Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“No one reached out to you?” Josh blinks rapidly, his gaze bouncing from me to Dad and back again, while Sarah barely stifles a whimper. “I'm not quite sure how to say this.”
Maybe it's instinct, but Dad moves closer, pulling me inside his side. “What is it?”
Sarah turns toward her husband and presses her face to his chest. Josh takes a hitching breath. “Lucas… they… he committed suicide.”
I lean against Dad, who stiffens in surprise. “My God. Josh. I'm so sorry.” All I can do is rely on Dad to keep me standing upright. Let them think it’s because I’m surprised and overwhelmed by shock—it’s better that way.
Really, it’s the way Sarah weeps against her husband’s chest. It’s the agony running like a thread through Josh’s words. I can’t take this.
“You're sure he said nothing to you?” Sarah turns to me, and it must be the guilt that convinces me there's blame in her swollen, bloodshot eyes. “Did he give you any idea of his mental state?”
“Bianca, honey...” Dad's grip on me tightens. “Do you need to sit down?”
This is killing me. I'm going to die here and now. All I can see when I look at them is their son on top of me, holding me down on the bed, the crazy look in his eyes, and all the insane things he was saying. About how we were meant to be, about how Callum ruined me.
Before he held a knife to your throat. He was going to rape you. He could have killed you.
I need to remember that before I break down in front of these poor people and tell them everything their son did. Hell, it's not like it would help them. Finding out their son went insane before he died.
“Here. Let's sit you down.” In the back of my mind, it occurs to me that Dad now has a reason to take care of me. And I let him do it without question, my head spinning, my stomach tightening to the point of pain. I think I’m going to vomit.
“We're sorry to come in and announce it this way,” Josh says.
“Do you two need to sit down? Sarah, can I get you some water?”
Sarah scowls despite Dad's kindness. “What I need is to know what happened to my boy. He did not kill himself. That is not something Lucas would do. I'm his mother! I know my son!”
Do you? No matter how much I want to, I would never say that out loud. It's not her fault what happened to him. But I have to wonder if either had the first idea of what he was going through. They couldn't possibly, or else they might have been able to help him.
“Exactly what happened?” Dad asks Josh. “What were the circumstances?”
“I found him at our cabin.” He's struggling to keep himself in check, his voice shaking. God, Lucas looked just like him. I want to look away and close my eyes so I don't have to stare at him anymore, but I must resist the impulse. It's clear from the way Dad rubs my back that my reaction—silence, shock—is convincing. I don’t want to blow this. The baby. Callum. My own life. Everything hinges on this.
He found his son at the cabin. His own father found him.
“He would not have shot himself. Never!” Sarah insists. “You know that, right?” she asks me, eyes darting over my face, desperation heavy in her voice. Like she needs me to agree. Like it's the most crucial thing in the world that I agree with her.
“I... I really don't know,” I whisper, looking to Dad for help. Never once did I think to prepare myself for this.
“To be fair,” Dad murmurs, speaking slowly, “the two of them broke up weeks ago. There was no reason for Bianca to know his mental state.” I nod, so grateful that he’s here. “But he did come here in hopes I would convince Bianca to... I'm not sure what. Take him back, maybe?”
“How did he look?” Sarah asks, breathless.
“Like himself. He seemed fine—I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.”
“Our son was not suicidal,” Sarah insists.
“He did seem distraught,” Dad points out in that same low, slow voice. I wonder how many victims and families he's had to talk to over the years, using that same calm, measured tone. “Though I know that doesn't give you any peace. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could say to take this pain away from you.”
“I'm so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Well,” Sarah barks, running her fists under her eyes to catch her tears, “maybe if he didn't feel abandoned, this wouldn't have happened.”
“Sarah,” Josh whispers. “Don't do that.”
“I'm just saying. If he was distraught, we all know why.”
Maybe I should be glad she's not flat-out accusing me of putting the gun to his head, but she might as well be. All I can do is reel in horror with my tongue too tied to speak.