

I drift over to—I don’t know—thank them for saving me from Milo and his cousins or for letting Dallas love me or for being kind to Anna-Katherine, but as soon as I approach, Trace sets a plate at one of the two empty chairs at the end.

My stomach swoops a little, encouraged by the prospect of being welcome at the table, too. Though I told Dallas I’d be right back.

There’s a spread of food across the table, some kind of egg, spinach, and cheese dish, as well as cereal, bacon, and sausage. Macon’s smoothie looks pretty good, but I don’t see anyone else with one.

My sister smiles at me from between Clay and Liv, and I start to sit.

“No, no, no…” Macon shakes his head. “You got one more thing to take care of.”

I see his eyes flit to his sister before he digs into his food with his fork.

The weight of everyone’s attention sits on me, and slowly, I glance at Liv. One more thing…

“Can I speak to you, please?”

She looks over at me, but Army speaks up. “You can do it here.”

I draw in a long breath. Fuck.

Liv rises, sliding out between the packed chairs, having mercy on me. We walk outside, down the three porch steps, and into the yard.

Turning and facing me, she lifts her chin, and that night comes flooding back. I don’t know how I thought I was going to walk away from that.

I remember believing that my revenge would hurt him, and I can even understand getting to the point where that’s the singular thing I could want, but I never took into account what it would do to her. Or me.

God, I’m fucking glad she got away. I would never have forced her, but Milo might’ve tried. I put her in his path.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.

She blinks, her brows nose-diving.

“Are you apologizing to me?” she asks, disbelieving. “You think that’s what I want to hear?”

I don’t…

“Our family doesn’t apologize to each other,” she states.

And my heart skips a beat. Our family.

So what does she want instead, if not an apology?

Thinking of the men who raised her—Macon, Army, Iron—I can’t imagine them apologizing to one another, either. They wouldn’t want to hear “I’m sorry I fucked up.”

They’d want to hear that you’re going to fix it.

I take a step closer. “What scares me sometimes is what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten free,” I try to explain. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want anyone to hurt you. I think I would’ve stopped it, but that’s easy to say. I’ll never know.”

“Do you know what you would do now?”

“Yes.”

I acted like my father. Like Milo.

Like a monster in a suit who can only be trusted to serve himself. Who knows how that could’ve changed me, and who would’ve stepped up to protect Anna-Katherine?

How would it have hurt Olivia? I don’t want to be a shadow over someone the rest of their life.

“Yes,” I say again.