A tender sadness filled her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s one reason why I avoid going anywhere local when I come here to visit Grace and Charlie. I don’t want to run into my parents. When I see my mom, I want to kill my dad.” He looked up. “Like, I scare myself with that feeling. That feeling like I could actually kill someone.”

She frowned. “Ash.”

“No, I’m serious.” He held her stare. “It makes me feel no better than those assholes who put guns in our faces at prom. Something made them that angry. I don’t like knowing I’m capable of that kind of violence.”

“You’re not,” she said adamantly. “You have every right to feel rage. Your dad has earned that. But you’re nothing like Trevor or Joseph. You just love your mom and want to protect her. That’s a natural instinct.”

He laced his fingers behind his neck and exhaled.

“But sometimes it’s not up to you to save someone else,” Kincaid said. “I learned that with my mom. People have to make their own choices, even if they’re mistakes. You do what you can, but it’s not your job to make that choice for them.”

Something changed in Ash’s expression, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Right.”

“Because then the person you’re trying to save will just blame you for taking their choices away.” She sipped her drink. “If you got rid of your dad, your mom would hate you for it.”

Ash’s skin was paler then she’d ever seen it.

She slid a container of potato salad toward him. “Eat. You look terrible.”

Ash stared at her for a moment longer, a haunted look in his eyes, and then he looked down at his plate. He hardly said anything for the rest of the meal.

Twenty-Three

The lights in the restaurant dimmed, signaling the kitchen had shut down. Ash and Kincaid remained at their table as the restaurant transitioned fully into late-night mode. The mason jars of banana pudding sat empty in front of them. He’d lost track of how long they’d been here, but he would not leave before his parents did. He would not run.

That had been Ash’s first instinct when he’d seen his dad tonight, the old habit like an automatic reflex. He wanted to run. Out the door. Out of this town. Out of the whole damn state. The only thing that had snapped him out of it was seeing Kincaid’s face. Having her there by his side, defending him, had stopped him.

Leaving town meant leaving her.

His father didn’t get a say in that. He would not give his father the power to chase him off from someone he cared about, someone who made him happy. He’d always thought of Long Acre as his parents’ hometown, but fuck that, it was his, too. Why should he be the one made to feel uncomfortable? Unwanted? He wasn’t the one beating his wife. He was here loving someone.

Loving someone he was lying to.