Fragile Darkness by Ellie James

Dylan squatted by his father and put a hand to his shoulder. “I had Blackie.”
    Jim twisted around, the haunted glint in his eyes locking onto his son.
    â€œI found them by a tree,” he said. “My little man climbed a tree ’cause he wanted to reach for the stars, and fell.”
    Dylan’s mouth twitched, that same ghost of a smile I’d seen so many times before. “The stars were higher than I thought.”
    â€œBroke his leg,” Jim said. “Couldn’t walk so he dragged himself against the biggest tree and his big old Lab laid down in front of him, and they waited.
    â€œI lost it when I saw him,” his father said. “I ran to him and dropped to my knees, and just held on, held on so goddamn tight, because I knew, I finally knew that I couldn’t change what happened to your mama, and if I kept trying, all I’d end up changing was what I still had, what still lay ahead of me.”
    In only a few minutes, Jim had told me more about Dylan than Dylan himself ever had.
    â€œWe do what we can, darlin’,” Jim said, turning to me. “We don’t give up. We embrace each day that we have and live every breath we take.”
    He made it sound so easy.
    So many people avoided talking to me about the big stuff, about Chase and LaSalle and my role in what happened. It was like sweeping dirt under the rug, or slapping paint on a wall. If people didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t real. Or maybe they just didn’t know what to say, or didn’t want to make me relive it all over again.
    But here was this grizzled ex-cop, who’d tracked bad guys, and when he had to, killed them. But beneath all that lay the heart of a man, a father.
    â€œThank you,” I said, but before I could finish Dylan’s phone beeped, and he was pushing to his feet and turning as he stepped toward the dogs.
    A few seconds passed before he turned back to us, the sweep of his hair emphasizing the sudden tension to his face. “I’ve got to go.”
    Jim and I stood at the same time. Father looked to son. Son looked back at father. Something silent and pronounced passed between them, and with a vague tilt of vertigo, I knew there was something they weren’t telling me.
    â€œWhat?” I crossed to him without thinking about what I was doing. I only knew that I needed to know, because it had to do with me. “What’s going on?”
    The phone beeped again. Dylan glanced back down, his hair hiding his eyes.
    Jim moved closer.
    The wind whipped around us, driving home the acute stillness to both Fourcades.
    â€œIt’s about tonight, isn’t it?” Grace had sensed something in the shadows, waiting. Something bad. “Did something happen? Grace said—”
    Dylan looked up, his gaze slashing me to the quick. I could tell he didn’t want to say anything, but I could also tell he knew he didn’t have a choice. “The police are at the theater now. Someone had a knife.”
    My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
    â€œA bunch of kids got hurt before some guys chased him outside and tackled him. Two girls were taken to the hospital.”
    â€œOh, God,” I whispered. “Maybe that’s what I was picking up.” Questions tripped through me. “Do you know who the guy was?” Will? “Who was hurt? Is Grace okay? Kendall? Are they still there?”
    Dylan’s phone beeped again. He looked down, immediately let out a rough breath.
    I rushed forward, taking him by the arm. “What?”
    His eyes met mine, and before he said a word, I knew.
    Whatever was going on, it wasn’t over yet.
    â€œCome on,” he said, reaching for my hand. “We’ve got to go.”
    And then he was running, we both were, toward his father’s truck.
    *   *   *
    The night blurred around us.
    With trees racing by, Dylan drove in silence, his eyes fixed straight ahead, while I sat in