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Conner: I need you to keep a close eye on her. I just left.
Levi: What the fuck did you do?
Guilt swamps me as I read his words. What the fuck did you do?
The words I spat at her, the way I touched her… it comes back to me and I retch. I'm no fucking better than him.
Bile burns up my throat as I replay it over and over in my head.
Conner: Just look after her.
I rip the car door open when I reach it and drop into the driver's seat.
My roar fills the small space as my hands slam down on the wheel.
All I want is my fucking girl in my arms, beside me, safe.
Pulling my cell back out, I find her new number.
Conner: I'm sorry.
Tears burn my eyes and emotion clogs my throat, but I refuse to allow myself to succumb to it. Instead, I use it to feed my anger as I start the car and race back toward the Bay. Ellen let it slip earlier that Dad is heading back tonight, and I want to be there waiting for him.
I'm done watching Kenny get hurt for the sake of whatever he’s hiding.
It's time to get some answers.
It’s time to end this fucking thing for good.
His car isn't in the driveway when I get back, but that doesn't stop me.
I run up the main staircase, grateful that no one intercepts me, but I shouldn't be surprised; they're all celebrating Valentine's the way it should be, not with a fucked-up encounter in the woods.
I shut down the memories of tonight as I let myself into Dad's office.
As always, it's tidy as fuck with not so much as an out of place piece of paper on his desk.
What does this motherfucker actually do?
I take a seat behind his huge mahogany desk and start pulling drawers open. If he's as shady as I’m starting to believe he might be, then I doubt he's going to leave anything incriminating around.
I've trashed every drawer and cupboard in the room by the time the door is pushed open.
I look up from the pile of folders I'm surrounded by, I'm sure looking as guilty as a toddler who's been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
"Conner," Dad growls, his eyes scanning the destruction.
"I'm done, Dad. I'm fucking done. He's hurting her. He's fucking..." The words get stuck in my throat.
"I know, Son. I know. I'm so sorry," he says, his face twisting with his admission.
"You fucking know, and you're standing by and letting it happen? I fucking love her, Dad. Fucking. Love. Her."
"I know. But you're not going to find any of the answers here." He steps over a pile of papers I'd thrown across the floor and makes his way to his chair.
"I need something. You need to tell me something. What do you even do, Dad?" I seethe, standing to my feet and stalking toward him.
"Take a seat," he instructs.
