“I’m saying all the wrong things.” He shakes his head, somewhat sincerely. “But I want to fix this. I do.”
He speaks like his motive is supposed to resonate somewhere deep in the hollow space where my mother’s love used to be. But all I hear is a voice I never knew, offering nothing I need. The truth hits me hard: I don’t need him. I don’t need a father to fill the chasm my mother left behind. Her absence is mine to carry, not to refill with a relationship with the person who was never there in the first place. Yet… for a split second, the words tempt me. Not because they’re good enough, but because they’re hitting a soft spot that still aches like a child.
I’m being forced to choose between living the rest of my life parentless or inviting a stranger to call himself my father. A stranger who had the luxury of choosing distance, while Mom had no option but to stay and love us.
I can’t reward abandonment because he’s suddenly decided to regret it.
Albeit, halfheartedly.
“For all these years, I’ve wondered who you were.” I sniff, watching water drip off his pant leg, onto the floor. “And I will admit, I thought knowing who you were would help take away some of the pain of losing her.”
“I’m not trying to replace Alice,” Harrison says quickly. “But I’m here, if you’ll have me.”
Now that Alice is dead—I need to figure out what to do with her girls. They’re back in town,he’d texted Emmett.
So unceremonious. So… burdened. Like we were just a conquest of his conscience.
“I don’t need someone to step in and fix everything. You hadyearsto do this. I can’t just put a Band-Aid over it because you’re asking me to. Or hoping I will.” I let out a deep breath. “I appreciate you coming over here. But it’s just not a good time. My sister deserves to be here for this if she wants to be. Right now… we are grieving an unimaginable loss.”
He nods in defeat, his voice calm. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. For everything.”
I run my knuckles against the droplets on my chin. “I’ll think about it.”
My voice is small, almost lost. But it is final.
I open the front door, rain snarling against the porch as Harrison steps back into the storm. He gives me one last fleeting smile—thin, sorrowful. Then he’s gone, swallowed by the gloom as his car door thuds shut and the gravel crunches under his tires.
I was hoping Amelia would materialize while he was still here. But I don’t see her car. I check her location again as he disappears down the drive, her bubble glowing one house away, unmoving. She’s probably driving past Harrison right now, wondering what the hell he was doing at our house.
I putter around, checking my progress, pulling a jacket on when five minutes pass. Each moment brings the expectation of Amelia walking through the door. I check my phone again, wondering if she turned around. But the expanding green glow around her contact photo proves that the displayed location is live—and it’s in the same place it was the last time I checked.
I bundle my jacket close to my chest and open the front door, choosing not to lock it. She should be right outside.
I jog down the driveway to find her.
41
AMELIA
Parker is waiting for a response, but the cartoon stars keep circling my head as I drop against the floor in anguish. The hit only makes the pain bloom wider.
His voice muffles, like I’m falling down a rabbit hole. Two hands clamp around my ankles. My body jerks, and suddenly I’m sliding across the floor, hair splaying behind me in a copper-colored trail.
Where are you taking me?I try to say. It comes out in my head, echoing and dancing around my thoughts, accompanied only by the rasping of my clothes dragging across the floor.
Arms hook beneath my body, and I’m lifted onto a shoulder with effortless strength. My head dangles over his back, the world tilting upside down. His forearm locks across the back of my thighs with disturbing ease, and despite the pounding behind my eyes, I know it must be Parker.
Through the static in my ears, I hear their conversation. But I can’t be sure if it’s real, or if I’m imagining it.
“What was the point of taking Cale’s name if you’re not going to use it?” the woman—Meredith, surely—asks in a brittle whisper.
“Like Amelia’s going to tell anyone,” he scoffs, his words buzzing against my side. “She’ll never get the chance.”
Her shoes clack behind us as Parker carries me deeper into the house. She’s following like his minion. Or his puppy. My half-lidded eyes flutter open as the floor beneath us changes—hardwood, carpet, hardwood—like a warped funhouse ride. I try to place where we are in the house, as if childhood memory could save me. But it’s been ages since Imogen and I would make jam with Mrs. Turner, when they owned this house. It’s useless to even try to remember.
What are you going to do to me?my mind asks.
My lips don’t work.
