“Which town?”
“Rivervale.”
Raph’s eyes narrowed. “We’re almost there. Twenty minutes.”
“We caught up?”
“They might’ve stopped.”
Wyatt closed his eyes, trying not to think of all the worst-case scenarios. Raph hit the volume button. String music filled the car, followed by piano notes, and two familiar voices.
“I didn’t know Penny recorded us,” Raph said.
The music washed over Wyatt, gave him something to focus on. He listened to Penny and Hazel’s voices, and the lilt of the violin, the accompanying piano notes. Those had been better times, when the four of them had gotten together, Penny working with Hazel to harmonize their voices. And it was beautiful.
Raph reached over, holding Wyatt’s hand. Wyatt stared at his phone, praying that the red dot wouldn’t move, that they’d get there in time to find Hazel unharmed.
The next twenty minutes passed excruciatingly slowly. The red dot still hadn’t moved.
They drove down the exit ramp, turning onto a quiet street with no stoplights, only stop signs at the intersections. The buildings in Rivervale were old, with peeling paint and broken windows. Raph took the phone from Wyatt, zooming in on the map. “They’re close to a gas station. Think we’ll pull up there. That okay with you?”
Hazel was somewhere in this town, with Max. Wyatt hoped she was fine, hoped she wasn’t in pain. He nodded woodenly.
“Duck down when we get there,” Raph said. “Easier when they can’t see you. Send the map to Dad.”
“Okay.” His pulse throbbed. Wyatt tapped shakily on his phone.
They wove past abandoned buildings with boarded-up windows, and park benches with graffiti scrawled over them. Then the gas station came into view a block away, and Wyatt’s heart crashed against his ribs like an animal caged.
“I’m going to pull up real slow,” Raph said, rubbing Wyatt’s back. “How far can you get down?”
With his belly half the size of a basketball, not very much. Wyatt breathed shallowly, his palms sweating against his yoga pants.
“I’m crossing the intersection now,” Raph said. “Turning in. Shit, I see the car. No one in it. Turning around to the back—holy fuck.”
Wyatt’s stomach wrenched. “What?”
Raph cut the engine, flung the car door open. And Wyatt trembled, shaking so hard he couldn’t breathe. He had to look.
At the unloading area behind the gas station, Max had backed Hazel up against a wall, her hair clenched in his hand. He pulled her forward, as though he was going to slam her back into the wall.
“Hazel!” Wyatt cried out, his fingers scrabbling against the car door, his foot finding solid ground.
Raph sprinted, caught Max by the arm, and swung him around. He punched Max hard in the face, slammed him into the building, and punched him again, so Max’s skull cracked against the wall. Raph’s eyes blazed, and he punched Max in the mouth. Then the gut, so Max doubled over, trying to find his bearings.
Wyatt stumbled out of the car, his throat closing. Hazel had yanked herself away from Max. Her eyes were red, large hand prints on her face. Wyatt’s heart cracked. He staggered toward her. Hazel burrowed into his arms, her face crumpling. “Dad!”
“I’m sorry we got here so late, hon,” he whispered, burying his nose in her hair. Her body was small against his, fragile. He pulled them behind Raph, out of Max’s sight.
But maybe Max couldn’t see anyway, when his eyes were squinted shut, and Raph was yanking Max’s head down, slamming his knee into Max’s face. Blood trailed from Max’s nose and mouth; he gripped at Raph’s arms. Raph snarled, flinging him to the ground, stomping on the back of his head.
“That’s for Wy,” Raph growled, the tendons on his neck strained. Then he kicked Max’s face from the side, hard, and there was a sickening crack. “And that’s for Hazel.”
“I think he might—might be dead,” Hazel said, peeking out past Wyatt’s side. Her voice was rough. “People are usually dead in the movies when you bend their necks like that.”
Wyatt’s stomach clenched. Would Raph get into trouble for it?
Raph glowered when he turned, his eyes bright, savage. His chest heaved. He looked between Wyatt and Hazel. “You all right?”
Hazel seemed fine, but how could Wyatt be sure? He stooped, looking her in the eye. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseous? Where do you hurt?”
Hazel shook her head. “I hurt all over. But other than that, I think I’m fine.”
Wyatt hugged her again, pulling her close to himself. Hazel was okay. She was alive and well, and a wave of relief surged over him, sweeping off the weight on his chest. “Gods, I was so worried, Hazel. I thought—I didn’t know what to think. Uncle Sam and Aunt Penny found you on the drive-in’s security footage. We saw Max taking you away.”
Hazel glowered. “He hit me. I wasn’t gonna let him take my phone, so I stuck it under the seat. He wanted to pull over to find it and I kicked his face.”
Wyatt tried not to smile. It was violent. But if Hazel was fending for herself, Wyatt didn’t care what she did, as long as she was safe.
“Your dad was so damn worried.” Raph reached over, his hand bloody. Hazel leaned away from him, and he stopped. “Sorry. I’m still not forgiven, huh?”
She scrunched her face up. “I’m still thinking.”
Wyatt choked down a laugh. Raph had just beaten the life out of Max, and Hazel still hadn’t forgiven him yet. “What would it take, hon?”
“Pancakes.” Hazel sniffed.
Raph snorted. “Fine.”
In the distance, police sirens blared. Wyatt leaned away from Hazel, looking over her arms and legs. Then he pressed down gingerly on her chest and stomach. “Are you sure you don’t hurt?”
She shrugged, wriggling. “I’m okay, Dad.”
Wyatt buried his face in her shoulder, sagging toward
