His eyebrows crumple in confusion. “Yes?”

“Clare being my whole name. And saint being the title?”

His lips twitch, but not like he’s about to shout, “Got you,” and more like he’s worried about my mental well-being. “Yes. That is what you’ve been answering to.”

“My name is St. Clare.”

“I know.”

“Reilly St. Clare.”

The shadow of a smile evaporates, and his face scrunches up. “Reilly?”

“And my brother is Colin St. Clare.”

“Reilly?” His tone inches louder.

“That’s the part you’re stuck on?”

“You don’t look like a Reilly.”

“That doesn’t make it not my name.”

He turns away, lips parted, staring at the cabin like he’s waiting for aliens to jump out of it. Then, his good hand goes to his head. “What is happening right now?”

That, more than anything, makes me laugh. How the fuck is Perry so … Perry.

“You really thought I’d been sainted? Like … like … those old people Catholic schools are named after?”

His eyes widen a little. “Umm … no?”

Another laugh wheezes from me. “I say this with complete and utter sincerity: never change.”

His embarrassment slowly melts away until he’s smiling too. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re endearing.”

When Perry slings his good arm around my shoulders, I let him. “I think I’m scared,” he admits.

Perry and scared aren’t two things I would have put together. “Really?”

“Well, yeah. This is serious shit, and I don’t know how we fix it. Us, your brother, my sister, and Lars. I sort of feel like I’m pulling everyone into this mess, like a black hole, and no one deserves to be here.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t you who did it. Instead of blaming yourself, blame Yanni, Luther, whoever. Not you.”

Because I won’t say it out loud, but Perry is one of those people who have the kind of soul that needs protecting. The kind that sees the best in people. The kind that doesn’t know how not to protect people and look after them.

I like that part of Perry a lot.

“I’ll try.”

My phone starts to ring, breaking up our moment, and Perry quickly pulls his arm back from me.

“I’m going to clean up and wake Lars while you take that.”

I’m about to tell him I don’t want to talk to anyone, but when I pull it out of my pocket, ready to silence it, I see the name Livy Sullivan on the display.

It’s so fucking weird to be on the run for my life and running a business at the same time.

I answer it as Perry leaves. “Hey, Livy, how are you?”