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It’s harder than I thought to fortify myself once more, but I manage, ignoring the guys’ unwavering attention on me.
“Play it again.” I demand, my voice steel, my spine straight.
He plays it again. And again. And again.
I don’t know if I’m punishing myself, or if I really have to listen to it that many times for me to be able to see through the grief that threatens to consume me, but it is what it is. The guys just endure it silently and without an ounce of pity. They listen to the night I felt like I lost everything over and over again. Without question, they let me do what I need to do. Their resolve and strength unknowingly bolstering my own.
They do it for me.
With me.
7
“What’s she sorry for?” I bite at my lip while rubbing the back of my neck.
Nothing about that phone call made sense, and that’s not just me being weird about it because of my grief. First of all, my dad and I were driving down a dark winding road that didn’t have much in the way of traffic other than the drunk who hit us. But, even he had a reason for being out there; he had just left a bonfire on the outskirts of town.
There was only one stop, right next to where we crashed, and it was a tiny gas station that wasn’t even open. What was this woman doing out there? Why was she conveniently right where the crash was? Did she have something to do with it?
All these questions and more have me tugging at the ends of my hair, realizing I must have let go of Snitch at some point during the many playthroughs of the call.
“It’s odd, isn’t it…?” I trail off as I focus on the guys’ auras to see where they are emotionally. They’re exactly where I am. Confused. Baffled. Curious. “It’s pretty convenient that there happened to be a witness to the crash in the middle of nowhere as my dad and I are leaving town. The drunk, I get. We know why he was there, but…”
“I guess we just have to find out who she is then, and ask her ourselves. It doesn’t make sense that she would refuse to be identified unless she had something to hide.” Nic surmises before clicking the mouse again, getting lost in his search once more.
“Do you think she has anything to do with your stalker?” Kai’s rough, timber voice waivers slightly as he scratches at his head.
“I mean…possibly? But it seems like a stretch. She could easily just be an innocent bystander in all this. I don’t recognize her voice at all, though it was kind of hard to tell with her screeching. The only way we’ll know is by finding out who she is and what she knows.” I grimace as I try to run through all the possibilities as to what this woman knows or doesn’t. “It’s obvious that my stalker has something to do with the crash. Either he was there, or he’s just obsessed with my past as well as my present, or…”
No.
There’s no fucking way…
“Wicked? What did you just think of?” Kai surfaces on my left, rubbing my back as a strangled breath manages to make its way into my lungs. My head starts to swim and I quickly realize I’m starting to hyperventilate.
“Wicked, breathe!” Ezra’s deep voice commands as he places his large hand on my chest, his other on my back. His touch immediately starts to pierce through the frantic energy that’s consuming me. “There you go. In. Out.”
I focus on the weight of his touch, pushing his hand out with every inhale and letting it press in with every exhale. The warmth of it centers me as I finally come to my senses, my hands immediately reaching up to settle over his.
“What was that about, Wick?” Kai finally questions me as I return to a normal state of non panic bullshit.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not possible!” I choke out, my throat dry and coarse, making me struggle to force out every word.
“What’s not possible?”
“My dad! He’s dead! It can’t be him. It can’t be him!”
It really can’t. It doesn’t even make sense. Why, if he were alive, would he stay away? Why would he hide in the shadows and only surface later on to swear vengeance on anyone who wrongs me? I never saw his body, of course. I’m blind as a penis snake. But no one else did either. There was no viewing because he was too…well, fucked up, apparently.
Though, my stalker hasn’t laid claim to me in a sexual way or anything like that. He’s, quite frankly,allowedme to have the guys around without threat or attacks on them. Sure, he did drop that gift off for me after they got there, with all those pictures of me in them–eventhosepictures of me having a little me time beneath my blankets–but even that seemed more like a warning. Like he was showing the guys how easy it was to get to me, like he was telling them to get good or get out.
Like he was trying to get them to protect me better.
While there is a major ick factor if itwasmy dad, it’s still a…
No! It’s not possible. I refuse to believe it.
Which brings me back to Alan. It makes more sense if it was him. He’s alive and kicking. He’s got plenty of motive and just enough of a lacking alibi for it to be possible. If one of mydadswas going to be my stalker, it would be him. Because my real dad is dead. He’s gone. With no possibility of rising from the grave. None.
