“And I don’t want you asking in a vague, prideful, I’ll-ask-if-I’m-desperate way. I’m serious, sweetheart. If you need anything, you ask before it’s an issue. Lawyers. Food. Toothpaste. Whatever.”
Something pulls tight in my chest, because I know this is love, and I know he’s trying to help. I also know that needing help still sits wrong inside me after years of being made to feel like every need was another burden that I shouldn’t place on anyone.
“I know,” I say again, softer this time.
Dad hears the difference, and so does Mayhem, and so does Locke. His tattooed hand settles briefly against the outside of my thigh, not claiming attention, not announcing itself, just there.
“Good,” Dad says. “Now tell me why you two were standing outside my door, whispering like you’re about to ask p
