The photos littering the top two rows of the bookshelves in the far back corner of the room grabbed my attention. I’d been curious about them before but was almost afraid to get a closer look. Or maybe I’d been worried about doing so under Austin’sever-watchful gaze. I was pretty much likefuck itnow. Since they were stuffed awkwardly behind the wall of the stairs, it wasn’t like I could get a clear view unless I went up to them.
The first picture I glanced at was of an older man and woman with a young, bright-eyed little boy. The younger version of Austin looked back at me without the jaded scar life had left on him.
A smile curled up my lips. It was clear to see the older couple loved the kid very much. I could only assume they were Austin’s grandparents.
More pictures, a couple of them showing a different kid. One with Austin and a younger boy who shared similar features. A younger brother, I would have guessed, and the picture gave away how much the younger kid looked up to his older brother.
I picked up the image of Austin posed with a baseball mitt and ball, wearing a baseball uniform, his shaggy hair sticking out wildly around his hat.
Another smile pulled at my lips. How long had he played? Was it something he did now? Maybe he hit the batting cages when work got too much for him? Or did he just keep it all in? It wouldn’t surprise me if he did.
I set the photo back, letting my eyes take the rest of the tour until there were no more pictures to look at.
I continued to take in the bookshelves that almost seemed thoughtlessly stuffed in this corner. They held more knickknacks than anything else. Noticing something on the bottom shelf, I crouched and reached for the first photo album on top of a stack of several.
I opened it with a wild curiosity spurring me on. I shouldn’t have gone looking for snippets of Austin’s life, but like a moth drawn to a flame, I couldn’t stop. I went as far as to sit on the cold hardwood floor as I pulled the album into my lap.
More photos. Old ones. It looked like Austin’s grandparents when they were younger, long before Austin was brought into the world. A young couple in love. There were pages and pages. Then a wedding, where the couple’s smiles were almost sickeningly happy and genuine. The kind of smiles and happiness that jumped right out of the picture and infected your soul. A posed picture with both sets of their parents, who also looked happy about the ceremony.
Then a picture of a house.
This house.
The couple stood in the front doorway with beaming smiles directed at the camera.
I turned the page, and the smile I hadn’t realized had taken over my face slipped off.
The next set of pages came up blank. But not blank as if that was where this album ended.
Blank, as in the pictures that were there had been removed.
I flipped through, seeing that the next page was also blank. And the next. All the way until the end.
So this house had belonged to Austin’s paternal grandparents. This was likely the house his father had grown up in.
Something twisted in my gut, and I swallowed hard trying to keep it at bay.
Deep down I had an idea why these pages were blank. Why the photos there had been removed. Why the couple likely wanted to forget what came after they bought the house.
Truth was, I didn’t know what to do with that. This was the part that not many people thought about. The fallout and how the families and friends and victims’ loved ones deal with it.
Austin’s socked feet appeared beside me. I tilted my head back so I could look into his eyes.
His focus was on the photo album in my lap, eyes hazy and cold.
“You know,” he said, but it wasn’t a question. When his gaze jerked to mine, I could see the walls going up. The hardened gaze nearly made my blood run cold. “You know who my father is.”
It hadn’t been a question, but the way he was looking at me, there was almost a dare in his eyes.
I stayed where I was, giving him the advantage over me, as I calmly admitted what he already knew, “Yeah.”
“Off limits,” he snapped, squatting down and snatching the photo album out of my hands. He shoved it back on the shelf, uncaring as it sat crooked on top of the pile. Then he turned and stormed out of the room. A minute later, the side door slammed shut so hard the walls rattled.
Scrambling to my feet, I rushed to one of the windows that looked out to the front of the property.
Austin stomped his way through the melting slush piles to the huge barn that looked as if it had seen better days.
Fuck this. I wasn’t going to let him storm off like that.
