Jack grabbed Riley, who was now screaming for real while the dog raced in shrill, yipping circles around them. Jack pulled her to his chest. “It’s okay. I won’t let him get near you again. I promise.” He stroked her tangled hair. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”

An unwieldy mix of rage, resentment, and disgust churned inside Dean. This chaos was what currently passed for his life. He came to his feet. Riley clutched Jack’s shirt, gulping for air and trying to talk, but too hysterical to frame the words. The revulsion in Jack’s face gave Dean a queer kind of satisfaction. That’s right. It’s all out in the open now. And right back atcha.

“Get out of here,” Jack said.

Dean wanted to punch him, but Riley still had a death grip on Jack’s shirt. She finally found her voice. “It wasn’t—He’s not—It’s all my fault! Dean saw the—the knife.”

Jack caught her head in his hands. “What knife?”

“I got it…from the kitchen.” She hiccupped.

“What were you doing with a knife?” Jack raised his voice over the noise of the barking dog.

“I was—It was—”

“She was afraid.” Dean wanted the words to fester, but Riley let it all tumble out.

“I woke up and there wasn’t anybody in the house, and I was scared…”

Dean didn’t stay to listen but headed for his bedroom. His shoulder already ached from his fight with Ronnie, and he’d just landed on it again. Two fights in one night. Brilliant. The barking stopped as he popped a couple of Tylenol. He stripped off his clothes, got in the shower, and turned the water on as hot as he could tolerate.

Jack was waiting in the bedroom when he came out. The house was quiet. Riley and Puffy had presumably been tucked in for the night. Jack tilted his head toward the hall. “I want to talk to you. Downstairs.” Without waiting for a response, he left.

Dean threw off his towel and tugged a pair of jeans over his damp legs. It was way past time to have this out.

He found Jack in the empty living room, his fingers stuffed in his back pockets. “I heard her screaming,” he said, gazing out the window. “It looked bad.”

“Hell, I’m just glad you finally got around to remembering you left her alone. Good job, Jack.”

“I know when I fuck up.” Jack turned, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m feeling my way with her, and sometimes I get it wrong—like tonight. When that happens, I do my best to fix it.”

“Admirable. Very admirable. I’m humbled.”

“You never did anything wrong in your life?”

“Hell, yes. I threw seventeen interceptions last season.”

“You know what I mean.”