My father’s voice barked through the line. He said the name I was given at birth, one I hadn’t heard in years. “Is that you?” he demanded.
My heart pounded, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to argue with him, not immediately. Not after years of silence.
“Grayson,” I finally answered.
There was a long pause. “Listen, I don’t want you calling here again, do you hear me? Your mother is dead and gone, and as far as I’m concerned, you are, too.”
My blood froze.
The park started spinning around me.
I thought about Marco and Demir, driving away in their car, and almost I got sick on the sidewalk.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me. And don’t call again.”
The line went dead. My breath hitched in my chest, and again.
And then, as the first droplets of rain splattered onto the pavement, the truth crashed down on me, too.
