I wasn’t wearing a watch, so I made my best guess based on the sun’s position, sinking down past the horizon. “Eight thirty, eight forty-five?”

“That gives us another hour to kill.” Lily placed her hand on the wall of the abandoned house. She stared at it for almost a minute, then headed inside. I followed. “If I asked you to fight me,” she said softly, “would you?”

My stomach dropped, like an elevator whose cables had been abruptly cut, and a chill crawled up my spine. I’d thought that I’d been forgiven. I’d thought Lily and I were us again. Even when she’d been giving me the silent treatment, I’d never thought she wanted to hurt me.

Not physically.

“What?” I managed to say.

“I’ve never fought anyone before.” Lily sounded far too reflective for my liking. “Never really gotten physical—unless you count that time you ended up turning the hose on Campbell and me.” She laid her hand lightly on the wall, and then, before I could stop her, she pulled the other arm back, curled her fingers into a fist, and drove it into the charred wood.

Hard.

She reared back and did it again. I checked the impulse to grab her and keep her from punching the wall for a third time. Walker had told me that she was angry, but this was fury. Rage.

It was hers.

“All these years,” she gritted out, plowing her hand into the wall again. “I thought my family was perfect.” Another hit. “I thought I had to be perfect for them.”

She was scaring me now. The silent treatment hadn’t been pleasant, but it had been in character. This was something else.

“If I agree to fight you,” I said, eyeing the blood now dripping from her fist, “will you stop hitting the wall?”

Lily let her hand drop to her side and turned to me. “Mama likes for things to be perfect. And Daddy . . .”

She couldn’t finish that sentence.

“I was mad at you for them, Sawyer.” She shook her head. “But now? I think I’m mad for me.” She swallowed hard, bringing her hand up and resting a bloody knuckle against her mouth. “You didn’t even give me the chance to choose you. And maybe I wouldn’t have. Maybe you were right not to trust me, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

She turned back to the wall. Her entire body shook, then tensed.

“I’m not good at trusting people,” I said. My voice came out ragged and low. “That’s not your fault. This whole situation? It’s not your fault, and it’s not mine. It just is.” I could have left it there, but then she reared back for another hit. “Put your thumb on the outside of your fist when you punch,” I advised. “Otherwise, you’re just asking to break it.”