Page 153 of Tormented

“That’s nice of you two.” I smile at the picture. One for the fridge. “Who’s your friend? He from playgroup?”

Three days a week, Abbey takes him for a few hours at our local community center so Leyton has a chance to work on his social skills.

My boy shakes his head, shuffling closer until his legs rest against my side. “No.”

“Do I know him?”

His icy-blue eyes harden, and he frowns. “Maybe.”

“Where does he live?” If it’s one of the neighborhood kids, I’ll get Abbey to take him over for a play more often.

“Up here.”

The picture crumples in my hands as my angel, the fucking light in my dark, lifts his pudgy hand and taps a finger square to his temple.

Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it . . .?

My devil hangs his coat on the hook, and dusts off his desk with a smile on his face.

And all I can do is cry.