Chapter 2 - Four Minutes Left
My legs wouldn't move.
Five minutes. He'd given me five minutes.
"Marcus." I could barely hear my own voice. "Whatever you think you know —"
"I'm not thinking." His jaw barely moved when he talked. "I know."
The faucet was still running in the kitchen.
I stepped in close and dropped my voice to nothing. "Please. She's had the best night of her life. Don't do this to her tonight."
Something shifted in his expression. It wasn't meanness. It was worse than that.
It was pity.
"She should know who her dad really is."
The floor seemed to slide sideways under me.
Because there was no way Marcus should know a single thing about her father.
I had never told Delia. I had never told one person in this town. That was the entire reason we'd packed up and moved here six years ago.
"How could you possibly —"
"My dad recognized you." Not a flicker of doubt. "From back then."
The water shut off in the kitchen.
Delia's footsteps started across the tile.
May you like
Four minutes left. Probably less.
And the look on that boy's face told me he meant every word.
