Laiken

I get up early the next morning. When I pass Kara's door, I give it a light tap. Just to see if she's inside. And to see if she'll talk to me, even a little bit. I know we're not supposed to appear close, according to her, but this is getting ridiculous.

For the third day in a row, my knock goes unanswered.

With a sad glance at her room, I head to the kitchen. It's hard to live in this house these days. It's worse than before, when neither my sister nor Dominic were here. Knowing what happiness is makes losing it harder.

There's the usual breakfast spread left on the middle island in the kitchen. I fill a glass with orange juice, then chug it. One of the maids gives me a disapproving stare. Ignoring her, I gather up two muffins and stroll through the french doors. I don't have access to Kara or Dominic, but I do have one friend left.

It's much colder today. I'm grateful for the thick green sweater I slipped on while dressing this morning. After a few minutes of jogging, I reach the preserve. Wyatt sees me through the fence and waves, letting me inside.

“Breakfast delivery,” I say, offering him a blueberry muffin.

He tugs off one of his thick gloves, picking up the pastry with his bare hand. “Thanks. I actually didn't get a chance to eat yet today, so this is well timed.”

“That's me,” I chuckle humorlessly. “The girl with the good timing.” Twisting the muffin in my palms, I watch crumbs flick off onto the ground. I pick off a piece, but when I put it on my tongue, I can barely taste anything.

Wyatt leans on the fence; the metal squeaks. “That weight on your shoulders is about to put your nose in the dirt. What's wrong, Laiken?”

“Nothing. No, wait.” Lifting my head, I give him an apologetic smile. “Maybe everything, actually?”

He looks me over with fresh eyes, seeing beneath my fake cheeriness. “I don't hear much about what goes on in that house. Do my best not to. But I'm going to guess you're upset because of Dominic.”

Tucking my head between my shoulders, I draw in on myself. “I know what he did,” I say somberly.

Wyatt watches me with interest. “Do you?”

“My sister told me.” I perk up, blinking. “Kara's going to stay on the estate, like me. Did you know about that?”

He shakes his head. “Silas rarely involves me in these things. We have an . . . understanding, so to speak. Anyway, you heard about what Dominic did to Bernard. Then you understand why I told you to keep as far from him as possible.”

“Yes,” I begin, and we both sense my hesitance.

“He's got a hold on you, doesn't he?” he mumbles.

“Wyatt . . . I have a hard time believing he killed someone, let alone his own cousin.”

“Believe it,” he snaps viciously. His anger catches me by surprise. I drop my muffin, losing it in the dirt and leaves. “That boy is sick, but no one could guess what a monster he'd become.”

You're right. I am a monster. That's what Dominic said to me the night he returned to my world. “Wyatt, if he murdered anyone, why would his parents let him return? Especially Annie, wasn't Bernard her nephew?”

His eyebrows dive deep. “There's some doubt about if Dominic killed his cousin or not. It's enough to keep him from being charged with anything, and enough to let his father justify working with him. I'm guessing Silas talked Annie into believing their son was still useful, murderer or not.”

“There's doubt?” I ask, lighting up with hope. “Tell me the details, Wyatt. Please!” If there's a chance he didn't do it, then . . .

“Don't torture yourself like this,” he says solemnly. His head hangs like an overgrown acorn from a branch, seconds away from snapping free. “Laiken. Listen. Even if it's possible he's innocent, it doesn't make it better. Whatever happened up on that mountain, Dominic kept to himself. Not even Bernard's own father knows the truth.”

I step closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

His eyes shut, as if he's taking a moment to gather his strength. “You know the pain of being separated from your family,” he whispers thickly, “but you don't know the pain of real, soul-shredding loss. The kind that's forever.” He straightens up, looking down on me with tears budding. “I can't imagine suffering the way Vahn is, not knowing Bernard's final moments on this Earth. It was bad enough losing my own son. At least I knew how it happened.”

A wave of distress rocks me where I stand. I squeeze his shoulder tighter. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know you lost your son.” I'm connecting the dots between Wyatt and his hatred of Dominic. “Can I ask . . . can I ask how he died?”

Wyatt's frown stretches. “I can tell what you're thinking. No, Pat wasn't murdered. An everyday car crash did him in. We were on our way to a fishing trip, last one before he went off to Italy for a student exchange swap he busted his ass to be picked for.” He inhales sharply, straining for the words, and I want to beg him not to try—that it's okay not to tell me. But he pushes on, as if he has to explain. “It was early morning, 4:16. I remember because I was talking about what good time we were making, tapping the radio to show him as he dozed on and off. Didn't see the guy cross lanes into ours, hit us head on. Bastard was coming home from a night of binge drinking.”

“I'm really so sorry,” I say earnestly. His tears are gone, but mine are welling up the longer we talk about this. I can't imagine someone I love dying. It's too final of a goodbye.

He rubs my hand, laying his on top. His calluses are like sandpaper but I welcome them. “I was a mess after it happened,” he says. “They said I was lucky I lived. That's not how I saw it. Couldn't hold a job, couldn't pay my mortgage. I had no family, my wife left right after Pat was born, she didn't even come to the funeral. I was a single dad in mourning, and I won't lie, I was close to giving up entirely. Then Silas called me.”

My mouth hangs open. “How did you know Silas?”

“From our basic training days. Long story short, he saw the obituary, called me to give his condolences. Then he offered me a job here.” Wyatt gestures at the trees. “This place is perfect for a bitter ol' lone wolf like me.”

I can tell he's trying to lighten the mood, but I'm still organizing this new information in my head. “You were in the army with Dominic's dad?”

He pauses, like he isn't sure how to answer. “We never served together. He wasn't able to. His lungs.” He taps his chest lightly. “Silas barely made it through basic training. They sent him to his first active duty, and within a week, he was medically discharged.”

I back up, cupping the side of my head, like all my thoughts are trying to explode out from that single spot. “I don't—but his office is covered in medals! And he sent Dominic to a military boarding school because he wanted him to follow in his footsteps! You're saying there were never any steps to follow?”

“Medals?” he asks, before shaking his head sadly. “I'm guessing those are his father's. Stefan Bradley was a high ranking officer in the Korean war.”

God, none of this makes sense. How could Silas be so set on turning Dominic into some perfect little disciplined soldier, if he himself wasn't even close to being one? Something squishes under my heel as I back up; I stepped on the muffin.

Wyatt comes over to me, gently scooping my hands in his. “I haven't talked to anyone about Pat since, well, since I put him in the ground.”

The pain in my chest blossoms bigger. Linking my fingers with his, I give him my full attention.

His mouth is set in an arrow straight line. “You're not my daughter, Laiken. But you're very important to me. If I lost you, especially when it could be prevented . . .” He trails off, lowering his voice as it breaks. “There are so many days that I tell myself I'm a coward. I think of ways to get you out of here, because your situation is wrong. So, so wrong.”

My love for this hardened, often sour man swells until new tears fall over my cheeks. “Wyatt . . .”

His fingers clench tighter on mine. “I need you to understand how serious it is that you keep away from Dominic. A man who can commit murder, then continue to walk around unchanged by the act, isn't someone you can trust.”

I pull him into a tight hug. Wyatt's work-hardened arms wrap around me in an unbreakable knot. It's a hug almost as good as my father's. Almost.

I want so much to tell him that I'll listen, that I'll keep a distance between Dominic and me. But I can't, because there's a minor mistake in what he said. So small, but so note-worthy at the same time: Wyatt believes Dominic is walking around unchanged, free of guilt clogging his heart.

If he'd known him when he was younger—if he knew him the way I knew him—he’d realize he's wrong.