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)
“How are you feeling?” I move from where I’m standing by the window and step closer to him. He takes a step back, and his eyes narrow, his expression tight with strain.
“Is that why you’re in my house, to spy on me?”
Yes and no.
I allow my lips to part into a smile at his question. “Yep. You know me way too well,” I joke. The truth is, that’s not the only reason I’m here, but I’d rather he not catch on to the other reason.
That file on his desk.
The one that has coffee stains and crumpled corners from how often he’s looked at it. I wonder what he’s looking for.
Proof of Felix Bernard’s involvement as well?
A large part of me wants to come right out and ask him, but from past experiences, I know that if I do, he will clam right up, and then the file will go missing.
It’s better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, and that is exactly what I plan to do, in this case. I know it’s unethical, and if anyone catches me, I’ll be disbarred, but I don’t care.
“You don’t believe I’m okay, Skye?” His voice cuts through the air, bringing tension in its wake.
Swallowing, I decide to answer truthfully. “Dad, I know you aren’t. And I can smell the booze.” I lift my brow at him, informing him without words that it’s not okay for him to be drinking.
His arm reaches up and covers his eyes before he’s dropping his hands back down to look at me. His gaze is unwavering. “Are you here to lecture me?” The bite of his voice makes me think if I don’t lighten the mood, a fight will ensue.
As much as I want to harp on him to stop, I don’t want to alienate him. He’s all I have. I need him in my life.
“Want the real answer?” I say, keeping the tone of my voice light and airy. It does its job because he laughs. He knows I’m going to give him a talking-to. My footsteps echo around us as I make my approach. Once I’m standing beside him, I touch his shoulder, noticing right away how frail he seems under my hand. He’s skin and bones. A soft gasp of concern bubbles out from my mouth, but I cover it up with a cough. “Come back to the city with me.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
I cock my head, moving it slightly to look into his eyes. “You would never be a burden to me, Dad. I owe you everything.”
“No. No, you don’t.” He shakes his head and turns away to walk out of the room. It’s as if he can’t look at me.
What are you hiding, Dad?
A part of me thinks it’s because he’s drinking again. He probably feels he’s letting me down, especially after what I just said to him. My father will never understand that nothing he could do would make me feel that way.
I follow him. He’s not far ahead, but I let him get his thoughts together before approaching him.
Whatever haunts him is enough to make him reluctant to share it with me, probably out of an unwarranted belief that I will judge him. That would never happen, but regardless, I give him that moment.
He heads into the living room and takes a seat on the well-weathered couch that sits adjacent to the recliner. The couch has been here for as long as I can remember. Longer than the chair, that’s for sure. With countless stains and arms that are frayed, the fabric has seen better days.
Over the years, since I’ve become a lawyer—and since I’ve been able to afford it—I have tried to convince him to let me buy him a new one, but he always argues, and I don’t press the issue. Truth be told, my goal is not to get him a new couch; it’s to get him a new place. To move him far away from this town and the ghosts that still live here.
Ghosts that I know hover around him daily.
Standing in the doorway of the office, I look back inside. My gaze settling on the desk, it’s only a few feet away. From this angle, I can see that the paper closest to me says the name Baros.
My fingers drift to my tattoo. Dad’s eyes catch the movement, narrowing. And that’s my cue to escape.
I can’t handle the questions.
The memories of death.
The guilt.
Because I know, without a doubt, that if there’s anything that can bring me to my knees, it’s the boy who died in my place.
4
Skye
It’s been one week since I found the file and one week since it’s slipped through my fingers. There is no question in my mind that something important is nestled between the clutter and mess of Dad’s notes.