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“Yeah.”
I sniff in a sharp inhale through my nose and look off to the side. “No. But do me a favor and have him pull some strings to keep this out of the news if you can. And try to keep him from getting a price put on any of our heads again for fuck’s sake.”
He nods, understanding.
“She gonna be alright?” He gestures to the room behind me where Blythe is.
“I hope so,” I breathe out.
His hand starts to twitch and I can tell he’s about to bolt out of here.
“Stay out of trouble,” I tell him.
He pulls a toothpick out of the pocket of his black leather jacket and sticks it between his teeth. He turns to walk away, but not before winking and a final word. “Never.”
When I moved away from New York City and my family, I thought it would solve all of my problems. If I kept a low enough profile and didn’t let anyone know the details of my previous life, I could start a whole new one.
In a way, I did. Living in a new place, new friends with no preconceived notions about you or where you come from, completely different job and daily lifestyle. One that I enjoyed and most importantly one that Ichosefor myself. I was proud of the fact that I could run the ranch. I like the quietness and the endless hard and laborious days. It suits me.
I just wish that my secrets would have done their job and kept the people I loved from getting hurt. Guess that’s not how it works.
I walk into the hospital room. She’s sleeping soundly, so I slump down in a chair.
Not much shakes me, but seeing Blythe in a hospital bed all because of me has done it. Gripping the arms of the uncomfortable plasticky fake leather chair, I watch every single one of her slow breaths. Never looking away just to make sure that the next one always comes. Feeling sick with guilt, I know for certain now that I don’t deserve her and I never have.
That realization still doesn’t stop me from wanting to hold her hand in both of mine and never let go.
The curtain just in front of the door to the room swishes to the side and Blythe’s father walks in. Instantly I stand, wanting to give him some privacy. I swore I wouldn’t leave her side, but since he’s here, I could use a drink or something quick to eat. It’s been since last night that I’ve had either of those things.
“Please. Sit,” Wade insists in a hushed voice so as not to rouse Blythe.
There’s a chair identical to the one that I’m sitting in just across from a side table, and he takes a seat in it. There’s a decent-sized window behind us, but I pulled the shades closed first thing this morning to make sure that the brightness wasn’t too harsh. We’re facing the side of the room where she lays, and for at least a few minutes, we don’t talk. I decide to break the silence first.
“I never meant for this to happen,” I say.
“We know that, son.”
“I can’t stand to see her hurt. I would never do that intentionally, you have to know that.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “We know that, too.”
“She means everything to me.” My voice is lower this time.
His head turns toward me slowly and he takes in my expression. I know he’s probably searching for a sign that I’m exaggerating or lying but he won’t find it. I’m as serious as I’ve ever been.
“When Blythe was young, we moved into a new house in town. Right by the school and not far from the park with the duck pond over on Rhode Street.”
I know the area he’s talking about. It’s one of the nicer parts of town for sure. My eyes widen and I listen intently.
“Gayle and I had saved and saved for it. It never bothered us living in a home that’s not a fancy mansion, but we did what we could to make the kids’ lives better than what we both had growing up.”
I clear my throat and swallow hard.
“Not long after we moved in, there was a fire. Insurance fought us tooth and nail. The investigation said the fire, although unintentional, was the fault of the resident and they barely covered much of the damage. Blythe had left a candle burning right next to the curtains in her room,” he solemnly admits. “I’m glad we have a wonderful fire department in this town. They were able to pull her out. She kept going back in to grab her mamma’s things that had been passed down through the family generations. Irreplaceable things. She’s got a pretty sick burn scar on her arm from it.”
I remember how I traced the outline of that scar on her arm. At the time, I didn’t know what had happened or how it got there.
“Anyway, long story short, we weren’t able to repair and keep the place. We moved back to the trailer,” he lets out a long sigh. “Her mom and I, we’re happy there. We were just glad that our kids were safe. We don’t need the best house in town. Our neighbors are our best friends, and we love sitting out on the porch. You don’t get that kind of view in the middle of town.” He shakes his finger.
