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“Too young to party, just old enough to participate in federal investigations of serial murder.” Lia let out an elaborate sigh. “Story of my life.”
You like trying different people’s skin on for size. You’re fascinated by the way the mind works, the way it breaks, the way people survive things no one should be able to survive.
I’m not alone, I told myself. I was never really alone.
“You’re good at being there for people,” Dean murmured behind me. “But you don’t have much practice at letting people be there for you.”
“I believe your line is ‘This is why we can’t have nice things.’”
TAYLOR???
“so when I say that you need to put on your big-girl panties and woman up, I mean that in the nicest possible way.”
“You just can’t see it. You don’t understand it. But just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean you get to ignore it. You can’t just pretend the pattern doesn’t exist and hope it goes away.”
“A substantial portion of apologies are issued by people who have nothing to apologize for.”
“Maybe you had a choice. Maybe you didn’t. And afterward,” Lia continued, her voice light and airy, “say you didn’t want to get caught. What do you do?” Seconds ticked by in silence. Dean was the one who provided the answer. He knew Lia better than any of us. “You lie.”
“Don’t,” Judd told her sharply. “Don’t you ever apologize for being what you are.”
just because you ignore something, that doesn’t make it go away.
Pretending something doesn’t matter doesn’t make it matter less.”
We can shed the past. We can dance it off. We can laugh and sing and spin—forever and ever. No matter what.
I was my mother’s daughter.
My mother was a survivor.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,”
Like mother, like daughter—I was a fighter.
I turned, meeting each of the others’ eyes, one by one. Home is the people who love you.
