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He didn’t look like he’d slept either. His hair was sticking up, like he’d been grabbing at it. Unlike Cross, my brother had pulled on some sweats that rested on his hips, and like Cross, he was also shirtless. His tattoos seemed to stand out more this morning for some reason. It might’ve been my concussion. Everything was brighter, more detailed, more blinding.
The scowl on my brother’s face was almost more glowering than I remembered last night.
Then, because I had to address him, I lifted my gaze and felt another piercing effect. His eyes were on me, searing me, looking into me. They were warm. Sparkling. Almost glittering. And he was looking me all over, tracing my face, looking down, taking in my toes, sweeping back up, and as he did, I warmed under the scrutiny. I didn’t know why.
Yes, you do.
I paused, hearing my own voice mixed with my mother’s voice whispering in my head.
She/I was right.
Me and Dad. That’s how it’d been for so many years.
Mom was gone. Channing was gone. It’d been him and me. There’d been bad years, but there’d been good, too.
My throat swelled up, remembering that last night so many years ago.
In my room.
Hearing his footsteps going to bed.
Feeling that guy with me, hoping, praying, needing a miracle that he would check on me, and then he did. But he didn’t open the door.
I needed him to open the door.
Then his hands, and his words when he did come in, after I stabbed the guy, and after I was getting ready to finish the job.
“Bren.”
I forgot he said that.
I rocked back, almost falling until a hand touched my arm. Cross. His strength moved through me, and I clung to it, remembering. I was allowing myself to remember.
I was straddling the guy, already stabbing him.
Then, a hand to my arm. My dad. He was so gentle at that moment.
“Bren. Sweetheart.” He drew me off of him, setting me on my feet, while at the same time taking my knife in his own hand. He moved, touching my shoulders and guiding me to the door. “Go, Bren. I don’t want you to see this.”
He thought I went to the door.
He thought I left.
And he turned, the guy had made a gurgling sound.
My dad didn’t look to make sure I was gone. He just knelt and finished what I’d been about to do.
It all hit me right then, all at the same time.
I’d forgotten what he said exactly, and the aftermath, how he saw I hadn’t left, but he wasn’t mad. He took a deep breath, the sound of both of us panting in that quiet room, sounding like deafening echoes to my eardrums.
He crossed the room, took the phone, and dialed 9-1-1. He held it to me, saying, “You should be the one to call.” He nodded to the guy. “I’m the one who did it all. Not you. Got that?”
I swallowed all those emotions as I was brought back to the present, feeling tears threatening to fall. I said, my voice shaking and in a whisper, “Hi, Dad.”
“No.”
Channing broke the tense silence that had fallen over the room.
He moved forward. “No. This is enough. You came here? To her house? Just go.” He rubbed between his eyes. “We will come to you. I’ll bring her to you.”
Derrick.
I was going to use his first name because it felt wrong to call him Dad. He wasn’t, not really, not anymore.
Derrick turned to him, a gleam of pain tightening his features, but he masked it. His jaw clenched, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down. “Channing—”
“Don’t Channing me either. You’re here for her, not for me…and by the way, are you actually here for her? I had a word with her boss yesterday. He filled me in a whole bunch about Red Demon activity. Your timing is suspect—”
Derrick glanced my way but didn’t say anything.
Well, leave it to me because I would say what I needed to. “I called him. Channing—”
“No.” Channing looked my way. His eyes were burning, blazing. “I knew you would, Bren. He knew you would because that’s who you are. You handle things eventually, but I told him.” He swung back to Derrick. “I told you to call me before even thinking of heading her way. I told you.”
“I know.”
Channing tipped his chin up, his anger radiating off of him in waves. “Then why are you here?”
Derrick held his hand in the air, then he blinked a few times. The side of his mouth flattened, and he swallowed again. “I’m—she called me, Channing. My daughter called me. You’ll understand one day, too. I came. I didn’t want to give you the chance to stop me. I—” He swung his hand toward me in an almost helpless gesture. “She called me. It’s been years since I’ve seen her, and she called me. Me, dammit.”
