Page 112 of My Fallen Saint

“I’m just telling you what I’ve seen. What I believe. He’s always wanted you to know the truth, but at the same time, he’d do anything not to hurt you.” She shrugs, her smile a little sad. “You do the math.”

I shake my head, not sure I’m liking the way her words are softening my heart. “Regrets are a dime a dozen. And they don’t change the reality. He killed Peter. He shot my uncle.”

“He did. And he was scared to tell you.”

“Well, he should have been.”

She nods. “It’s hard to hear. But at some point you’re going to have to decide if you forgive him or if you condemn him.”

I look up sharply. “You mean turn him in? Tell Chief Randall?” The thought makes me ill—and so does the fact that I would never consider it. I’m a cop’s kid, a former cop myself, and yet the very idea is repugnant.

A hint of a smile flickers on Tamra’s lips, and I have a feeling she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “All I mean is that you need to decide in your heart. For you. But you can’t do that if you don’t know everything.”

I almost laugh. “Gee, that’s what Devlin said. And now you’re saying he didn’t tell me everything after all? Why am I not surprised?”

She ignores my sarcasm. “I don’t think Devlin would ever tell you this himself. And especially not now. It would seem too self-serving.”

I catch myself sitting up straighter, then frown. “What?”

“He feared—didn’t know, but feared—that if he disobeyed, his father would punish him.”

“How?”

“Well, by killing you, of course.”

I lean back, shocked I didn’t see that coming. “Oh, God,” I say. “Nineteen years old and he had to shoulder that.”

“He’s always been willing to carry the weight of the world for you, Ellie. Don’t you know that?”

I nod automatically, no longer sure what I know.

We chat a bit more, and I walk her to the door. “Thanks for coming,” I say.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I’m feeling less hollow,” I tell her. “Like I can start thinking and stop crying.”

She brushes my cheek. “I’m glad.”

I stop her as she’s crossing the threshold. “Wait. One thing I forgot. Why did you give me that ticket to the gala? I know Devlin didn’t want you to.”

“Oh that?” Her smile is pure sugar. “That was just me being hopeful.”

I spend the next hour doing exactly what I told Tamra—thinking.

And I keep coming back to the same bottom line—whether Peter was vile or not, Alex still killed him. Nineteen years old and beholden to the biggest crime lord working in those days, and not just by virtue of a criminal brotherhood. No, they were bound by blood.

But even then, it wasn’t enough to spur Alex to pull that trigger. He only did that to avenge me. Because he believed that Uncle Peter killed my father. Maybe even to protect me if Tamra’s right and he believed that his father would punish disobedience by killing me.

Does that matter? Should it matter?

Legally, no. But in my heart?

I draw my fingers through my greasy hair. Maybe it damns me. Maybe it means I’m not my father’s daughter. Maybe it means I’m a goddamn fool. But, yes, it matters.

Because what it means is that Alex loved me. Deeply. Dangerously.

That he was willing to do whatever it took to protect me, just like he’s told me so many times. To clear a path for me in a dangerous world even if it meant that he had to run afterwards, from me and from his father.