Walking over to me, he reaches out and wipes his knuckles along my cheek, and I realize I’m also crying. “H-How?” I choke out.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tilts his head to the side as if I asked how my sister died in a foreign language.
“How?” I grind out.
“Lake—”
“Tell me how she died!” I shout, my fists hitting his bloody chest, making him flinch. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I tried to …” He stops himself from telling me the truth.
“You tried to what? Save her?”
“Lake—”
“You killed her!” I shove him, but he pulls my body into his, hugging me tightly. I smell her blood on his clothes, feel it soak into my own shirt, and I start to gag.
“Lake?” He pulls me away from him.
It’s too late. I feel the bile start to rise, and my wide eyes meet his.
He grabs my arm and yanks me over to a trash can. Gripping the back of my neck, he shoves my face into it, and I vomit as he gathers my hair, holding it.
“Yes,”my father snaps, bringing me back. “The last thing you need is to let your pride get in the way.”
“This isn’t about fucking pride.” I fist my hands. “He killed Whitney—”
He slaps me across the face, cutting me off. “Do not mention her name!” he roars.
I cup my throbbing cheek, staring at the floor as fresh tears blur my vision. He’s never hit me before, and I try to hold in a sob, but everything is falling apart so quickly. I just thought today was going to be a horrible day. It’s gone from bad to worse faster than I could have ever imagined.
The door opens. “Lake?”
“I told you to get the fuck out, Miller.” Our father snaps at him, and the door slams shut, once again leaving me alone with him. “Now, where were we?”
EIGHT
TYSON
Three years ago
Istand tucked back behind the tree line, staring ahead at the family. I wasn’t allowed to come, but I slipped the security guy watching the gate a few hundred-dollar bills, and he let me enter the cemetery.
Whitney’s favorite color was pink, and they got her a white casket. She had a fear of burning to death, and they cremated her. Not sure why they chose to do a traditional funeral and bury her ashes in a twenty-thousand-dollar box, but I didn’t have a say.
I feel someone come up next to me and I look over to see Ryat by my side, hands in his slacks and eyes on the service. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says softly. He’s a freshman at Barrington this year while I’m a senior. It’s his first year of initiation, and he’s become a close friend.
My eyes look ahead, and I watch the service come to an end. The family kept it small. Only immediate family were allowed to attend. Which again, I find odd. Whitney was loved by many. She had a lot of friends at Barrington. Everyone who loved her should have been given the chance to say goodbye.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say.
“I know.”
Her mother hasn’t quit sobbing, and her sister, well, I’m surprised she’s even able to walk. Her older brother is holding her up. Their father hasn’t shed a tear. His children mean nothing to him. They are something to be used. A way to grow his own wealth and power.
I’ll make sure he remembers who I am.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Ryat asks softly, knowing what I’m going to do.
