I think I’m going to be sick.
“Breathe, Alex, you’re okay. Ingrid and the twins will be here soon. Mom’s not really lucid enough to come.”
“Ophelia,” I manage, though my throat is raw.
“I think they sent her for some tests.”
It’s like all the fragmented pieces of myself suddenly pull together to form a single panicked thought. “She’s hurt?”
No, no, no, no, no.
I push myself up in the bed, but Fleur pushes me back down. “It’s just a knee X-ray. She’ll cope on her own.”
“You … oh my god, Fleur, you …”
“I couldn’t watch what he does to you and Mom anymore, Alex. Seventeen years of it was enough.”
“But you …”
“Russell and I were outside when Ophelia texted us for help. I knew Russell’s been keeping a gun in the car since dad went missing, just in case. The rest is a blur.”
“Is he …” Christ, I can’t even form a sentence. Too rattled, too worried for Ophelia, too hurt.
“He’s in a different hospital. He’s definitely going to jail for the rest of his life. Mike’s here, somewhere.”
He’s alive.
Relief courses through me, for Fleur, not for him. I don’t want that weight looming over her.
I want him to rot behind bars.
“What did he want?”
I squint at the dark cityscape outside the window, like I’ll find any answers there. “He was trying to get a flight to Greece.”
He had a whole new life ready to go over there. The final, desperate hope of a coward who’d run out of options. He was having trouble bribing a contact at the airport, needed me to ensure his safe escape.
My vision swims, the pain in my head almost blinding. “Did Ophelia’s knee … is she hurt? Is it bad?”
“Oh man, you’re obsessed.”
“Is she on her own?”
I can’t lose her.
“She asked Brendan to send her the CCTV video of her whacking Mike round the head with a crowbar so she can keep it as a trophy. I think she’s okay.”
I huff out a laugh, but it spreads agony across my ribs. “Are you okay?”
She picks at her cuticles, stares down at her lap. “I think so.”
“You think so,but…” I encourage, hearing the unspoken word dangling from the end of her sentence.
“I think I’m like him.”
“Dad?”
She straightens up, squares her shoulders like this is a thought she’s been trying to face for a long time. “There’s something wrong with me.”
