He wanted to turn in his chair and hug her and never let her go. Instead, he sucked in an involuntary breath when her arms settled over his injured form.

Why was she still so understanding? Even if he’d done it for her, and for everyone else, he’d done it for himself too. He’d wanted to kill him, and he wasn’t even sure anymore if his desire was borne of the want to help, or if the want to help came after.

The action was still the same, and if actions were all that mattered? He wished he knew where that left him.

“You shouldn’t be- apologizing to me.” Malachi sounded strained. His hand lifted to rest on Nettie’s arm, light as could be. “I killed him. I killed him, and I lied about it, and I was glad to see him die. And I–”

God how he wished that he could cry.

“I miss him. I haven’t known what to do since then – look at me. I don’t know what to do without him.”