“Shut up! You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on your ass.”

“Mom? What’re you doin’?” Aria sat up, gazing around the room dazedly. Her eyes alighted on Ryan, who hung his head remorsefully. Looking down, she pulled her shirt across her exposed chest.

I couldn’t bear to look at my little girl, or whatever she was now. I yanked an afghan off the back of the sofa and tossed it to her. She covered herself and began rearranging her clothes.

“Were you drinking?” I demanded.

“No . . .” she lied, giggling self-consciously.

“It’s all my fault,” Ryan pleaded. “Please don’t blame Aria. I’m the one who got the wine out—”

I silenced him with a glare, then turned it on my daughter. “I can’t believe you, Aria. Your father is going to tan your hide good and . . . I don’t even know what he’ll do. Ground you for life, if you’re lucky.” Then I aimed a shaking finger at Ryan. “And you, you piece of shit, never touch my daughter again or I’ll set Owen on you. And I assure you, boy, once he’s done with you, there won’t be anything left to bury.”

Hauling Aria up the stairs, her one arm limp around my neck, the other clinging to the railing, I wondered what exactly had happened. She was clearly too intoxicated to know what she was doing. Had Ryan plied Aria with alcohol, then taken advantage of her? Would Aria even remember anything tomorrow?

If I told Owen, God knows what he’d do to Ryan—nothing he didn’t deserve, though. He’d want to kill the boy. Hell, I’d probably help him. But the last thing Aria needed was a circus erupting over this. Maybe she had consented, even though technically she wasn’t over the age of consent. Though I couldn’t wrap logic around that. As far as I knew, Aria had never even kissed a boy. She certainly wouldn’t indiscriminately sleep with one.

As I reached the top step, the growing headache sliced through my temples, as if my brains were tumbling around inside my skull. Too many jumbled thoughts. Too many scenarios to sort through. I just hoped my baby girl would still be my baby girl come morning.

Chapter 10

Lily

MONDAY MORNING

Two fifty-one. That was the time the clock displayed in blazing neon green. I had to be at work in five hours, an insomniac teaching clients about self-care. The drooping gray skin under my eyes sure as hell wouldn’t be inspiring my clients’ confidence if I didn’t fall asleep soon.

It was almost three in the morning and my wide-awake brain was kicking my ass tonight. I stared at my bedroom ceiling where cracks meandered across the peeling paint, my thoughts blurry from the mixture of residual alcohol, guilt, and the painkillers I had just swallowed.