Once Bryant tells me about what the lawyer said, his behavior since leaving the lawyer's office starts to make sense. Being here for Bryant through all of this is one thing. I know my dad was wrong for doing what he did, but knowing is one thing; testifying against him is something else.

"Are you asking me to?" I ask Bryant because I'm not doing this if it isn't something Bryant is asking me to do.

He cringes when my question lands on his ears, and he gives me an apologetical look.

"If there were any other way, I wouldn't be," he tells me.

"But you are?" I ask him.

I don't know why it's so important to get his confirmation, but testifying against my dad is something I don't want to do. It's something that, if I'm honest, scares the shit out of me. I thought I knew what the man was capable of before he had Bryant's dad attacked in jail. That kind of pull is something I never would have imagined.

"They won't move him otherwise," Bryant says, "I'm sorry. You have to believe me when I say this is something I don't want to be doing, but yes, I'm asking."

Bryant apologizing means he knows how messed up it is to ask me to do this. He's one of the few people who knows everything I've gone through with my dad, so he's one of the few people to truly understand how difficult it would be for me to take a stand against the man. But, Bryant has his back to a wall here. He has for months, maybe years, and it's my dad who forced him into this corner. Cornered animals bite.

That said, I don't turn eighteen until next month. I know it's a selfish thing to be concerned about, but what happens to me when my dad finds out I've agreed to testify against him. What happens when he's arrested? The state doesn't just let minors live on their own, right?

"What will happen if I do agree to testify?" I ask him.

He narrows his eyes at me, but he seems more confused than angry. His reaction tells me he probably hasn't given it much thought beyond getting his dad moved.

"Where do you and I go when he gets arrested?" I ask, "they don't let people stay in mansions when the rent doesn't get paid."

His eyebrows raise in shock.

"That's something you're concerned about?" he asks me with some emotion in his words I can't place.

"Having a place to sleep is. I'm not saying there necessarily, but somewhere with running water would be nice," I tell him, "it's not just that though."

"He'll die, Kyle. I don't want to put this on your shoulders any more than you want it put there, but that's where it is. If we don't get my dad out of that jail, they'll kill him," Bryant says.

He's right, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not surprised to realize I'm perfectly willing to believe my dad would order a hit on someone just because Bryant told me about my dad blackmailing him to sell drugs for him.

"I'll find a way to pay you back for it," he says, "I know he's your dad, and I know you have love for him, but please do this anyway. I wouldn't be asking if there were any other way."

He wouldn't be. The fact that he's even asking tells me there's no other way here. He's not a person to ask for help, and after getting to know him more, I'm starting to understand why he doesn't ask people for help. He expects people to say no when he asks. That's why he looked so crushed when he walked out of the lawyer's office. Is his mind, my agreeing to help him is more of a hail Mary than anything.

"I don't have love for him," I admit, all of the love I had for my father went out the window when my mom left.

"I'm not saying no. I'm just saying we need to think about this practically. Where do you and I end up if he's arrested?" I ask.

"I don't care where we end up."

That's the truth of it too. He doesn't care. He doesn't care where he ends up. That much has been made abundantly clear by his choice to help my dad. If he cared where he ended up enough to prioritize that over his dad, he might have made a different choice when the blackmail first started. I've known for a while he doesn't care what happens to him. I don't know why, but in light of recent events, I thought he might care were I end up.

"All right, I'll do it," I agree.

There wasn't ever a real chance of me saying no. He needs this, and it'll protect his dad—someone who is a far better person than my dad. The only thing I wanted to do before agreeing to it was working out some of the concerns I had with what happens after. Apparently, I won't be doing that with Bryant, so there's no point in discussing it beforehand.

"What?" he asks, appearing as shocked by my willingness to do this as I'd expect him to.

People really haven't helped him out much in life if I were to guess. I nod in response, and I move the food around on my plate with my fork.

"You're mad," he mumbles the words, and when I look up at him, he looks crushed.

"I said I'd do it."

He bites his lip, and he nods.

"I guess that's more than I have any right to ask for," he says.

The truth is, I'm not mad. I'm don't even blame him for asking for me to do this. I can't say I wouldn't be doing the exact same thing if I were in his position. I have no right to be angry at him for asking, and I'm not angry. I thought he might care what the fallout looks like though. If not for himself, I thought he'd care what that would look like for me.

He doesn't, and that doesn't make me angry.

It makes me disappointed.

It's a bone deep disappointment unlike anything I've ever felt in my life. I didn't realize I was so attached to the idea of him and I together. A few kisses here and there don't amount to much, but realizing they don't even amount to him being concerned about the fallout of this is disappointing.

It's so disappointing I feel a lump in the back of my throat, and I have to fight to keep my emotions about it off my face. He doesn't need to be stressing out about me right now.

"I'm not mad," I tell him, reaching out and squeezing his hand, "we'll get through it. It'll be okay."

I find myself trying to comfort him. I don't think he's used to it because his brows crinkle in confusion. I force a smile onto my face even though I'm not feeling too happy at the moment. I know he's not happy about this either. He doesn't want to be asking for my help. I have to remember he's only asking for this because he genuinely needs it.

If he needs my help, I'd rather he ask for it than not. At least he feels comfortable enough to ask, right?

"Thank you, Kyle. I know it's a lot to ask, and I'm sorrier than you know that I have to ask, but thank you."

"S'fine," I mumble, turning my attention out the window next to our table.

My stomach is in knots over the idea of testifying against my father. There's no reasonable explanation for why the thought of following through on this promise makes me feel queasy. My father hasn't laid a hand on me in years, and even if he did, I could probably put up a decent fight against him. That said, he has people on his side in this. If that weren't true, Bryant wouldn't be in this situation.

Bryant called him when Ben Hartley had me in his garage. My dad didn't offer Bryant any help getting me out of that situation. My dad didn't ask me to sell drugs for him. For some reason, he wanted my hands clean, but the thought isn't nearly as comforting as I would think it would be. My dad's protection doesn't go far. If it did, he would have helped Bryant when he knew I was in danger. Truth is, my dad not asking me to sell his product probably has more to do with his reputation than it has to do with anything resembling loyalty to his son.

He's never been an overly affectionate dad. Growing up, I had more interaction with his fist than with him. He's been less volatile since my mom left, but all bets are likely off when I testify in court against him.