“Which part should I be mad about? The fact that my daughter wanted to understand her past better and I obviously failed her if she felt she couldn’t ask me about her birth mother, or the fact that you’ve just given me the only thing I’ve truly wanted since the day you stopped talking?”

“The first one. Definitely the first one.” I laughed.

Melancholy dripped between us. This was the big moment. The top of the hill. Me, talking to my dad, telling him I knew my mother was dead. He didn’t look surprised. Why didn’t he look surprised?

Ever the mind reader, he cleared his throat and looked down.

“You knew about Val,” I said. There was no accusation in my voice.

He nodded. “It seemed redundant to bring her up after all these years. Plus, she hurt you in such a vital way, I couldn’t bring myself to think what would happen if—”

“It’s okay,” I cut him off. I got it. I did.

“God.” He shook his head, pulling me into another hug. “Your voice. It’s beautiful.”

“I love you,” I whispered into his suit. My words had life, and weight, and a pulse. I said them again. “I love you, Dad. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He lifted me up like I was a little girl, spinning me in place and burying his nose in my hair. Tears rolled down our faces. The pen bled the last of its ink, marking this page in our lives forever in my father’s office. I knew, with certainty that made my heart swell, that he was not going to replace that carpet.

He was going to look at it every day, remember the day it had happened, and cherish it.

“I love you, too, baby girl.”

“There’s an Emergen-C pack and Advil on the kitchen counter. You know your way around, and if you need anything, ask Vaughn. Or call. You can call me, too.”

Emilia, Mom’s older sister and Vaughn’s mother, practically shoved me out the door, delving through paper bags for all the shit she’d brought Mom. She looked tired, worried, and secondhand sick. I spat phlegm into one of the plants by our door, ignoring the pulsating heat radiating from my body.

“Remind me why I’m getting kicked out of my own house again?”

“You spiked a fever last night. You’re not well, Knight. You know you can’t be here next to her.”

“Fine. I’ll take the guestroom downstairs. I won’t go anywhere near Mom.”

“I’ll be taking the guestroom.”

Emilia finally plucked a pack of chips from a bag. Salty snacks were good for Mom. She’d lost a lot of sodium. “I want to take care of my sister. Besides, even if you took the downstairs bedroom, you still have the flu. You’re a germ-ball, excuse my bluntness.”

I shrugged. “Been called worse.”

“I promise I’ll keep you updated. I made you some chicken noodle soup. It’s in a container near the other provisions. I’ll ask your uncle to report back if you haven’t touched it, so no funny business. Don’t worry, honey. She’ll get well.”

“She can’t get well.” I smiled bitterly, my eyes darkening. “We both know that, Aunt Em.”

Emilia’s throat bobbed with a swallow. She looked down. Why did people do that? Look down when things got too real? What was on the ground that was so fascinating, other than my mother’s impending grave?

“But she can get worse,” Aunt Em whispered.

She stepped into the house then, pushing the door closed in my face before pausing. “Oh, and I’m not sure what your current status is, but if you’ve decided to pull your head out of your butt and you’re swinging by Luna’s, please send her my condolences and let her know I’m here if she needs me.”

I was midstride when I turned around sharply, pushing the door back open.

“Condolences?” I could feel my eyeballs dancing in their sockets.

Emilia dropped her paper bags, peaches and garlic rolling on the floor.

Our parents had refused to get the memo that Luna and I were no longer BFFs or whatever bullshit term they called us. But that didn’t bother me as much as the notion that something bad had happened. Condolences meant one thing.

“What’s going on?” I braced my arm against the door, making sure she knew she couldn’t get rid of me before she explained herself.

I was burning like a thousand angry suns on their galactic period. The fever had come out of nowhere. Vaughn said it was probably because I’d nearly combusted watching Luna make out with Daria the other night.

When Aunt Emilia didn’t answer immediately, I stepped back into the house, ignoring my general dizziness. Getting into her face, I bared my teeth.

“Speak.”

I knew if Uncle Vicious ever found out I’d behaved even mildly aggressively with her, he’d castrate me and make dangling earrings out of my balls for his pretty wife.

Emilia’s jaw tightened. “Step back, boy,” she growled.

Maybe she didn’t need Uncle Vicious to make the earrings for her.

I decided to step back, because it was the quickest way to make her talk.

“Her birth mother, Val, died.”

“Jesus.” I covered my mouth, running my palm along my face. “How is she coping?”

Moonshine was entirely unpredictable when it came to Val, so I didn’t know the level of devastation I was dealing with here. I just knew she’d been looking for Val, and now she’d found her—probably not in the state she needed her to be.