“Hailey—”
“Just tell me he’s okay. I think he’s important to me. I was trying to stop him doing something dangerous.”
I’m rambling. Faster and faster. I fire words at him, hoping he’ll tell me something just to get me off his back.
“He works with you, doesn’t he?”
“Hailey—”
“He said he’d lose the case. Are we... Alex and I... are we together? Dating?”
“Dating?” he scoffs incredulously.
“I think we’re dating, Dad. Or were, I’m not sure. Is he worried—”
“Hailey, stop!” he snaps, all softness gone from his tone. “You’re getting worked up. I can hear your voice breaking. You’re not ready for this, it’s too soon.”
I close my eyes briefly, fighting to keep my frustrated tears at bay. “Dad, please. Give me something... one thing, okay? I promise. Just one question.”
He takes another long pause. “Fine. One answer but only if I’m sure it won’t trigger you.”
I chew my bottom lip wondering which of my hundred questions I should ask. Which is Dad most likely to answer?
Who is Alex?
Is he okay?
What case was he working?
Who is that woman he called special?
Does he miss me?
I dissect every question until last night’s panic from remembering Alex’s hands on my neck comes back, and a brand-new question barges to the front of the line.
I swallow hard, wiping my clammy palm on the bedspread. “Does he know where I am?”
“I suppose I can tell you that much. No, he doesn’t know where you are. Other than me, only Dr. Phillips does.” He pauses, probably expecting me to fire off a barrage of supporting questions, but I’m so taken aback by the relief filling my veins I can’t find words. “Maybe it’d be a good idea to start a diary? Dr. Phillips mentioned that writing things down might help you.”
“A diary...” I echo, latching onto the idea. “That’s great,” I admit, rushing across the room to rummage through my things.
I could write down the memories and hypothesize the possible answers to my questions. I could note what triggered the memory, what I felt... maybe it’d help me decipher what happened and why Dad’s lying about the accident.
He never lies, but I caught him red handed.
“Dad...” I pause halfway across the room. “I wasn’t driving that night, was I?”
“What?” he snaps, the word shaky as he feigns surprise. “Why—”
“Please don’t lie. You promised you’d never lie. My bruising isn’t from a driver-side seatbelt... I was the passenger.”
Dad exhales a shaky breath that makes my stomach drop.
“Was Alex behind the wheel?” I press. “Is he okay?”
“Hailey... I know you have a million questions, but Ican’tanswer them. You need to trust me.”
“How?! How am I supposed to trust you when youlied?”
