Page 34 of The Quiet After The Fall

Why am I hearing that you’re spending time with that Thorne girl? No excuses. You can’t lie to me.

“Yes, sir.”

Do I need to remind you of our deal? Of the consequences if you step out of line?

“I remember.”

Good. Ella is unhappy. I don’t like when my daughter is unhappy.

“I’ll speak with her.”

You’ll do more than that. Remember your end and cut it off with the girl. You don’t want to see what happens to people who don’t hold up their end of a bargain. Trust me.

He paused, long enough to make sure I was still on the line.

Now repeat after me. I understand what’s expected of me.

“I understand what’s expected of me.”

Do you truly?

“Yes.”

Tell me she won’t be a problem.

“She won’t be a problem.”

Good.

He made it clear. Forget about Sawyer, go all in on this farce with Ella, or something bad happens. I’ve known he has my father by the throat—the company, the financials, the shit with David Thorne. But tonight was different. Tonight, it didn’t sound like only reputations on the line.

It sounded like our lives.

I stare at the ceiling until the shapes in the dark blur together. Ella’s still asleep beside me, one hand curled near my arm like I’m a comfort object. She has no idea what her father is…or maybe she does know, and that’s so much worse.

Either way, I made a promise to Vince Moretti tonight.

And I’m going to break it.

I’m on the stairs again.

Metal clangs and my heart thumps. I look up at never-ending levels and hairpin turns that don’t make sense. They climb impossibly high into the deep charcoal expanse above.

The clang isn’t coming from my feet. It’s cameras shuttering, it’s flashes blinding.

I look again and the stairs are the courthouse steps and the crowd is packed below, reporters and lawyers and judges mixed with happy families in Wonder World hats, all their faces turned up at once as they wait in line.

Sawyer’s at the bottom and her expression stabs at my chest. She’s looking up at me expectantly. Waiting for me to be something she needs. Something other than what I am.

I hear my own voice, flat and rehearsed, but loud enough to carry over the roar of the cameras.

Your family destroyed mine. Stay the fuck away from me.

I don’t mean it. Or do I? Both feel right deep in my bones and I’m filled with a deep sense of self-loathing.

Somewhere, a sound starts up. A faint rattle, tickling my ear. It sounds familiar. I look down and there’s pills, small and round, large and oval, white, blue, yellow. My mother’s there, the metal’s become her bathroom floor, and her hand shakes as she tries to open the orange bottle. “Mom!”

No answer.