have possibly gone through so much. She not only got money from me, but the state, and, of course, her clients. Yet still, she couldn’t keep your house clean, warm, or full of food.”
Raven shrugs, but it holds less pop this time. “Tales of an addict, Rolland.”
“Right.” He nods, his frown matching hers, a hidden something passing between them. “The money is yours, Raven. I know you’re running out if you’re not out already and the warehouses are not an option for you anymore. There must be things you need or will soon, hygiene products and such. Perhaps you’d like a phone or even a car.” He holds out the envelope again, and when she takes another step away, he announces something that has her freezing in her spot. “There’s an identification card in there, social as well. Your mother informed me when you started tearing your trailer apart searching for them. They’ve been in my possession since I found you.”
I tense beside her and her eyes fly to mine.
ID card. In her mind, that was all she needed to run, she said herself, without one she couldn’t get a real job or function like she wanted. This was all that was holding her back from the normal life she craved, the life she wanted before us.
Why give it to her?
“There are also emancipation papers in there,” he says and Raven’s eyes narrow. “They’ve been fast-tracked, were signed by your mother the day Maria picked you up. All you have to do is sign them, and they’ll be processed within twenty-four hours. No court needed, it’s been handled. Sign them, and you’re an adult in the eyes of the law, not that we need to worry about laws much here.”
She reaches over, grabbing my hand, and when I look back to my dad, his eyes are locked on our connection.
“I know what you’re doing, Rolland, and it won’t work,” she tells him and ever so slowly he meets her stare. “The money, whatever. I don’t even know, maybe that’s something you have to do, but the other... giving me something I’ve been searching for for years? Offering me the little taste of freedom these things provide, it’s your way of trying to mollify me. Make me think I’m in control when in your mind that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“You’ve watched us closely, and decided I won’t run, it’s the only reason you’d even consider handing me a way out. You want this to act as your confirmation, and you know what, I won’t make you wait to witness the answer.”
She meets my eyes, then Cap’s and Royce’s.
“These boys...” A quiet laugh leaves her, and she gives a small jerk of her head, her stare moving back to his. “I could never leave them, so there you go. Now you know for sure, from my own fucking mouth, they come first.”
Our dad’s jaw clenches, but not in anger, in prospect, so when he steps toward her, I stay planted at her side instead of shifting to guard her.
He nods, his feet fixed an inch from hers. “You are more than I could have imagined, Raven Brayshaw,” he admits. “But like you, I only want to protect my family, and while I understand they are now yours, they are still mine.” He frowns. “We have the same goals, Raven, I promise you this, but something your young souls have yet to face or understand is with life comes loss. With love, comes sacrifice.”
His eyes hit mine, and I can’t tell if he’s talking of his sacrifice, mine, or hers.
Maybe all three?
He holds the envelope out for me, so I take it, and he turns and walks away, calling over his shoulder, “Make her sign the papers, boys. The alternative isn’t something any of us want.”
Fuck.
Raven’s glare snaps to mine and she yanks her hand away, speaking before I can. “I don’t want it, Maddoc. Even I know money brings more problems.”
“You want to be able to care for yourself, right?”
She glares. “Yeah, myself. Not like this. This makes me feel like my mother. He gives me money and what, my taking it is me accepting my life is his?”
“Your life is mine.”
She can’t help it, and she laughs, looking away.
I step closer to her. “Sign the papers, Raven. You don’t have to touch the money if you don’t want, but it’ll be there. Keep whatever cash is in here” — I shake the envelope — “and we pretend it never