“I’ll have some bourbon then.”
“I’ll have the same,” I say, as Dad walks away. I smile at the amusement in Lachlan’s eyes. “What? I like bourbon.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He leans in and kisses me softly. “Are you okay?”
“I am.” I swallow and whisper, “He changed the couch.”
Lach’s expression darkens as he looks away. I take his face in my hands and bring it back to mine.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m fine because you’re here with me.”
He stretches his long arms and pulls me into his hard chest, burying his face in my neck. I feel like I disappear every time he holds me. It’s my favorite place to be.
“God, Lyla James,” he says on an exhale that tickles a little. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Dad clears his throat and I pull away, sitting back in my seat. Dad sets the drinks in front of us and takes a seat with his own. Lachlan reaches for mine and takes a sip first. Dad watches with a frown on his face.
“Your best friend used to drug her before he raped her,” Lach explains, voice hard.
I shoot him a look but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Dad’s face crumbles. He covers it when he starts to cry. We take a sip of our drinks and wait for him to recover. He wipes his face and takes a breath.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“I wish you’d told me,” he says quietly. “I would have believed you.”
I squeeze my hands under the table, struggling with that. I know he means it, but I’m not sure it would have made a difference. Even if I thought he might have believed me, I was too ashamed to speak. Maybe if I had, maybe Mom would still be alive. Luke would still be alive. I push those thoughts aside. I can’t change what happened.
“Mom caught him,” I say, clearing my throat. “The last time. It was how the accident happened. He ran us off the road.”
“Jesus Christ.” Dad shuts his eyes and takes a breath. “He was there the entire time at the hospital, mourning with me. He was at that same hospital when she gave birth to you, for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s a psychotic sociopath,” I say plainly and move on to the topic I’m really interested in discussing. “If he dies at the hospital, would they blame Lachlan?”
“It would be up for debate, but it was self-defense,” Dad says. “I don’t think he’ll die, at least not while he’s there, but even if he does, I’ll handle it.”
“Can we keep Lyla’s name out of this?” Lach asks. My face whips to his. He holds my gaze. “I don’t want you involved.”
“I don’t wantyouinvolved,” I say sharply.
“He involved me the very first time he touched you,” he says, eyes narrowed. “He involved me again the night he attacked us. He involved me when you left me, when he fucked me out of my contracts, and when he tried to rape you earlier today. Trust me, I’m fucking involved.”
“Jesus,” Dad whispers across from us. “What the fuck.”
“Stop,” I set my hands on Lachlan’s forearms when I feel his anger building. His muscles flex underneath my hold. I wait for his anger to dissipate, at least a little. “Take a breath.”
He swallows hard, his muscles flexing again before he does it. I turn back to my father.
“He also killed Luke,” I say.
“WHAT?” Dad’s eyes widen even more. “H-how?”
“Luke told him he was going to the cops, so Jameson shot him and staged it to look like a suicide,” I say. “Which it didn’t. Luke wasn’t even on the ground when I found him.”
“Fuck, Lyla.” Dad looks like he might throw up, but he manages to breathe through it. “You’ve been shouldering all of this on your own? All this time?”
“No, Marissa and Pres knew. I became so detached after a while, that I couldn’t feel anything,” I say. “It was the only way I survived.”
