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Chapter 1
A gust of winter air hit my face so hard it felt like God had reached down and slapped me. The cold hurt. Hurt so deep that hugging my black jacket around me did nothing to ward off the intense chill.
The creak of my father’s casket being lowered into his grave pierced my ears as I watched it gently sway and wobble, the flowers atop shaking as it descended further and further into the ground.
Everyone was leaving. Turning and walking back to their cars. They’d likely go back to my step-mother’s house for mini sandwiches and talk about my father as a friend or colleague.
Not me. I simply stood. Alone. No one looked at me. No one even attempted to make eye contact. They all just walked away.
The burning in my stomach was the only thing that reminded me this wasn’t a dream. Wasn’t a nightmare even. It was real. Last week, my father, my house, and my soul were ripped from me. Whoever said the truth will set you free clearly had never experienced such truth. Like the truth that I’d fallen in love with two men, only to be betrayed by both. Or the truth that my step-brother was violent and walking free.
I absently ran my fingertips along my cheek where he’d hit me. It was mostly healed. But the memory stuck. I didn’t know if I was number from the Colorado cold or from shock. Shock I hadn’t quite kicked yet. Despite having a little time to get used to these new truths and facts, it still hadn’t sunk in. I’d stopped counting the hours, because it was too much to think through. All I knew was that it was days ago my father died. Days ago, I’d watched my house burn to the ground. Days ago, the last part of my heart had been torn from my body and I’d lost the second man I’d ever loved.
Alone.
I was all I had left. And I really wanted to demand a recount.
“Lana Case?” a balding man with thick-framed glasses asked.
“Yes?” My voice was little better than a croak.
“I’m Greg Simpson, the attorney for the Case-VanBuren estate.”
I nodded. Of course, my father and step-mother would have an attorney. His name had come up a few times over the years. Greg had been a part of the “Case-VanBuren union” since my father married my step-mother, Anita. It was no surprise he was here. Especially since the reading of his will was set to happen in the next hour.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. I wanted to be polite. To say thank you, but my mouth refused to move. Just like the rest of me.
Anita and Brock played the part of grieving family well as they headed my way. The short manicured grass squished under my heels and I couldn’t decide which instinct to trust, flight or fight. Unfortunately, neither came. And I stood. Still.
“We better be on our way,” Anita said to Greg, not sparing me a glance. Not that I wanted one from her. “I didn’t think you’d show up, Lana,” she snapped my name like spitting poison from her lips. “What with those charges you pressed, I would assume you were far too afraid to be near my son.”
Her tone was light, yet challenging. Any moment, she’d adjust her oversized black hat and start studying her nails like the fact that her son had assaulted me was no big deal. Brock had muscled his way into my home, hit me, and would have done far worse if I hadn’t gotten away. He had posted bail and was out of jail for now, but I wouldn’t cower away.
For once, the numbness worked to my advantage. No matter how afraid I was, I’d never let it show, especially to Brock and Anita.
“I look forward to discussing this matter more in front of a judge.”
Brock scoffed and crossed his arms. “You think this assault charge will stick against me? You invited me into your home, and from what I recall, you tripped and fell.”
He was such a snake. He was the epitome of plain. From his dull brown hair to his dead eyes, he was impotence dressed up in an expensive suit. The way he wove lies so easily was more terrifying than his appearance. Because Brock was nothing if not convincing. But he wouldn’t get away with it this time. I’d filed the paperwork, given my statement, and now I had to wait. With the holidays and general slow speed of court cases, it wouldn’t be until after the New Year that we’d stand before a judge. It would be his word against mine, but I had a couple firemen on my side who had witnessed the aftermath. They may not have seen Brock hit me, but they saw me run from the house screaming for help. Holding on to that fact gave me more strength.
“I guess we’ll see who the judge believes then.”
“Or, we could settle out of court,” Anita said. Brock went to argue, but she shot him a look before refocusing on me. “Why don’t we come to an arrangement just between us? No need to drag this mess out longer than it needs to be.”
I tried not to show my surprise. Anita wanted to settle out of court? The only reason she’d do that is if she knew I’d win. Brock would finally get punished for hurting me, and they both knew it.
“How much will it take, Lana?” Greg asked. “I’m sure we can come to a reasonable sum.”
My chapped lips parted and stung instantly from the cold. They were trying to buy me off. While I was running low on funds, and currently had no house, I had enough for the cheap motel I was in, and hopefully enough to make it a couple more weeks until the insurance money from the fire came in. This was bigger than money. It was holding Brock responsible for what he’d done.
“No amount of money will change my mind. You hurt me.” I looked Brock dead in the eye and tried not to tremble from his vicious stare back. “It’s time you take responsibility for that.”
A low snarl broke from him, but Anita cut him off quickly.
“Surely, you must want something,” she asked, annoyance coating her words.
There was only one thing I did care to discuss. “My father carried a picture in his wallet,” I said, forcing my voice to carry enough steadiness. Anita and Brock this close to me made sickness rise in my gut. My cheek still hurt from where the bastard hit me, and he wasn’t even trying to hide a smile at his handiwork. It was all I could to not flinch at the memory of his fist crashing over my cheekbone. Or any o
f the other awful memories he’d left me with.
No. Stay strong. Stay present.
“You’re not getting near your father’s wallet,” Anita scoffed.
“I don’t care about anything else. I just want to know if he has that picture still. It’s of me and my mother and him.”
Anita raised a brow. “Why would he have that?”
“He always carried it,” I said again. “And after my house burned down, it’s all I have left of my family.” Venom laced my veins, since I wasn’t sold on the fact that they didn’t have something to do with it. Brock may have been spending the night in jail when the flames went up, but the VanBurens weren’t innocent. Not in much of anything.
