Page 151 of Savage Surrender

“What happened after we split up?” I ask, counting bruises and all the careful ways they’re carrying their bodies.

“Our fathers hired the men who followed us,” Weller says. “They wanted their assets back, and they wanted you. Now they’re dead.”

“They’re dead?”

“Yes.”

Weller nods at Ezra. “Ezra got himself loose. He freed us.”

Ezra passes me his phone. The news clip plays silently: an aerial shot of what’s left of the old warehouse among miles of wet trees, its patched roof peeled open and two walls collapsed into the blackened interior. Twisted roofing and burned timber bury the floor. The caption says crews recovered human remains believed to belong to three people. Identification and cause are still pending, though the anchors have already found the frozen corporate accounts, the fathers’ collapsing businesses, and enough photographed criminals to build an entire afternoon out of the phrase deal gone wrong.

“Ezra’s been watching the coverage,” Tristan says. “The public story is an illegal deal that went bad. No one has connected it to us.”

“The fire did most of the work,” Ezra says. “The scene’s a mess, not magic, but there isn’t much left to trace. Nothing public points toward any of you yet.”

“Yet?”

“I’m not promising you the future. I’m telling you where we are this morning.” He takes the phone back when the clip begins again.

The rest of the day disappears into showers, stripped sheets, cleanup, and an alarming amount of Mexican takeout. Dad’s release is still crawling through whatever part of the system requires everyone to move as slowly as possible, so Winston goes to wait for him. The others disappear when the front door opens even though I don’t ask them to. One second the living room is full, and the next there’s room for my mother to step inside.

I’m on my feet as soon as the door opens, my arms around her neck. We hold each other for minutes without speaking.

“Oh, thank god, Bianca—you’re all right.” Her hand moves over my hair, my shoulder, the side of my face, never settling. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m okay. I’m sorry about taking over your house—I didn’t realize...”

“Don’t apologize. It gave me the opportunity to get Winston off his feet and help Clara with the nursery.”

The question has been chewing at me all morning, but I don’t know how to ask it.

We end up on the couch with my head in her lap, the way we used to when I was little and sick enough to want her but not sick enough for my bed. Her fingers comb through my clean, damp hair. I cry without deciding to, and after a minute, she does too. A long time passes before she asks softly, “Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

“I... I do forgive you, but that doesn’t mean we’re fixed.”

Her hand stops in my hair.

“Don’t lie to me again, please.”

She looks away. “I’m sorry.”

“Then tell me the truth next time.”

She nods.

“Will you stay in Emerald Hills? Winston says your father’s release order went through. He could be home tonight.” Her voice catches, but she keeps going. “We can put our family back together.”

My throat hurts. “I’m not sure what our plans are yet. We have a place near the beach. But I’ll come home and visit. You and Dad and Winston—well, everyone—can come visit us too.”

She nods tearfully and pulls me into another hug.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did you...” I stop and catch the hand still resting in my hair.

Her fingers close around mine. She holds my gaze, then nods once.