Page 123 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

“Good.” I tugged her into my arms again. “I’m sorry I left like that.”

“I know.” She rested her ear against my chest. These days, with her belly protruding out so far, she stood kind of sideways to hug me.

I wrapped one arm behind her shoulder and let my other hand rest on her stomach. Kick. Please, kick. I needed some kind of reassurance that the boys were okay. That I hadn’t caused them and Piper too much stress.

“Here.” Piper took my hand, sliding over to the far side. And just like that, a small tap hit my palm.

Thank you. “I love you. All three of you.”

“I know that too,” she whispered. “But we can’t stay in this hallway forever. You’ve got to go out there and face him. We have to put the past to rest so you can live for the future.”

“I can’t forgive him.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to do whatever you can today to put it behind us.”

I blew out a long breath, then nodded.

Her arms squeezed me tighter before letting go to follow me down the hallway.

In the living room, Isaiah was sitting in a recliner, his head tipped to the ceiling and a rag pressed to his nostrils. Mom came rushing out of the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas for his cheek.

While she fussed over him, I led Piper to the couch to sit. Across from us, a fire was burning in the fireplace, making the room toasty and too hot. But Mom always kept a fire going this time of year, even when the furnace kept the house plenty warm.

Mom shot me a glare as she pressed the bag of vegetables to Isaiah’s face. She could be pissed at me all she wanted, but I refused to feel guilty for kicking his ass. I

f not for Piper, he would have gotten all that and more.

“I really thought you were going to shoot him.” Mom’s angry voice filled the room.

“What? Shoot—”

My gun. I was still wearing my gun from hiking earlier. No wonder she’d looked so panicked.

“I wish you had,” Isaiah whispered.

The air in the room turned ice-cold.

“Isaiah, don’t say that.” Mom covered her mouth with a hand, sinking down to the ledge of the fireplace. She reached over and covered one of his hands with hers—and the string of prison tattoos running up each of his fingers.

Isaiah slipped his hand free, pulling the bag of peas off his eye before sitting up. The rag to his nose was soaked.

“I broke your nose.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But I learned how to set it back in prison.”

With the rage no longer in control, it was harder not to feel bad for my brother. Just hours ago, I’d wished him two more years in prison. But now that I looked at him—really looked at him—I knew he wouldn’t have survived it.

Had he been tortured by other inmates? Or did the haunted look in his eyes come from torturing himself?

“How long?” I asked. We both knew I was asking about Shannon.

“Since the beginning.” He met my eyes. “I loved her since the beginning. After she moved in, we just hit it off. But with the baby and all that, I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“You should have told me.” It wouldn’t have mattered that they were together. He had to know that I didn’t have feelings like that for Shannon. Didn’t he? I’d told him. Hadn’t I? The only reason we’d been living together was because of the baby.

“We were going to tell you. We were just waiting for the right time.” A tear slid down Isaiah’s face. “I asked her to marry me. That night. She said yes, and I had three beers instead of two to celebrate.”

I closed my eyes, forcing a few breaths.