One of the board members approaches. He’s older, distinguished, someone I recognize from Talia’s research. "Mr. Delano, you saved our lives. If you hadn't gotten us out of that conference room, we wouldn’t have made it.”
“It was a team effort,” Blake says, giving Talia an approving glance.
The EMTs are insistent now, guiding Blake toward an ambulance. I follow, refusing to let go of his hand.
"Ma'am, we need space to work.”
"I'm not leaving him."
"Let them work on me.” Blake squeezes my hand. “I’ll be fine."
"No." The word comes out fiercer than I intend. "You don't get to almost die and then tell me to leave. I'm staying."
Something shifts in his expression as he answers, "Okay then. Stay."
They load him into the ambulance, start checking his vitals, and cut away his ruined tuxedo shirt. The shoulder wound looks bad, blood seeping through the bandages. His ribs are bruised, possibly cracked. He’ll need X-rays at the hospital, but for now, he's alive, and that's all that matters.
I'm sitting beside him, holding his non-injured hand, when I hear the voice that makes my whole body tense.
"Peyton!"
It’s my father.
He appears at the ambulance door, looking perfectly composed despite the chaos, every hair in place, concern performing for whatever or whoever might be watching. Always the politician.
"Thank God you're safe. When I heard about the fire at the estate, I came immediately.”
"How did you even know I was here?" I ask flatly.
“A friend of mine called and said you were here tonight at the gala. I admit I was surprised to hear you were attending tonight after everything we discussed at home. It was dangerous for you to do this alone.” He tries to climb into the ambulance. “It doesn’t matter; we need to get you home, away from all this.”
“Stop,” I order, then I step out of the ambulance to handle this privately. “And let me be crystal clear. I wasn’t alone, and I’m not going anywhere with you."
He blinks, caught off-guard by my tone. "Peyton, you're in shock. You've been through a trauma. Let me take care of you.”
"Like you took care of my mother?” The words are out before I can stop them, sharp and cutting.
My father’s expression hardens. “I didn’t kill your mother, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop inferring that I did.”
“Maybe.” I move closer toward my father so we're eye to eye. “But you knew about the inheritance, and you were actively plotting with the most dangerous man in Wintervale on how to use it for your political advantage before you were ever going to tell me.”
“That's not it, sweetheart. I was trying to protect you.”
“Oh, stop, with the sweetheart bullshit." The profanity makes him flinch. "You have always protected your career, your image, and your chances at moving up the political ladder over everything else. You didn’t protect Mom, and you’ve never protected me.” I'm shouting now, and I see people turning, but I'm done caring about optics. “Do you understand who you were in cahoots with? Silas was responsible for what happened here tonight.”
"Peyton, lower your voice. There are ears everywhere. This fire was a very unfortunate event. Probably too many candles burning or a poorly maintained fireplace. Not arson.”
Blake silently signals me with a questioning stare as an EMT wraps his shoulder. I give him a nod, assuring him that I’m still okay. He’s always in protection mode, even when he should be worried about himself.
“I don’t understand you, Dad, and I’m starting to see that neither Mom nor I really ever has.”
“I’m not the villain in your story, Peyton. Understand that your mother made choices that put her in danger.”
“Did you know they were going to hurt her, though?” I ask with a disbelief I’ve been carrying around for days now.
“Of course not.”
“But you did nothing about it when they did." Tears are streaming down my face now. "You're a coward who only cares about yourself, and I don’t want to have anything more to do with you.”
