Ahh, shit, Walter thinks, immediately followed by Why are you telling me? “I’m so sorry,” he says, unable to think of anything else. Shawn’s body is curled forward, his muscles clenched so tightly that Walter can feel the tension from across the porch. He wishes that he hadn’t brought it up, had let Nicki or Finn tell him later. Anything to avoid this precise moment. When Shawn does look at him, there is a desperation in his eyes that Walter has never seen before, not even during his first months at Victor Street when he was still basically feral, waiting for things to fall apart at any moment, with Kate the only thing standing between him and life back on the rails. And then suddenly Walter knows exactly why Shawn is telling him – because he can’t tell Kate.

Walter touches Shawn’s shoulder, and a sudden jolt travels through his hand and up his arm as he realizes Shawn is shaking. Oh god, is he crying? But it is just Shawn’s leg bouncing against the railing. Walter wonders if he should hug him, but decides against it. “It will all be okay,” he says. It’s not much, but it’s all he has.

“Thanks,” says Shawn. He stares out into the yard.

Walter keeps his hand on Shawn’s shoulder until the cab pulls into the driveway and the driver honks the horn. Even after he takes his hand away, the quivering reverberates in his palm, all that pain and confusion and frustration transferring from Shawn’s body to Walter’s. From son to father. But the moment has passed, and it’s too late to say it.

All he can do is hope that Shawn was able to feel it, too.

SEVENTEEN

With Ross strapped into the passenger seat beside her, Finn drives her father’s truck to Barkley’s. It’s the only place she can think of to look for Dallas. The bar is empty, except for Marv sitting on a stool nursing a Crystal and a fat lip, and Alyssa behind the bar taking inventory with a clipboard tucked under her arm, a purplish bruise spreading across her cheek, two bands of medical tape wrapped around the middle and index fingers of her left hand. She puts the clipboard down when she sees Finn and Ross, staring at them for a moment, her eyes narrowing.

“Well, hey there,” she says finally, coming out from behind the bar and putting her hands on her hips. “Who’s this little guy?”

“This is Ross,” says Finn, pushing him forward. She doesn’t know if Ross performs well with strangers. She has a feeling he doesn’t.