Don Juan set the empty glass down and laid down next to Hudson on the bed, nestling into the crook below his arm. He took another long breath. "I want her to be better than me," he muttered. The way he phrased it didn't sound selfish, but maybe deep down it partly was. He held on to a lot of guilt for people he'd hurt throughout his life; he didn't want to drown under the weight of having ruined her life, too. And whatever people said about her having been abandoned, or what she'd lacked by not having a father growing up — he was entirely sure she was better off than she would have been if she'd been depending on him for anything in the last decade.

"I made her cry," he admitted quietly. "When she found me."

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