the opposite wall and glares at him. “You’re an asshole.”
Tell him something he doesn’t already know.
“What happened to your face?”
“What’s up with you and Mom?”
“I was asking about Dad and Lily.”
“Work altercation.” He grimaces.
Her lips pinch and he looks at the bottle between his legs. She knows he’s lying.
“Dad isn’t Lily’s dad. Benton St. John is.”
His head snaps up and jaw drops. Holy shit. That explained so much. No wonder Dwight couldn’t tolerate Lily.
“Mom tell you that?”
She nods. “She also told me Dad killed St. John.”
“Fuck me.” Charlotte alluded to the idea that Dwight had offed St. John, but she didn’t come right out and say it. His dad’s a murderer.
So is he apparently. Fucking depressing.
A tear drops off Olivia’s chin. “Did you know?”
“About Lily?” He shakes his head, shifting his gaze to the floor. He considers chugging the rest of the wine.
“What about St. John?”
His thumb picks at the label. “Mom might have mentioned something.”
“When?”
“A few days ago?”
She nudges his leg. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’ve been busy,” he says tightly.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Painting. Your baby sister is missing. Your dad is a murderer. Your mom is falling apart. Your big sis is about to have a breakdown. And what do you do? Bail. Good on you, Lucas. Always the dependable one.”
“Fuck you.” He hated when she held up her glossy mirror. He despised the sight of himself and everything he didn’t do. Or, as of two nights ago, did do. If she only knew he hadn’t bailed. He’ll never tell what he’d been up to. But nothing was more important these past few days than righting the wrong he’d committed. He had to do something for Lily where before he’d done nothing.
“Your vocabulary is stellar, Luc. Give me that.” She snags the bottle and guzzles the wine. Red lines leak from the corners of her mouth. She wipes them off with her sweater sleeve, staining the wool, and starts crying.
“I loved him,” she whispers.
“I know,” he says as gently as he can muster, fighting off his own tears.
“Where is he?”
Lucas shakes his head, praying she doesn’t learn the secret he’s hiding.
“We need to report him.”
Panic, electric and hot, singes his veins. “To the cops? No way.” He surges to his feet and weaves, light-headed. He slaps a hand on the wall. They start digging into the St. John case, they might see Dwight’s death wasn’t an accident. What if the driver of one of those cars that passed on the road remembers his truck? What if traffic cameras caught him following Dwight’s car? Lucas won’t spend another night behind bars if his life depends on it.
He needs a beer. And he needs to get the fuck out of here.
He also needs to get Olivia out of his face before she realizes what he did.
Olivia gets up. “Mom admitted it. Dad killed him. She confessed that she lied about being his alibi. Lily overheard them talking. She got scared and she ran.” She hugs her stomach and leans over. “I can’t believe he’s a murderer. I feel so sick.”
Lucas thinks of his old man picking up women at the bar. The way he fought back in the hotel room. No, he’s not the man Olivia knew him to be. He’s a mean sonovabitch. Lucas has known that for years.
He then thinks of the blank spot in his head. The two-hour time gap riding his ass like a nagging girlfriend.
“No cops.”
She grips his hand. “You’ve got a thing against them. I get that. But shouldn’t we do something?”
“It’s a thirty-year-old murder case. Let it lie.”
“But I’m worried about Mom. And what about Jean St. John? Don’t you think she’d want to know?”
“No!” He bellows louder than he intended. Screw the beer. He’s leaving.
Olivia puts a hand on his chest. “What’s your problem?” His eyes dodge hers. “Lucas?”
His shoulders ripple with tension.
“No.” She backs up a step, shaking her head. He doesn’t meet her eyes. Hers drop to his hands and he sees her swallow hard. His knuckles are chewed up. “What did you do? Where’s Dad? Why isn’t he coming home?”
“I said leave it.”
“What did you do?” she cries. “Please tell me. I have to know. Are you in trouble? Let me help you.”
“I don’t know.” He fends off her hands and the faucet turns back on. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” He covers his face and groans into his hands like a wounded animal. “Don’t ask me. Please don’t ask.”
“Lucas.” He can hear the tears in her