Chapter 11: Bree's POV

Bree's POV

I lasted two days.

I worked both of them, one at the shop and one on the rig with a replacement partner who talked about his lawn.

Hank had traded onto another crew without saying a word to me, and I understood why.

On Sunday night, I drove to his house and sat in the truck outside it for ten minutes.

It was a small gray ranch with a plastic bike on the lawn and a light on over the porch.

I got out and knocked.

He opened the door in a T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, with a dish towel over his shoulder.

He looked tired.

"Bree."

"Is your daughter here?"

"At my mother's till tomorrow."

"Can I come in?"

He stepped back without a word and let me through.

The kitchen was warm and smelled like onions, and there was a school drawing of a pink dragon taped to the refrigerator.

I stopped in front of it.

The dragon had wings with feathers.

"She says it's a design choice," Hank said behind me.

I almost smiled.

"I'm not here to forgive you," I said. "I want that clear."

"Okay."

"I'm here because I've had two days to think."

I made myself keep my voice flat.

"The thing I keep coming back to is that you told me the ugly part to my face when you could have let it sit. That counts for something."

"It doesn't count for enough."

"I know. It counts for something."

He leaned against the counter and waited.

"But I didn't come only for that," I said. "Something's wrong, and you know what it is."

He did not answer.

"You've been holding it for two days. I can see it on you."

He drew a long breath.

"I went to Gus," he said. "Then I went to the cabin. Misty was there, drunk."

"Hank."

"She said Travis has been paying her to keep quiet. About Danny."