Not now.
I’ve survived this fucked-up day, Easton is okay, and I don’t have to leave him. As if reading my mind, eyes still closed, he gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and, for the first time in a while, I smile. After a few moments, his breathing slows, and his grip around my fingers loosens slightly as he drifts.
A throat clears behind me.
I turn to see Vincent sitting on the visitors’ sofa. My eyes narrow on his usually gelled light hair now pointing in all directions, his loosened tie, dress shirt partly untucked. He sure picked a hell of a time to decide to be a father.
He looks from me to Easton, then at our clasped hands. “How long?” he asks. “How long since you two, uh ...” He shifts on the sofa. “Well, since this?”
I arch a brow. “Longer than you’ve been acting like his father.”
He tips his chin. “I deserved that.”
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Why come back now, when he’s needed you for so long?”
Vincent shuts his eyes. When he opens them again, he’s so weighed down he looks like he’s aged ten years. “Because, whether we chose this path or not, I’m his father. Being away ... being away for a while, then getting the call about what happened today ...” He shakes his head, and, as if he couldn’t surprise me anymore, his lips actually quiver before he steadies them. “I know I have a lot to make up for, but he is my son. And I’m going to figure it out. Somehow.”
I watch him for a long moment. I watch him sweat, squirm, struggle under my scrutiny. But mostly ... mostly, I watch the way he looks at Easton. I don’t know if it’s possible for someone as emotionally distant as Vincent to change. I don’t know if it’s possible for him to give Easton the kind of father’s love he deserves. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much regret on one person’s face either. Funny how the threat of death makes us remember how to love.
“I’m glad,” I finally whisper, drawing Vincent’s gaze to mine.
Yesterday, if I were facing either of the people who chose to adopt me, I would have locked up any of my own thoughts and thrown away the key. But I no longer need their approval. I have my own.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I continue. “But Vincent ... if you hurt him now, if you reel him back in only to walk away again, I swear.” Every hellish path I’ve been dragged into and fought my way out of seeps into my voice with a twinge of peril even I don’t recognize. “I will hunt you down, and I will make your life a living hell. Believe me, I know exactly what hell is, and it takes balls much bigger than yours to survive it.”
For a few seconds, he says nothing. I think I’ve stunned him. Then, he clears his throat. Raises his brows. “Well, I do believe I’ve underestimated you.”
“I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
He grunts, and I could swear a flicker of amusement mixes with the surprise on his face. “Indeed, it won’t.”
We stare at each other for a beat, a strange sort of understanding passing between us. Until the door swings open.
“Oh!” Bridget’s shriek is hushed for Easton’s sake. “Clearly that walk to your room was too much. Look at him, he’s unconscious.” She strides toward me, heelsclick, click, clickingacross the linoleum. Her eyes widen when they land on our clasped hands. “No. No, this isn’t happening. Thiscan’thappen. What will people say? You—you’re hissister.”
“By adoption only. An adoption I’m cancelling.”
She scoffs. “You can’tcancelan adoption.”
“Oh.” I look away, chew my lip, thinking. “Then, whatever you call it when you break legal ties to your family. I’m doing that.”
“Emancipation?” Vincent suggests, and Bridget and I both look at him. He shrugs. “What? That’s what it’s called, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’m doing that.” I blush when they aim their focus at me. It’s painfully obvious I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I won’t let them intimidate me. I straighten my posture. “I’m still looking into it.”
Bridget places one hand on her hip. “And where will you live?”
“What difference does it make to you? Was Uncle Perry’s not far enough from your ivory tower?”
For a fleeting moment, Bridget has the decency to look properly admonished. “Don’t think I will let you stay with him now.”
“Let me?” I laugh, the sound bitter. “You don’t have toletme do anything. From this point forward, I’m free of you, Bridget. Of both of you.” This time, the half-laugh that escapes me is broken with emotion. My eyes sting, but in the best way. “I’m free,” I repeat, hardly able to believe it. Clarity seeps into my lungs like oxygen.
I choose freedom.
A warm thumb strokes the back of my hand, and I look at the bed to find Easton’s tired eyes on me. He blinks slowly, and the whiskey behind that heavy-lidded gaze burns bright. So bright, it lights a fire in the pit of my stomach. His grip tightens around my hand, and I swallow, letting another tear fall. The last one, I promise myself. It’s the last one.
“Darling?” Bridget approaches, but Easton’s attention is rapt on me. “Darling, are you okay? Do you need more ice chips? Do you need the nurse? I’ll fetch the nurse.”
