Page 118 of Love at Second Down

I take a deep breath, gathering courage I don’t feel. I’ve yet to tell my mother that I’m the one who turned our father in, yet she blames me anyway—for my refusal to listen, for running back to Damon instead of staying away. “I have to tell you something,” I say.

The kitchen light casts harsh shadows across her face as she finally turns. Her eyes are hollow, rimmed with exhaustion. “What is it?”

“It was me.” The words tumble out, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I went to the police about Dad.”

Her expression doesn’t change at first, as if the words haven’t penetrated. Then her eyes widen, and her lips part in silent shock. “You . . . what?”

“I’m the one who gave them the evidence, the manipulated plans, and falsified inspection reports.”

“Why . . .?” Mom sways slightly, gripping the edge of the counter. “Why would you do this to us? To your sister?”

“I didn’t do this to you or Katie. Dad did,” I say, my resolve strengthening.

My mother glances away, as if unable to look at me, her face contorted with emotion.

“Vinny Huhn came to me a few days ago. It was just like you said. He had evidence about Dad’s involvement in the collapse and told me that if I didn’t break up with Damon, he’d expose everything, and I just couldn’t do it. I promised myself that if Damon gave me another chance, I’d never hurt him again, no matter the cost.”

“So why did you—”

“It was time I did the right thing, even if it hurt. What Dad did was wrong. It killed people, hurt families, destroyed lives. He’ll always be my father, and I’ll always love him, but I’m donecovering for him and keeping his secrets. I’m done sacrificing my own happiness for his. I’m sorry, and I just hope someday you can understand.”

Mom’s face crumbles, her shoulders slumping as she slides down against the cabinet to the floor. “You could have warned us,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Given us time to prepare Katie, at least.”

I sink down beside her, drawing my knees to my chest as the cold tile seeps through my jeans. “I didn’t know they’d issue a warrant this fast. Or that it would make breaking headlines.” My voice catches. “I just . . . I couldn’t live with it anymore. All this time, knowing what he did and doing nothing, letting it control our lives.”

Mom’s eyes close, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Your father made a terrible mistake. But he’s still your father.”

“I know,” I whisper. “And Katie’s father. And your husband. But those people who died had families, too.”

The silence between us stretches, punctuated only by the distant sound of the television from the living room.

“What happens now?” Mom finally asks, her voice hollow.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’ll be here. I’ll help with Katie if you need it. We’ll figure it out.”

My mother nods, and I reach out, taking her hand in mine.

Chapter 36

DAMON

The drive from Ann Arbor to Pittsburgh feels like the longest four hours of my life after having to sit through a three-hour flight. Every red light is an eternity; every car in front of me moving at a glacial pace feels like it shaves a day off my life.

My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as I weave through traffic, ignoring the blaring horns behind me. When I finally pull into her driveway, I sit for a moment at the gate with the engine idling before I punch in the code I know by heart, praying it’s the same. As the gates lift, I press the gas and pull forward. The Astor mansion looms before me, windows glowing amber against the night. I’ve been here countless times before, but tonight it feels different—like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice.

What if she doesn’t want to see me?

The thought slices through me like a blade. I wouldn’t blame her. I didn’t believe her when she tried to tell me about my father. I chose blind loyalty over her truth, and now her worst fears are playing out on national television. Maybe my dad was telling the truth when he said he hadn’t turned Reginald Astor in. Or maybe he wasn’t, and he had. Maybe I could’ve stopped it.

I kill the engine and step out into the cold February air, my breath forming a mushroom cloud in front of me. The walk to her front door takes no time at all, and then I’m knocking in time with the furious pounding of my heart.

One. Two. Three solid raps.

Seconds stretch into an eternity when finally, the door swings open, and there she is. Her face is ashen, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, blonde hair falling in disheveled waves around her shoulders. For one breathless moment, we just stare at each other, and I see everything pass through her eyes—pain, relief, fear.

“Damon,” she whispers, my name a broken sound on her lips. Then she’s crumbling forward, collapsing against my chest as if her legs can no longer support her. I catch her instantly, my arms wrapping around her trembling body and pulling her tightly against me.

Her fingers clutch desperately at my shirt, face buried in my neck as silent sobs rack her frame.

---