Chapter 18 #3
“I do what I said. I cover what I can. I keep the kids out of the line of fire.”
“You can’t keep them out,” she said, almost tender. “Not anymore. You’ve let too many people in. You’ve always been soft that way.”
Sandy’s jaw flexed, and Erin whispered, “She’s spiraling.”
Grant sighed. “Last chance, Mom. Or I start talking to people you don’t want me to, and this unravels in ways you can’t recover from—ever. My kids? Gone to you. Erin’s kids? You’ll never see them again.”
“Fine,” Elizabeth said, voice void of any emotion.
There was nothing there. No mother. Not even a human.
“I signed your name. I moved pennies to cover dollars. And your damn father couldn’t mind his own goddamn business for one day.
That’s all I asked of that man. Just one day to talk you into doing exactly this, but no, he had to go and meddle.
” A sharp scrape—her chair, turning, maybe.
Then heels clicking on the tile floor. “He was always so righteous, always sure he knew best. I’m the one who built a life.
I’m the one who kept our name clean. I am not going to let all of that crumble because a man with dirt under his nails decided to play auditor. ”
Riley’s throat closed. Erin’s grip on her hand became a vise.
Grant’s voice thinned with hurt. “He raised us. He loved us.”
“He loved the idea of you,” Elizabeth said. “The version he could show those Boones over coffee. He loved his myths.”
“That was you, not Dad,” Grant said, so softly Riley barely heard. “And what about Dad?”
“Not sure what you’re asking,” Elizabeth said.
“You killed him.”
“How dare you.”
“Guess what, Ma. I kept the mug you handed me that morning. Labeled ‘Sean’—in your handwriting. I can walk it straight to Chief Sandy. She can have it tested for whatever you put in it.”
In the van, Sandy didn’t move. Erin’s breath hitched. Riley’s nails bit into her palm.
Inside the house, the quiet turned glacial.
“Are you playing with me? Are you planning on holding that over my head for the rest of my life?
“Holy shit.” Sandy shifted her gaze between Riley, Erin, and the FBI agent. “Did she just confess to killing Sean?”
“Not quite. Give him a little more time,” the FBI agent said.
Grant coughed. “No. I’m not messing with you. And you should know, Dad’s death is being ruled a homicide. That one, I’m not taking the blame for.”
“You ungrateful little shit.” Another breath.
The brittle clatter of a spoon. “Do you know what it is to carry a family on your back and be told your spine is unseemly? Do you know what it is to smile at people whose checks have more zeros than morals? Your father never understood what it cost—to be respectable.” Her voice hardened to glass.
“So what if I asked you to deliver coffee? I did what was needed, and you’re the one with the mug, not me.
You handed your father a death sentence, not me. ”
Erin slapped a hand over her mouth as a guttural groan escaped her lips.
Stunned, Riley sat there. Unable to move. Unable to say a word. She couldn’t even breathe.
The FBI agent was already speaking into his mic, low and fast. Sandy’s eyes had gone flint-hard.
Grant’s exhale shuddered. “I thank you for that honesty, Elizabeth.”
“You better hold up your end of this bargain,” Elizabeth said.
“I think killing my father—my children’s grandfather—has changed my perspective on that,” Grant said, gentle as a benediction.
“You can’t prove I did anything, so good luck with that.”
“Get out of that house, Grant.” No sooner did Sandy utter those words than Grant appeared in the walkway. He ran a hand through his curly hair as he jogged down the path, past his truck, and toward the van.
“Grant,” Riley exclaimed as she bolted out of the side of the van, arms stretched wide, Erin one step behind.
“Get behind the vehicle,” the FBI agent ordered.
Grant wrapped his strong arms around both women, ducking around the side of the van.
Riley peeked her head from the side and watched uniformed officers hurry up the path. Two detectives followed. The door opened, and Elizabeth emerged, hands behind her back, her face arranged into a portrait of wounded dignity that cracked when she saw the van.
Grant was the first to step into sight, followed by Erin. Riley pressed closer to her sister, squeezing her hand.
“You ungrateful monsters,” Elizabeth spat, voice carrying, veneer gone. “Ingrates, every last one. Filthy traitors who don’t deserve the name I gave you.”
Grant looped his arms around his sisters, tugging them close. “As much as I feel vindicated, I still feel guilty. It doesn’t change the fact that I was—”
“Stop it, Grant,” Erin said sharply. “She said it. She admitted it. She fucking planned it, and it could’ve been you that day, too. One sip, and you could’ve died. So, I don’t want to ever hear you say that again.”
Grant took a step back. “Erin?”
“What?”
“You said the word, fuck.”
“I know.” Erin briefly covered her mouth then dropped her hand. “It felt good.”
“Unfortunately, this isn’t completely over,” Grant sighed. “Our kids are going to have to deal with the fallout. And knowing Mom, she’ll fight this. She’ll do the whole trial thing. It will be a spectacle.”
Riley swallowed and slid her fingers into his. He squeezed hard enough to hurt, as the cruiser turned the corner and disappeared.
“Maybe she won’t. She can’t stand being embarrassed,” Riley whispered.
The silence that followed felt different somehow—not the tense, walking-on-eggshells quiet they'd grown up with, but something safer.
For the first time in her adult life, Riley felt like she was sitting with her actual siblings instead of the carefully molded versions their mother had shaped them into.
Grant had found his backbone, Erin had found her voice, and somehow, in the wreckage of their mother's lies, they'd found each other.
The family she'd always wanted had been there all along— buried under layers of Elizabeth's manipulation.
“But for now, we breathe. We love. We live.”
Riley looked at her brother. The wire under his collar was just visible, a thin dark line against the shirt he’d ironed in the Boone kitchen that morning, because it had felt like a thing he could control.
Sandy came toward them from the other direction at a measured clip, talking low into her radio, the FBI agent a pace behind.
“You okay?” Sandy asked.
“Not exactly,” Grant said. “But I will be.”
They stood there together until the jacaranda shook loose a violet blossom that landed on the toe of Grant’s shoe. He stared at it a long moment, then kicked it off gently into the gutter, like setting down a weight he couldn’t carry anymore.
“Let’s go home,” Erin said, voice steadying. “Although, I guess home for me is the Boones until I can find a place.”
Grant squeezed Riley’s hand, and they walked toward Grant’s SUV, her mother’s house taunting her in the background.
“Poor Parker,” Riley whispered. “I wonder if he knew.”
“I wish I knew the answer to that,” Grant said.
“Sandy didn’t want him in the house, so she called Parker’s son, who picked him up for breakfast. If Parker did know, I can’t have him in my life anymore.
If he didn’t, well, I’m not going to walk away from someone simply because he made a poor choice in life partners. ”
Riley slid into the backseat of her brother’s SUV. So many things in her life were still uncertain. But she had Bryson—and she had her siblings—that was what mattered most.