Mandy flusters a bit and shrugs her shoulders, her eyes flickering back to me. “I’m guessing Dean told you?”

Just the mention of his name makes me flush. “It’s all over Facebook. You changed your relationship status to ‘single’ and have been posting sad, depressing quotes every few hours.”

“Helps me cope. So, you’re saying he didn’t mention anything about it?”

Something in my chest pitches and my cheeks flare with heat. “I didn’t say that.”

“I figured as much,” Mandy says flatly, turning back to the kitchen to sort through the food. “He said you had a connection. A bond. He said you were both forced to do fucked up shit.”

Oh, God.

Bile rises up my esophagus, and I choke it back down. “I-It’s complicated.”

“He said that, too.” Mandy spins around, holding out something wrapped in tinfoil. “Two steak tacos, no cilantro.”

I swallow, taking a few more hesitant steps toward my sister, and reach for the tacos. “Thank you.”

Her smile is strained. Forced. Mandy unwraps one of her tacos and takes a bite, nodding her head at Jude and Penny curled up in the corner. “What made you get two dogs?” she asks, swiping a dollop of sour cream from her lip. “Protection?”

I set my food down on the kitchen island, feeling too queasy to eat. “Companionship, I guess. I planned on getting a dog before… well, before everything happened.” I scratch the back of my head. “They’re the dogs that were confiscated from his property.”

Mandy pauses mid-chew. “That psycho’s property? You adopted your kidnapper’s dogs?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s fucked up, Cor.” She resumes her chewing and hops up onto my table, swinging her legs back and forth. “You seem to be having a hard time letting go of the things that connect you to that basement.”

Her eyes cut to me, knowing and pointed. She’s not just referring to the dogs. I slink back like the coward I am. “It’s not like that. They needed a home, and I needed a distraction from the pain.”

“There’s a million other dogs out there you could have taken.”

Pretty sure she’s still not talking about the dogs.

Shit.

“Mandy…”

She hops off the table. “Your food is getting cold.”

I watch my sister parade around the kitchen, pulling a wine glass from the cabinet and digging through my refrigerator. I feel hysterical tears stabbing just beneath the surface, ready to blow. I gather a slow, calming breath, trying so hard to rein in my fear and nerves and guilt as Mandy saunters back over with a full glass of wine. She leans forward against the kitchen island, elbows to countertop, facing me as I stand behind the opposite side.

I wring my hands together as she stares at me over the rim of her glass. There is only a small kitchen island between us, but it feels like a continent. “I appreciate you stopping by with dinner. That was nice of you.” God, I’m pathetic.