vehicle he
supposedly could not afford. “She probably files parking tickets.”
My mother lifted her wine glass, her eyes flashing with malice. “You’re useless, Peyton. Just like that pathetic old man rotting in the shed.”
The dining room went completely dead silent.
“What did you say?”
Her smug smile slipped, but only for a fraction of a second. “It was a joke, calm down.”
I stood up so quickly my heavy dining chair struck the hardwood floor with a deafening crack. My father immediately stepped out of his seat, blocking the back door. “Peyton, sit down.”
I looked at his hand resting tightly on the deadbolt. Then I looked at the fresh mud caked onto Wyatt’s designer boots. Then at the brand-new security camera positioned above the kitchen window—deliberately angled toward the backyard instead of the front driveway.
“You moved him outside,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a
