Layne Fargo

Kinnear has never looked at me like this—really looked at me. In all the years I’ve known him, eye contact was always a brief stopover on the way to ogling my tits, my ass. Reducing me to parts. This wild-eyed fear is the closest thing to respect he’s ever paid me.

He’s a boy, and he’ll never become a man. Because in a few more minutes, he’ll be dead.

I can’t imagine feeling anything but relief at saying goodbye to my father.