“I need to know what you want me to do to help. I want to help.” “Why?” A flash of anger burst in me. White. Hot. Seething. “Why are you still here? You delivered the message. Now go.” His face closed off, but he didn’t stand up. He didn’t back away. He didn’t leave. “GO!” He stood now. A hand went to his jaw. “Dust—” “I’m not Dust to you. That died a long time ago. My mom died, Stone! Your father fired mine so he didn’t have to pay the medical insurance and my mother died so your dad could keep more money in his pockets.” He was backing away now. Flinching as I kept going.
