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Hours later, I silently climbed out of bed and walked downstairs to find my phone. My dad answered on the first ring.
“How they doin’?”
“They’re sleepin’,” I said with a sigh, dropping my ass to the stairs.
“Good.”
“You know why I’m callin’,” I muttered, glancing behind me.
“Know you wanted to take care of it,” my dad said cautiously. “But—”
“He attacked my family,” I ground out. Arguing about whether or not I got the chance to fucking end that asshole was not something I was willing to do.
“I’m aware of that,” Dad said grimly. “Idiot’s already dead, though.”
“Say what?”
“Yeah.” He was quiet for a few moments. “Started seizin’ on the way out of town. By the time we got to where we were goin’ fucker was already dead.”
“What the fuck?”
“Head wounds are un-fuckin’-predictable,” he mumbled. “Don’t tell your brother.”
“I won’t,” I sputtered in disbelief. Otto didn’t need to know he’d killed a man. He was too young to carry that weight.
“It’s over,” Dad said tiredly. “All taken care of.”
“I know I fucked up,” I told him, staring into the living room.
“Good,” he replied instantly. “Lucky for you it turned out okay.”
“Yeah.”
“Next time—”
“There won’t be a next time,” I said, cutting him off.
“There’s always a next time. Thankfully, you’re not a fuckin’ idiot, and you’ll learn from this.”
“I thought he was gone.” I ran my hand over my face. “Fuck, Dad. I thought he’d gotten the message.”
“Unfortunately for him, he was an idiot,” my dad grumbled. “Go take care of your family. I’m goin’ to bed.”
“Alright,” I said, talking to myself because he’d already hung up.
Light was beginning to filter in through the windows as the sun came up, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. I just stared at the living room, picturing Emilia standing there frozen with Rhett in her arms. Parker holding her their at gunpoint. Fucking taunting her.
I got up quickly and strode into the room. Less than ten minutes later, the recliner was on the sidewalk out front with afreesign on it. It was a nice chair—someone would pick it up.
I was moving the couch into a different spot when Emilia made her way silently down the stairs.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly, her voice hoarse.
“Redecoratin’,” I replied, straightening. I rubbed at the back of my neck, a little embarrassed. Maybe it had been a stupid idea, but I’d thought that it might help if shit looked different when she came back downstairs.
“I like it,” she said with a small nod. “But now you’ll have to move the TV or you won’t be able to see it from the couch.”
“Shit,” I muttered, glancing at where the television was mounted to the wall.
