“Firefly,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “What happened?”
I raise my hand to meet his, the closeness feeling like a comfort for what I’m about to drop on this man. This beautiful, also broken, man.
“Annabeth, what’s wrong? Please talk to me,” Dallas asks, his eyes fixed on mine.
“When I was eleven, my Dad stopped touring and came home. Not long after, Mum left him – leftus.She had one foot out the door my entire life, and it only got worse after she fell pregnant with my sister. We never did the math, but Dad had been gone a hell of a lot with the band that year, and we allknew,not that we ever have mentioned it. Dad was too good of a man to question Mum, let alone deny the onlything he ever cared about – his daughters. The night she left, she took my little sister, Gracie, with her, but they never made it out of town. Mum wasapparentlyso at war with her decision to leave Dad, that the night she left, she snorted herself into oblivion before she even made it out of the house.”
Dallas face falls, his expression a mixture of concern, sadness, and confusion. I know he’s not planning to say anything yet. My cheeks redden, the tears welling in my eyes, threatening to be exposed. My breathing is ragged, every exhale choked out as I try to compose myself to keep going. Dallas’s hand finds my back, his gentle touch soothing me, giving me the strength I need to get through this. Ineedto get through this.
“I remember that night. Dad carried us to his ute to take us into town. He had just strapped my sister in and was coming back to get me when Mum stormed out of the house, bag in tow and got into his car instead of hers. I can still hear him screaming as he chased her down the driveway, but it was no use. She flipped his car before she even made it out of the gate. Once. Twice. Three times. Then a fourth, and Dad’s car collided with the streetlight on the outskirts of our property. I remember watching as Dad bolted to the car, immediately prying the back door open to save Gracie. He told me how he was so sure he’d be able to pick her up and carry her back home. I watched his heart break the moment he heard my sister cry for the last time as he desperately scrambled to unbuckle her seat. She was so little, so vulnerable, and that cunt took her from me. Fromus. I will never forgive my mother for what she did. How a person could be so fucking selfish as to get behind the wheel so inebriated you don’t even notice your owndaughter.Or, maybe she did, and she just didn’t care. Graciewas fuckingtwo,Dallas. She’d barely startedwalking.”
My voice breaks, the tears streaming as I try to choke my words out. My breaths are shallow and desperate. I struggle to speak through my panic attack, the haunting memories flooding back to me with every word that comes out. Every night watching Dad stumble in from whatever bar kicked him out this time. Every harsh word shot my way that I know he didn’t mean. He never hurt me, he just left. Not the same way Mum did, yet somehow, his felt worse.
“Mum didn’t make it out either; she didn’t even have her fucking seat belt on. I don’t need to go into details, but the medical examiners said although she died quickly, it would have been excruciating. I’ve always taken a comfort in knowing she got what she deserved. My Dad turned to the bottle after she left and effectively drank himself to death.”
“Annabeth.” My name leaves his lips in a whisper. His face completely still as he holds my hands in his, his eyes now as wet as my own.
Nineteen
Dallas
What do I do?
What do I say?
I don’t know how to fix this for her. I struggle to comprehend how she can possibly have held onto this on her own for so long. I can feel her tension through our connected palms. Both of us locked onto each other’s gazes with tear-filled, blood-shot eyes. My lips are dry and it feels like my entire body is dehydrating.
I don’t take my hands off hers, her tears soaking my fingers as they roll down her flushed cheeks. I’m scanning, searching her eyes for answers. I feel her pulse racing through our bodies. She trembles as her chest rises, increasing with each laboured breath. My fingers glide across her jaw, catching the salty droplets as I tilt her face to look at me. Wherever she’s just gone, it’s not somewhere I ever want her to be again. I can feel her cracking, like fragile porcelain on an unforgiving tile. I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know what the fuck to do.
“Annabeth.” My words come in a strained whisper.
“I can’t.”
“Youcan.You don’t have to face this alone anymore. I’m here.Weare here, and we’ve got you.”
“I’m so fucking angry,” she says, her expression shifting before myeyes. I give her a puzzled look, voicing my question without saying a word. “Nothing, it’s stupid,” she huffs.
“Baby girl, nothing you could ever say to me would ever be stupid,” I tell her, my fingers gently tracing the freckles on her cheek.
“You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to just show up and beyou.I’m in way over my head. I don’t even know if there’s rulesagainst dating a student’s parent.” She takes a deep breath and continues, “What if Billie absolutelyhatesme?”
“Oh, Firefly. She could never hate you, nobody could. You’re all she’s bloody talked about for weeks,” I tell her. And I mean it.
It dawns on me that I have no idea how Billie would react if I told her I was seeing someone, it hadn’t crossed my mind. Fuck. Should it have crossed my mind? What if she hatesme?There’s not a fucking manual for moving on after your wife dies, especially when you have a child. I hadn’t evenconsideredhow this would affect her.
“Billie is home tomorrow,” I offer.
“I know,” she replies.
“Annabeth.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re all I think about. You’re all I fuckingwantto think about. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about Sam, I didn’t know how. I should have told you before we went to the lookout, before we…” I stop for a moment, trying to find the right words.
She reaches her hand to me, her soft palm a quiet comfort as my mind races through scenarios that have not, and likely will not, happen. My eyes dart across her freckles, a desperate attempt to centre myself.
“What the hell are you doing to me, woman?” I splutter, laughterrising in my chest and slowly easing the anxious panic that threatens to take over.
