My eyes follow her gaze.

“Nate,” she whispers, just as he comes into my vision.

But the man before me isn’t the Nate DeLuca I’ve always seen.

There’s no calm in his eyes.

No intimidation in his stance.

His cap’s pulled low, his hoodie covering it.

His arms are at his sides, one hand loosely gripping his gun.

I pull Madison behind me, my heart thumping against my chest.

DeLuca steps closer, wiping his face with his sleeve.

I think it’s sweat, but the closer he comes, the clearer I see him.

His body shakes, his hand trembling as he wipes at the tears filling his eyes.

I hear Tiny’s voice. “Boss Man, don’t do this.”

Madison’s grip on the back of my shirt tightens.

She lets out a sob.

DeLuca’s movements are slow.

Or so it seems.

Then he lifts the pistol and aims at my head.

He takes the final steps to get to me.

I should move.

I should do something.

Anything.

He’s two feet in front of me now—his gun still pointed.

His chest heaves with each shaky breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Madison releases my shirt.

I feel her move next to me.

His gaze switches to her.

Then he blinks.

Once.

Twice.

He speaks.

“Get in the fucking car, Bailey.”

Jackson: It’s Madison.

Jackson: She’s not who she says she is.

Epilogue

I REFUSE TO look at Doctor Aroma when I ask, “You said your parents were on crack?”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“Were you serious?”

“No, Ky. It was a metaphor. They’re just loopy.”

“My parents were on crack. No metaphor.” I uncross my arms and look around her office.

“They your parents?” I ask, looking at the framed picture of her in a graduation gown with an older couple.

“Yes.”

“I could have been you,” I mumble.

“What do you mean?”

“I found my birth dad. He’s straight edge. I could’ve gone to college, got a degree. I could have been you.”

“And why don’t you think you turned out that way?”

“Like I said, my parents were on crack.”

“And it affected you how?”

“I’m allowed to be bitter, right?” I ask, ignoring her question.

“You’re allowed to feel however you want to feel, Ky.”

“As long as it’s not angry?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because it leads me here.”

“To my office?”

“No.” I look back at her. “To the edge of destruction.”