His throat hitched, and wild tears threatened to rain from his eyes. He stopped speaking, pressed his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose, and pinched, keeping them at bay. “I love you, and I love Dad. I came to see you all the time, even when I was in college, even when I had leave from the army. I’m the one. I came here. I saw you. And I have been a messed-up son-of-a-bitch most of my life because of this. Please, I’m begging you. Tell me something.”

She parted her lips and bit nervously on her thumbnail. Her eyes welled up. She dug into her thumb then whispered. “Ry,” she said, like a fearful creature. “They told me not to say a word about anything. That’s why I gave it to you. To get rid of it. To hide it.”

He knit his brow. “Who? Who told you not to say a word?”

“Those men.”

“Why didn’t you just have me throw it out?”

She glanced from side to side then under the table, as if she were sweeping the room for spies. Leaning across, she lowered her volume even more. He practically had to read her lips. “I thought I’d gotten rid of that stuff already. But then the cops came, and I still had it, and I couldn’t have you throwing out something the cops might think was evidence,” she said, her lips quivering. “I didn’t want to put that on you, or make you responsible for that. I had you keep it knowing no one would ever look inside my sewing pattern.”

His chest burned with shame. He’d been played a fool by his own mother. But why? What was she so afraid of? “Why did you have it in the first place? Why did you put their addresses in there?” he asked, pressing on like a cross-examiner.

She twisted a strand of her hair, back and forth, tight against her skull. “They were just my notes. That was all. They were notes about who I was meeting, and I was taking on so much extra sewing work to pay off my debt, so I wrote things down on my patterns.”

“But this wasn’t on a pattern. It was in a pattern.”

“I know,” she said through gritted teeth. “But I didn’t want anyone to know I was meeting them.” She dropped her forehead in her hands and hissed, “About the drugs. And I told you why. I wanted to try to stay clean about the drugs in case I ever got out, and I fought so hard to have my conviction overturned.”

He drew a deep breath. “You put their addresses in a pattern because you were meeting them about drugs, Mom? C’mon. Why would you do that?”

Her jaw was set hard. “I told you. I wanted to keep you all safe from them. I had to protect my babies. I had to.”

“So you put the info on Stefano’s accomplices in a pattern to fucking protect us? You told me not to say anything about the drugs because you were trying to get out of here, but then you hid their addresses in a pattern. Something doesn’t add up.”

She flinched, but didn’t answer, then brushed something unseen off her shoulder. Fuck. This was spiraling again.

“Or was there something else going on? Did they have something else on you?” he asked, grasping at straws, but hell, he had to try something. Because it made no sense why she would need to shield all those names so badly.

She covered her eyes. “I was scared. That’s why I hid the info. That’s why I didn’t want anyone to know the addresses and who I was meeting.”

“Why? What did they have on you? Why were you so afraid of them? What did you have to hide? What was so important about those names that you asked me to hide this pattern? Because if it was that goddamn important, it sounds like it was more than drugs. It sounds like you gave me your own notes to plan a murder. Is that what it was? Was this your goddamn blueprint that you gave me?”

“No!” She raised her voice—the same tone she’d admonished him with when he was a kid. “That is the truth. I put their addresses in there because I needed to remember them. That’s all.”

But the dots didn’t connect. He pressed on. “Were you meeting them to plan the murder of my father?”

“I told you, I didn’t do it,” she said in a whispered shout. “I told you I didn’t kill him. Are you ever going to believe me?”

“I know you didn’t pull the trigger, Mom. Everyone knows that,” he said, exasperated, as he scrubbed his hand over his chin. “But you’ve told me other things that have turned out not to be true. So I want to know this—were T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson working with Stefano? Were they his accomplices?”

She said nothing.

“Were you? Were you working with these men?”

She gripped the edge of the table, her eyes like glassy pools of desperation. “I didn’t do it. I told you I didn’t do it.”

“Were you involved?” he continued, a dog with a bone, not willing to relent. “Like the cops say you were. Like the state of Nevada says you were.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Wear her down. Just fucking wear her down. “Did you hire Jerry Stefano to kill my father? Did you? Did you hire him and plan it with those three guys? Did you go to their houses and plan the crime down to every last detail with the broker, and the shooter, and the goddamn getaway driver? Did you kill him for his life insurance money like they put you in Stella McLaren for?” he asked, his voice rising with each question.

He ran his hands through his hair, tugging hard on it because he was at the end of his rope, but he couldn’t let go. “Don’t you understand what this has done to me? I don’t trust people. I don’t believe people. I don’t get close to people. Because of this. Because of what happened,” he said, trying a new approach. Go for the heart. Try to pierce that damn organ in her. “But Mom, I finally met someone. Okay? I finally met a woman and, my God, I am in love with her, and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” He softened momentarily as he thought of his sweet, sexy Sophie. He’d come so far with her, she’d shown him so much, and she’d opened so many possibilities in his life and helped him feel wonderful, amazing, incredible things. He hated the prospect of sling-shotting back to who he was before—closed off, shut down, and obsessed.

“I need some clarity, for once. I need it so I can have a normal life with the woman I love. Don’t you want that for me? Don’t you want me to be happy? Because I do, Mom. I want it so damn badly that I’m here, asking you to just tell me the truth.”

He waited. Seconds passed, spooling into minutes as Dora sat like a statue. Finally she broke her frozen stance, uncrossing her arms, and jerking her head away.

He threw up his hands. This was a lost cause. He was getting nowhere. Sophie was right. He’d have to find the answers in himself, because he wasn’t getting them from his mother. He pushed back in his chair and stood up to leave. He bent his head to his mom, and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mom, but I need to go,” he whispered.

She grabbed his wrists, her bony fingers circling them. Her hands were papery and rough. “Do you love her?” she asked.

“Yes. So much.”

She exhaled. Deeply. It sounded like relief. “I’m happy for you, baby.”

“Me, too.”

“All I want is for you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She gripped his hands tighter. “They told me they’d hurt you all.” Her voice was just a thread. “They told me they’d come after my babies if I said a word.”

He blinked. Holy shit. She was talking. He leaned closer, resting his chin on her head. “Said a word about what, Mom?” he asked, anticipation weaving a dangerous path through his blood.

“I tried to stop it.”

“Did you start it?”

A nod. He felt the barest hint of a nod of her head against his. Holy shit. “I’m telling you this now because I love you. Because you said you need this to be happy. And all I’ve ever wanted is for my babies to be happy. But they made me go through with it, Ry. And that’s why I did it. I did it for all of you,” she said, and then the words rained down. “Please don’t stop seeing me; please don’t stop coming. I went through with it because I had no choice. They told me they’d hurt you if I didn’t go through with it.”