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He keeps talking, but the sound seems to dampen to a fuzzy ringing that takes over as I blink and try to force myself under control. I hadn’t wanted to hear what they had to say about him, my own blood, and yet, proof? I’m watching it, but I can’t see it through the haze over my vision. I want to deny the hand holding the gun isn’t my father’s, but there’s his signet ring, the one he never removes.
“Enough,” a hard voice orders from far away.
A cool hand touches my cheek, and like I’m swimming up through heavy rapids, I turn to face the person standing there touching me. Nic. Of course.
He’s shouting at Lucas, cursing, and the phone goes flying across the room. I catch his hands and shake my head, my breathing shallow and my head dizzy.
My sister.
“Celia,” Nic says, louder this time.
I shake myself, and the room comes rushing back around us in overwhelmingly bright focus. “No, I’m here.”
Both men are watching me closely now, as if they are waiting for me to tip off the couch and shatter onto the floor.
“We’re leaving,” Nic announces, rising from his crouch.
I tear my hand from his. “We aren’t finished here. I have more to ask him. A few more minutes, please?”
He paces around the space like a wild animal, then stops, staring down at me. “I’ll be outside the door. You have two minutes. Hurry.”
After he walks out, I focus on Lucas again. “Well, since we’re under a time crunch…”
Lucas is staring at the apartment door Nic just left from. “He seems different.”
There’s no way he can know, and I’ll never admit it, but I’m grateful for the change of topic. My sister’s death at the hands of our father is something I need to consider on my own. Not colored by his own views.
“How so?”
“He’s had women, of course. But in all the years I’ve witnessed his personal life, I’ve never seen him how he is with you.”
My mind immediately hops to the negative, assuming he means things are different with me because of who I am or how we came together. “What does that mean?”
As if he can see inside my head, he rolls his eyes. “With his other women, it was sex, and that’s it. He never troubled himself with their comfort or safety. Once they left his sight, they were always on their own.”
The news shoots a wave of relief through me, and yet, I feel like I’m surrendering by wanting him like I do, by needing him. “Well, that’s interesting.”
He snorts, like he knows exactly what I’m struggling with. Thankfully, he doesn’t drag it into the light and make me face it.
“I better go before he comes in here and carries me out.” I stand and face him. “I don’t know where we stand, but if we’re family, then I want to have a relationship with you. If you think you can handle having one with me. And know, I’m going to make this right.”
His mouth drops open. Before he has the chance to run away, I reach up and hug him. As quickly as I wrap my arms around him, I turn away and head out the door.
Nic is standing next to it, leaning on the drywall. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m ready to go. Thank you for bringing me here.”
For a second, he looks like he wants to argue with me, but then he changes his mind and tugs me to his side. “I’m sorry he was so crude about your sister. While I also told you the truth, I know it’s different facing the proof of something.”
He walks me to the elevator and leads me to the car. When we pull away, he shifts to drag me into his lap. “Let me hold you.”
“Why?” While our relationship has changed, the intimacy between us still leans heavily toward sex—except for his constant need to touch me.
“Because I want to, and because you want me to, even if you won’t admit it out loud. That’s okay. You don’t have to admit it. Just sit here, shut up, and let me do it.”
I tuck my head into his chest and let out a long exhale. Did my mother know my father killed my sister? How could she? There is very little she notices beyond the neck of a liquor bottle. Hell, she hadn’t even helped at my sister’s wake.
A wave of nausea rolls over me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth. We had a wake and a funeral for her. My father gave a eulogy beside her grave.
Nic massages the base of my neck until the nausea slows. But in its wake, something sharper takes shape in my gut, filling me up. It went so far beyond the paltry urge for revenge I’d harbored toward Nic when we first met. This need for vengeance feels like it can consume me if it’s not satisfied.
