“No. You misunderstood.” I shake my head and scoot toward the ladder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He wanted you all to stay together. Frank knew his kids needed to have both of their parents all the time. That’s what I want for Abi.”

“Shut up.” I don’t bother to wipe away my tears. I have to get away from here—away from his poisonous words—as fast as I can. I race down and slip on the last rung. Pain is a hot spike driving up my leg and radiating out around my ankle.

I fall to the ground, clutching my ankle, and roll to the side.

Easton is next to me in a flash. “Shay, look at me. Tell me what hurts.”

I must have screamed when I landed, because I hear the soft thud of feet coming across grass from the house. “Is she okay?” It’s Carter. “Shay, what’s wrong? Is it your ankle?”

It’s my heart. “I landed wrong,” I say, avoiding Easton’s gaze, even though I feel it on me so intensely it burns.

“Here, let me help you up.” Carter slides a hand under my shoulder and hauls me to my feet. I gasp the second I try to put weight on the bad ankle. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“No. I just need ice. I’m fine.”

Easton goes to the side opposite Carter. I don’t want Carter to ask questions, so I don’t deny his help.

Carter asks anyway. “What were you two doing up there?” Ever the protective big brother.

“Just talking,” Easton says. He reaches forward to open the door, and I hobble inside, letting them half carry me to the couch. “I’ll grab some ice,” he says when I sit, then he disappears in a rush to the kitchen.

Carter reaches around me to pull the lever on the reclining sofa to elevate my feet.

“What happened?” Jake asks.

“She fell out of the treehouse,” Carter says.

I smack my brother’s arm. “I didn’t fall out. I missed a couple of rungs on the ladder and landed wrong.” The sharp pain has subsided to a dull, throbbing ache. “It’s just twisted. I’ll be fine.”

Easton returns with a bag of ice and apology all over his face. His eyes are hazy. He’s drunk. He probably didn’t have any idea what he was talking about before. My dad has never loved anyone but my mom. He wouldn’t—

My stomach lurches. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Jake grabs an empty popcorn bowl off the end table and shoves it in front of me before the three beers I’ve had tonight rise from my throat and splash into the bowl in a nasty cocktail of alcohol and stomach acid.

“I’m so sorry, Shay,” Easton says. I can’t look at him.