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“Lina—”

“Don’t” She stared at him, and he saw, in that instant that felt like an eternity, he saw that she hated him It hurt Sweet Jesus above, it hurt

“I used to watch the ‘Brady Bunch’ reruns when I was a kid” She bit her lip and looked past hiain “It used to make me cry That silly, stupid sitcom used to make me cry”

Francis understood Even as a child, she’d wanted that sense of faiven it to her They’d wanted to protect her with their silence, but it had only hurt her more “I’m sorry, Lina”

She gave a bitter, trilling laugh “Yeah, well, so a it over her shoulder, she pushed past him and headed for the door

He lurched to his feet “Lina, wait—” He kneasn’t the right thing to say, that there was no right thing left, and the words echoed in the roo silence

She gave him a hard, cold look “What for?”

Heat hih those hurt blue eyes Gently he took her face in his hands, brushed the tears aith his thumbs “I love you, Lina Always remember that”

“Yeah, sure you do” Her voice broke “You and Mom both love me But neither of you will tell me the truth”

Lina screeched to a stop in front of Save, sprawling, well-lit face invited her in She tossed her bike into the bushes

Exciteer and heartbreak She needed that excitement now, needed another emotion to sweep her up, e to erase the last of the useless tears With the touch, she knew she had no mascara left on her eyelashes, kneas all on her cheeks in a caked, blue-black son Cherry” blusher o streaks of war paint on either side of the blurred mascara

Yeah, she had to look hot

Sniffing, Lina jerked her chin up and narrowed her eyes Just let so, she wished they would

She didn’t even care enough to call him A lousy seven numbers, fifteen minutes out of her day …

And Francis, the closest thing to a dad she’d ever known, betraying her I can’t tell you his name