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Before Laurel can answer, Sophie comes down the porch steps with the expression of a woman who's already reached the end of her patience.

"Tom." She says his name the way a school principal might address a teenager caught setting fire to a rubbish bin. "That's enough."

Tom barely spares her a glance. "She can't keep my daughter from me."

"You walked up here drunk and started shouting," Sophie fires back. "If you're trying to make a case for responsible parenting, your timing could use work."

Mick moves off the porch beside her, rubbing a hand across his face. He looks tired in a way no amount of sleep can cure. "You scared Lucy," he says. "Just go home."

Tom lets out a harsh laugh. "I am home."

Mick's mouth purses. "You haven't lived here for years."

The paternal jab does nothing to break the tension.

Ignoring his father, Tom swings around to Laurel, demanding, “Why are you here?”

She stiffens next to me, but her voice is steady when she replies, “For Lucy.”

Tom's gaze keeps moving over her, like he’s picking through details in his alcohol-soaked mind. I can almost see him trying to force the pieces together.

Then he goes still. "You found her."

Laurel doesn't react. She doesn't have to.

A flicker of fear crosses Tom's face before rage sweeps in. "You found her."

The accusation hits harder the second time.

His chest rises faster as he stares at her. "Where is she?"

Laurel folds her arms across her chest. "I'm not discussing Maggie with you."

"The hell you aren't."

He strides toward her.

I step into his path before he gets close enough to make her move. My hand closes around his arm and his momentum dies immediately.

Tom jerks in surprise, glares at me, then tries to pull free. "You want to let go of me."

"No. I don't."

He gives another tug and gets the same result.

Behind me, I hear Laurel pulling out her phone.

Smart woman. Because Tom's getting closer and closer to discovering exactly how much patience I have left.

His face darkens. "You don't know what she's done."

"I know enough," I say quietly.

"You don't know a damn thing."

I don’t bother to respond.

What I do know lives in the memories I can't shake. Maggie checking every doorway when we were in Seattle. Maggie looking over her shoulder whenever his name came up. Maggie carrying herself like a person waiting for bad news to catch up with her.