He looks at Lach, down at the wounds they’re cleaning, and back at his face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he snaps, glaring at my father.
Dad takes in his expression and looks at me again. “What the fuck happened?”
“Ronnie,” I say and wait for him to turn around. “Tell the officer I’m ready to speak now. A woman. I’ll only speak to a woman.” I look at Dad again. “Stay here and listen.”
He does, a concerned look on his face. A woman officer walks over. Most officers introduce themselves by their last names. She just tells us to call her Amy. Probably a tactic she uses to make people comfortable. It works. I recount everything — from what happened when I was fourteen to what happened the night of the accident. When I get to that part, Dad, who was already crying, loses his shit. He steps toward me and I pull back, because it’s a sudden movement and I’m on edge as it is. Lach shoots up and gets in my dad’s face.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he seethes. “You don’t deserve to call her your daughter.”
“Lach.” I hop off the ledge and from behind, I wrap my arms around his middle. “It’s okay. Let them finish cleaning you up.”
He does what I ask but keeps his glare on my father, who hunches over, setting his hands on his knees as he doubles over, crying harder. I’ve never seen my father cry. I’ve seen him laugh and scream, but never cry. It hurts a little to witness, but not enough for me to comfort him. When they finish bandaging up Lachlan’s hands, they explain what he needs to do and how often to change his bandages. I tell them I know how to do it, and finally, they check us off their list. We stay on the ledge as another police officer walks over. Despite me telling Amy everything, the police want me to go down to the precinct.
“No,” Dad says, his voice hard as he collects himself. “They’re not going to a fucking police station without a lawyer.” He looks at me. “Where are you going now? Do you want to come home?”
I scoff.Home.I can’t remember the last time I thought of his house as my home. I’m not opposed to going. A part of me still hopes that I can salvage whatever is left of my frayed relationship with my father. That same part of me wants to prove that I can walk into that house and walk out unscathed. I haven’t stepped foot in that house since the night my mom died, and it feels long overdue for me to do this.
“I’ll let you know. Maybe we’ll drop by,” I tell my dad after a moment. “We have to go to the hotel first.”
“Please do,” he says and stops speaking when his words catch. “I’m so sorry, Lyla. I’m so, so sorry.” He begins to sob again.
This time, I hop off the ledge and hug him. Dad’s a big guy. Powerful sobs rake through him and I tremble in response. He apologizes repeatedly. I try to hold back my tears, but they run down my cheeks freely. It's the way he holds me, the way I had wanted him to so many times in the past. It’s another reminder of what he didn’t do and the realization of something I didn’t know I was missing. When I step away, we both wipe our faces.
“Please come by,” he says again.
“I will.” I try to smile. “Maybe tonight. Definitely, before we leave.”
I leave him with that promise and let Lachlan, no longer in shock, lead me to the car.
CHAPTER59
LACHLAN
I should have killed him.The thought has been running through my head on loop. I did as Lyla asked and stopped myself when she asked me to. I’m still considering showing up at the hospital and putting a pillow over his head while he’s there. We have clear audio of him taking the blame for the accident that killed her mother, Luke’s supposed suicide, and killing another girl, which should be enough to put him away for life. I thought the punishment would be enough, but it’s not. He has too many connections, and I don’t trust our justice system to keep him behind bars. I want him dead. Every time I replay what happened, my anger reignites. When I saw him touching her, and unbuckling his pants, ready to lower them. . .fuck. And then, he had the nerve to call her his. I think that’s what ultimately sent me over the edge the second time. He fought back, but he stood no chance.
Everything about it and whatever happened afterwards is a blur. I remember Lyla hugging her dad and walking away. I don’t remember showering when we got here, but I must have, since I’m sitting in bed under the covers in a t-shirt and pajama pants. I have the worst fucking headache. I’m not sure if I say it aloud, but Lyla has a bottle of ibuprofen in her hand as she walks out of the bathroom. She gives me the medicine, holds a cup of water to my lips, and sets it on the nightstand. I watch her grab clean bandages and climb on the bed, sitting in front of me on top of the covers.
I protest and make her get up, so she can sit underneath the covers with me. The moment her ass is on the mattress, I pull her into me, burying my face in her neck and breathing her in for a couple of seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. I’m not sure. I don’t really care. When she pulls away, she kneels between my legs and sets the bandages down. She runs the back of her hand over my face softly, as she looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes of hers I want to live inside of.
“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, as she sets her hand on her lap.
“Fine.”
She shoots me a look. “Try again and tell me the truth this time.”
I sigh heavily, bringing my bandaged hands to her face. “I wish I’d killed him.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m just happy you’re here with me.”
“He hurt you.” I let my hands drop and pause to swallow past the pain in my throat. “He could have. . .”
I can’t even bring myself to say the damn word. It fucking hurts to think about, let alone speak into the universe.
“He didn’t. He wouldn’t have.” She reaches up and holds my face tight when I try to look away. “I knew you’d come for me. You always do.”
This fucking girl. I pull her to me again, holding her tighter this time. I don’t know what I would have done if he had. I guess I would’ve gone to jail for murder. But then I wouldn’t have this. I wouldn’t have her. And I know I’d be lost without her. Iwaslost without her before I found her again.
