Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t expecting you today, was I?” he asks, confused. His nose scrunches as if he’s trying to remember whether I told him of my visit prior to showing up.
I hadn’t.
“No. I didn’t call.”
“Is everything okay?” He moves to sit up straight, but he lets out a groan. The veins on the side of his neck pulse.
He’s in pain, and it breaks my heart. No matter what I hear, I will always love him for taking me in.
“What are you doing here?” He rubs at his face, he looks tired. Maybe he was sleeping? Seeing him like this has me wanting to turn around and tell Tobias that there is nothing here. No story. That Felix was wrong. But as much as I want to do that, I can’t.
I wring my fingers as I pace. Why is this so hard? “I came to ask about the day my parents died.”
“What about it?”
I come to a complete stop before turning to my father. “Felix Bernard.”
His face goes pale, and the mug in his hand slips, crashing against the wood floors. I scramble to pick up the pieces of ceramic splattered around the couch.
Carefully lifting the broken shards, I place the pieces on the coffee table. The mug was empty, and other than the small drop here or there, the floor is clean. I’ll wipe it up later.
“Dad?”
My father rubs his forehead. His eyes are wet. He’s trying not to cry.
“Talk to me. Tell me the truth.”
A tear falls from his eye, and I can feel my heart break. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. He looks up at me. “I’ve been trying to protect you.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to protect myself. I never wanted you to hate me.”
“What did you do, Dad? Why won’t you tell me about the past?”
He takes a deep breath. “This is going to be hard for you to hear, so please don’t interrupt.”
“Okay.”
“It was my fault. Everything was my fault.”
The sobs that rip through my mouth can’t be controlled. Anger follows next. “You killed my family!” I shout, my anger palpable.
“Skye—” His Adam’s apple bobs, but I don’t let him deter me.
“No! You killed my family.” I close my eyes. Trying desperately to calm down. To swallow down the despair lodging in my throat. The grief I feel is raw and primitive. It feels like I’m being abandoned all over again. “Why”—I swipe away a stray tear that is drifting down my cheek—“did you adopt me?”
“Look at me, Skye.” Opening my lids, my gaze meets his. Then I’m moving to stand in front of him. “You were innocent. You had no—”
“I had no one because of you.” Another wave of tears pours down my cheeks. Then another thought hits me. “You only adopted me because you thought you owed me something, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t—”
“Yes or no! Were you planning to adopt before me?”
“No, but—” His voice cracks. “Please—”
“There are no buts!” I cut him off.
His face is pale, his cheeks ashen. “Please let me explain. Please, it’s not what you think,” he begs.
“Did you or did you not have something to do with their deaths?” I’m pacing now, my anger needing an outlet.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple to me.” My feet are probably making marks from the way they stomp down in anger. My whole body is shaking.
“Skye, plea—” His words cut off, followed by a thump. The sound has my heart stopping.
It feels like I can’t breathe as I turn to see my father slumped over the coffee table. I’m moving across the room and checking his pulse a moment later.
“Skye—”
“Shh, it’s okay.” He’s alive, but something is wrong.
“I-It w-wasn’t me,” he stutters out before his eyes flutter shut. His pulse is still there. Beating faintly but still there. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I call 911, then Tobias. It’s only a second later when Tobias is in the room, then a few minutes pass before the EMS team wheels him away. I try to ride with him, but I can’t.
I pray he’s okay.
He can’t die.
He can’t leave me.
Hospitals are the worst. The sterile scent of bleach and the overwhelming sense of death and sickness are always present. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a hospital—twenty years, to be exact. Not since the day I woke from surgery and learned my whole life had changed.
When I still lived in town, my father was never sick, so I never needed to come back here. But now, walking with Tobias, no time has passed. My feet halt as I walk toward the reception, the ghosts of my past still here and present.
I stand breathless for a moment. I never expected to feel this way. My soul is crushing under the weight of my past. Tobias is here to help me. But even the feel of his skin on mine as he holds me isn’t enough to push me on.