Page 23 of Rooster's Remorse
"And after," Amara says.
"My father's in protective custody. Federal. Ten years, and he'll be in it till they bury him." My hands won't stop. "My mother divorced him. She found out what he'd been doing all those years, what he'd signed her up for and never asked, and that was it. She hasn't said his name since. Not once, not to me."
"And you?"
"I ran. They gave me the program. I took it for eight months and walked out, because the marshals wanted me in Ohio and I'm not—I wasn't going to Ohio. And because Trask's people found the first place they put me inside a year." I make myself look at her. "So I did it myself. I went where they wouldn't look. Finn Kincaid died in a federal building in Tucson. I've been Rooster ever since."
Razor speaks for the first time. "You ratted them out?"
There it is.
"I did what I had to to protect my family."
"You sat in a federal building and gave them names."
"Yes."
Razor looks at Amara and doesn't say anything else.
He doesn't have to. It's in the room now and it's not going anywhere.
I've known it would be in this room since the day I rode up to that gate and told them I was Rooster.
"Say the rest," Amara says.
I look at her.
"You want to explain it." She turns her hand over. "Go ahead. This is the one time you get to."
"No."
Razor's chin comes up. "No?"
"There's nothing to explain." My voice is level now. It came back from wherever it went and I don't trust it. "You want me to tell you I'm sorry so you can put me somewhere. I'm not doing that."
"Rooster—"
"My mother nearly died." I look right at him. "I'd do it again tomorrow, I'd do it again if you were in that room and I had to walk past you to get to the door, and I'd be sick about it every day for the rest of my life, and I'd still do it."
Razor doesn't say anything.
"That's all of it," I tell him. "There isn't any more."
The heater kicks back on.
Amara hasn't moved off the desk. Arms crossed, head tipped, looking at me the way she looks at a bike she's thinking about buying.
"Six years," she says.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You prospected for me for six years and never pushed. Never asked me about the patch once." She taps two fingers on her arm. "I had a bet with Zorro about you."
"Prez—"
"He said you were running from a wife." Her face doesn't change. "I said it was worse than that. He owes me a bottle of something. Something strong at that."
Razor makes a sound that isn't a laugh.
