“You will, Daughter.”
Daughter? Before I can remove my arm and look into this man’s eyes, he does it for me. He grasps my chin between thick fingers and turns my head to the side. I’m staring at the man from the picture Trace showed me on his phone.
“How . . .?” My tears fall. It’s too much. Trace doesn’t want to see me. This man is claiming to be my father. “How are you here?” I heave a sigh. My chest aches with a hurt I didn’t think I’d experience again. I love Trace. I hate him for putting me in this situation. Had he kept it in his pants before I ever met him, I wouldn’t be his hookups’ target. “What happened? Shouldn’t I be at school?”
“How about we answer a question at a time, starting with the easiest first. Does that work for you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not at school because I pulled you from your classes. Trace found you behind the dumpster, beaten up and left like crumpled-up trash. He called nine-one-one. You’ve been in the hospital for three days. They’re monitoring you for internal bleeding, as well as your kidney function. You were putting out bloody urine in your catheter.”
I have a catheter? Jesus, is that the tubing between my legs?
“Your CT scan showed bruising on your kidneys and behind your stomach. Whoever did this got you good. They kicked you and kept on kicking you even when you lost consciousness.”
“Were there cameras? Is that how you know all this?”
“I’m a detective with SFPD, Sorrow. I see these types of injuries all the time with assaults. It’s a good thing that boy found you when he did. Otherwise, we’d be looking at a different ending.”
Except all this wouldn’t have happened had Trace not been getting oral in the bathroom.
“How are you here?”
“The same boy. You got feelings for him?”
The man who says he’s my dad scrutinizes me. I shake my head. “I lived with him and his parents when my, um, my father died in a house fire.”
“He’s not your goddamn father. He and his wife were thieves and murderers. They gutted your mother, my wife, and stole you, my child, from her womb.” His face darkens. I recoil. I would never want to run into this man in a dark alley, even if he is a detective. There’s darkness in his soul, and it’s there because he did bad things before he decided to become an officer of the law.
“How are you certain I’m your daughter?”
“Again, the boy. The day of your assault, I received by priority mail pieces of your hair and a picture of you and him on a fucking inner tube. I called in a favor for a fast turnaround time, got the results yesterday, and busted balls to get here before you woke up.”
“Woke up?”
“They kept you sedated. You were hurt really badly and in a lot of pain, from what your friend Leigh said. The best way to help you work through the pain and help your body heal faster was to sedate you.”
“Leigh was here?”
“All your friends were, sweetheart.”
“But not Trace?”
“Not while I’ve been here. I haven’t left your side, Sorrow.”
“What now?” More tears slide down my cheeks. I reach for a Kleenex. My dad grabs one from the box and gently dabs at my tears, like I’d fall apart if he didn’t.
“When the docs give you the okay to leave, you’ll be going home with me, to San Francisco. You’ll meet your cousins, aunts, and uncles, and Cillian McCabe. He’s the head of the family. I’ve already enrolled you in the same school your sister, Isla, graduated from.”
The door opens, and a petite woman with long black hair and eyes the same shade as mine walks in.
“Speak of the devil. Isla, dear, come say hi to your sister, Sorrow.”
“I can keep my name?”
“Or you can change it. Up to you.”
“I’ll keep it.”
