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dead. It feels so wrong to say that, because he’s your dad,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper in the night. “He was always an evil son of bitch. I wanted to hurt him every time I knew he hurt you. Then you were old enough to hurt him back and I wanted to cheer for you. But … now…”
    She pulled back and stared up at him.
    He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Trust me, Tink. I want the same thing.”
    “Don’t say that.” She sighed, reaching up to catch his wrist, squeezing gently. “I don’t think I could ever kill somebody. I’d like to think I could … and maybe if somebody broke into my house and I got my hands on a bat, I guess I could defend myself. But I couldn’t just kill somebody. But you…”
    She looked away. “You could. I know that. And I don’t want to think about you wanting him dead the same way I do. Because if I was like you in that way? I’d kill him. I don’t want to think about that.”
    “You don’t want to think about me killing him?”
    “No. As much as I want him dead, I don’t want to think about how it would hurt us. We’ve lost enough.” Her eyes were troubled. “Fuck, I’m messed up. I want him dead, I want him hurt. And I want answers. I’ll never get any of it, either … will I?”
    He slid his hand around her neck, pulled her against him. His silence was answer enough.
    “Will there even be a trial for this?”
    “I think there will be. It will take a while, but he’ll pay. We’ll push for it. We’ve got evidence now and we’re pushing for more.” He rubbed his lips against her temple, tried to ignore the need stirring inside him.
    “I want to make that be enough. He should go to trial, be found guilty. If he answers for what he did, that could be enough … I want to think so anyway.” A sigh tripped out of her, her slim shoulders rising erratically. “But it’s been so long.”
    “If we can find a way to make him answer for it, we’re going to.” He cupped her chin, eased her head back so he could study her pale face. The fragile skin under her eyes looked bruised. “You don’t look like you’ve slept, Tink. Can you turn that brain off for a while? Try to sleep?”
    “Maybe.” She wiggled out of his grasp, tucked her cheek against his chest.
    “Maybe if you soak in the hot tub, it will help. Why don’t you give it a shot, soak a while? Then you can crash in my bed. I’ll bunk on the couch.”
    She curled a hand into his shirt and a heavy, taut silence caught between them. Part of him waited. But then she sighed and sat up. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t have my suit though.”
    Blood drained down, in a low, liquid glide, to stiffen his cock. A hungry ache settled inside him as he stepped back. Although it pained him to act like it didn’t matter, he just shrugged. “I can be a gentleman. You can have the tub all to yourself if you want.”
    * * *
    She wanted to tell him to screw that idea.
    But she was raw from the past few days and she didn’t know if she was up to another night like the one they’d just had, not if he was going to pull away again.
    A few years ago, they’d had a hot, crazy weekend and then she’d told him they needed to be friends—he’d talked about how he didn’t want her to regret being with him, and she hadn’t. Not the way he thought.
    What she regretted was not being brave enough to reach for more.
    That was what she regretted.
    In some terribly small part of her, though, she did regret the nights with him, because on the nights when she was really lonely, remembering the times when she’d wrapped herself around him, so tightly not even a wish could separate them, it had made that loneliness that much more painful.
    Had made her long for him that much more.
    Like now.
    But she feared reaching for him. Because if he wasn’t there again …
    Stop . She slid outside and leaned against the door, pressing her head to the wood while need gripped and tore at her. Her legs trembled with the force of