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It’s not unusual for Dad to lash out, he’s so sad all the time. And so, when I try to help him to bed, he freaks, calling me every name under the sun and shoving me away hard enough for me to hit my cheek on the side unit and cut it clean open. We end the night with him sobbing on top of his bed sheets, and me watching from the doorway through silent tears.
I want to make things better for him. I wish I could bring Mum and Beckett
back. I’d give my life for them to be here instead, just to stop Dad’s suffering. And I’ve begged . . . trust me, I’ve begged to every god possible to end our suffering. What did we do so wrong to deserve this?
When his sobs fall silent, I grab a washcloth and head outside. I lower myself onto the steps that lead up to my house and gently dab the cut on my cheek. “You didn’t come to the meal.” I start at the sound of Nate’s voice. He appears through a gap in the fence we never got fixed. “What happened?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.
“Nothing. I came out here for some peace,” I say, hinting for him to leave.
“Things been getting worse with your old man?” he asks.
“Did I imagine it?” I ask, lowering my eyes so he doesn’t see the sadness
there. “Because I felt something, and I thought you did too.”
He sighs and lowers down to sit beside me. “It’s complicated, Bug. So fucking complicated.” Bug, the nickname he’s always called me because I’d bug him until he paid me attention when we were growing up.
“Break it down for me,” I mutter coldly.
“What happened between us shouldn’t have,” he begins, and the burning ache in my chest intensifies. “It’s not your fault. It was nothing you did.”
“You said you’d liked me for years,” I remind him, refusing to believe he lied.
“And I did. But Beckett was my best friend, and there’s no way he’d have approved of us. You’re his kid sister! Besides, there’s ten years between us!”
“That didn’t bother you before,” I mutter. “None of that mattered.”
“I know, but it should have. I was grieving, Bug, and—”
“Andi,” I hiss. “My name is Andi.”
He shifts uncomfortably. I’ve never been mad at Nate, ever. “I don’t want things to change between us,” he says, and I stand, resisting the urge to scream in his face. “Please, Bug . . . Andi, I want you to meet Rebecca properly. I think you’ll really like her.”
“Good night, Nate.”
I head inside, making sure to lock the front door, not that he’d follow me. He’s made himself clear. I clear away Dad’s empty cans, holding myself together while I tidy around. It’s not until I get into bed that I allow myself to break into a hundred pieces. When strong arms wrap around me, I let them. Nyx presses his nose into my hair and whispers comforting words while I cry into my pillow, all the while rubbing his hand over my tiny bump.
When the sun brightens my room, I slowly open my eyes and stretch out. Memories of yesterday flood my mind, and I groan when my heart twists. It wasn’t a bad dream. Nate really did come home with a new girlfriend, he really did announce his engagement, and I really am four months pregnant with his baby.
Rolling over, I smile at the small, blue forget-me-not flower lying beside me. Nyx has been great these last few months, turning up whenever I need him. I don’t know how he knows when I’m struggling, but his night-time visits have comforted me through some dark times. It used to freak me out, especially when he first turned up, but now, I’m used to it. I almost depend on it.
Dad is nursing a tall glass of water when I go into the kitchen. “What happened to your eye?” he grumbles, hardly looking up.
I touch the sensitive wound. “I slipped on water and hit it,” I lie. “How’s the head?” He shrugs, not bothering to reply. “Yah know, I’m heading to work, but when I get back, we could go for dinner,” I suggest.
He nods, his eyes finally meeting mine. “I’m gonna try harder,” he mutters. “I promise.”
I gently squeeze his shoulder and smile. “Okay.”
Ilove my job at the bridal shop, but I hate my boss. We secretly call her Cruella, but her actual name is Ella, and she’s strict on times and snotty as hell. She’s been running the business for a year, ever since her dad died, leaving everything to her. Errol was a fantastic boss. We all loved him, and his death affected everyone here. Everyone except Cruella. He wanted to help me fulfil my dream of making my own dresses. I design them, but it’s not often Cruella allows me time to work on them.
I fluff out the train of the dress our latest bride is trying on and then step back and smile at her reflection in the full-length mirror. “It’s perfect,” I say.
“I want more in at the waist,” she demands, turning side to side to check out her already tiny figure.
I arch my brow. “Are you sure? There’s still six weeks to go. We could wait until your final fitting and make any adjustments then.”
“I want it taken in,” she says, more firmly this time.
