Chapter 12
TWELVE
DAKOTA
I approach cautiously, taking the chair beside him. “It’s still early. You should sleep.”
“Keep thinking about your mother. Your sister.” He stares into the bottle like it holds answers. “I failed you all.”
The gnawing knot I’ve carried since childhood in my chest loosens.
“We’re still here,” I say, unsure if I’m reassuring him or myself. “We’re alive.”
“But for how long?” His gaze lifts to meet mine again, and for a second I see past the bloated, bitter man to the father who once carried me on his shoulders. A ghost from my earliest memories, before Amelia got sick, before everything changed. “I was supposed to protect you. Keep you safe.”
His hand darts to my face, and I jolt, but he doesn’t stop, cupping my cheek with unfamiliar gentleness.
“My little girl,” he murmurs. “You look so much like your grandmother. Same eyes.”
I stiffen, counting the seconds.
He smiles, nostalgic, then his face crumples. “I ruined everything. All of it. For nothing. I’m sorry.”
Could he mean it? After everything?
“Dad…” My voice breaks. “It’s—”
He reaches for the bottle, and I probably make the biggest mistake I know I shouldn’t make.
I snatch it away. “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
“Dakota.” His voice drops an octave. “Give. It. Back.”
“Dad, please. You need to—”
He lunges for the bottle, and I jerk backward, chair legs screeching against the tile floor. His eyes narrow on my hands before meeting my gaze.
I see the familiar flash before it happens. His hand connects with my face. A sharp crack that echoes in the small room.
I knew it was a mistake.
The bottle slips from my fingers, landing on the floor without breaking as heat blooms on my cheek.
It’s my fault.
“Oh God, Dakota, I’m sorry.” Horror flashes across his face, immediate and seemingly genuine. “I didn’t mean to. You—” His hands hover like he wants to check for damage, but knows better than to touch me again. “Are you hurt? Let me see.”
“It’s fine.” I cup my stinging cheek, blinking back tears. It wasn’t that hard. Barely a slap. Another accident. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”
“You always didn’t know what was right.” And just like that, the moment of care vanishes. “Your mother should teach you better.”
I nod, because anything else would make it worse.
“See?” He bends down to retrieve the bottle. “Now, let’s have a drink.”
“I—” I struggle to my feet and turn. “Get some—”
Julien skids to a halt in the doorway, shoulders filling the frame, face carved from stone. Did he just arrive?
My father’s laugh turns vicious. “Look who’s here.”
“Dakota.” Julien’s eyes take me in. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “We were just talking.” His gaze drops to my cheek, and I turn my head to the other side. “It’s f—”
He crosses the room in two strides, fisting my father by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. The chair topples backward with a crash.
“If you touch her one more time, I swear to God—”
“Don’t.” I grab his arm. “This isn’t helping anyone.”
My father doesn’t struggle in Julien’s grip. He just smiles that empty one that always precedes his cruelest moments. “Go ahead, boy. Show her what kind of man you really are. Show her you’re just like me.”
The words land, Julien’s knuckles whitening around the fabric of my father’s shirt.
“Please,” I say. “ Let him go.”
Julien’s jaw works, muscles jumping beneath his skin. Then, with visible effort, he releases my father, who slumps back against the table.
“Next time,” Julien says, voice deadly soft, “I won’t stop.”
My father straightens his shirt, reaching for the bottle with deliberate slowness. “She’s not worth the trouble.”
“Say that again,” Julien says.
“She—”
“Stop it!” I wedge myself between them, forcing Julien to risk hurting me too. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Trust me, he’ll be fine in a few hours.”
Julien’s eyes snap to mine. “This happens regularly?”
My father snorts. “She’s being dramatic.”
“I’m not talking to you.” Julien’s eyes stay on my face. “Dakota?”
Suddenly, the kitchen feels too small, air thinning as both men stare at me. One with blank indifference, the other with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“You should go check on Amelia,” I say. “She—”
“Answer the fucking question.” Julien steps closer, voice dropping. “Does this happen regularly?”
“No.” Can’t he just let it go?
His gaze drifts to my ribcage. “Those weren’t from stairs, were they?”
My father laughs, the sound hollow. “Always playing victim when it suits her. What lies did she tell you?” He takes another swig from the bottle. “Did she—”
“We’re done here.” I grasp Julien’s wrist and yank him toward the door. “Please.”
He resists, murder written in every line of his body.
I tug harder. “Julien. I beg you.”
Something in my voice must get through because he finally follows, letting me coax him into the hallway. I slam the door behind us, not caring who hears, and keep moving, my hand still clutched around his wrist like it’s the only thing anchoring me to earth.
“Dakota—”
“Not here.” My feet carry me forward, away from the kitchen, away from my father, away from that whole fucking scene.
The spiral staircase appears ahead. Yes. Up. Away. I release his wrist only to grab the railing and take the steps two at a time, not checking if he follows. But I hear his heavy footsteps behind me and the controlled breathing of a man trying very hard not to explode.
Cold pre-dawn air hits my face as we emerge into the bell tower. I gulp it down like I’m drowning, my lungs burning.
“Why did you stop me?” Julien’s voice is dangerously quiet.
I spin to face him. “What were you going to do? Beat him to death with your bare hands?”
“He hurt you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Looks pretty fucking simple to me.” He steps closer, one hand lifting toward my face, stopping inches from my cheek, where I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “He hit you.”
I step back. “It was an accident.”
“Bullshit.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“Then tell me. Make me understand why you’re defending him.”
“Because—” I clutch my wrist. “Because he’s still my father. And we’re in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, and we need everyone functioning if we want to survive. And Amelia. She wouldn’t survive it.”
He crosses his arms. “Try again.”
“What do you want from me?” The words tear from my throat.
“A sob story? Poor little Dakota with the mean daddy? Will that make you feel better?” I can’t do this.
The tears I’ve been fighting all my life rise, burning behind my eyes.
Can’t stand here and let him see me break.
I spin around. “It’s my fault. I’ve always known better. ”
I knew it was a mistake, and I did it anyway.
Why am I so stupid?
The wind picks up, whistling through the arched openings of the tower, and I close my eyes, letting it whip my hair across my face.
It’s like ice on my burning cheek.
Freezing the pain.
“It’s my fault they got to Amelia.” I wipe at my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I wasn’t there. I should have been there.”
He moves behind me, his shadow merging with mine. “Look at me.”
I shake my head.
He wasn’t supposed to know. Nobody was.
“Please.” His voice promises safety, and my foolish heart wins the fight against my mind.
I slowly turn, keeping my head low.
The wind catches my hair again, sending it across my face.
Before I can brush it away, his fingers are there, tucking the strands behind my ear and lingering far longer than needed.
Far longer than I should hope for. His thumb grazes my cheekbone where my father’s hand connected, traveling down to my chin and tipping it up, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“Did he give you those bruises I saw?” His voice is tender. “Before the wedding?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know how hard to hit him when this is all over.”
I laugh. Actually, laugh at this absurdity. “You’re—unbelievable.”
He hooks an arm around me and hauls me against his warm body. This is too much, too close, but my body betrays me, craving it. His embrace locks me in place, my ear catching the heavy, driving beat of his heart while his hand traces small circles on my back.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into his shirt.
“For what?”
“Dragging you into my family drama.”
I feel more than hear his soft laugh. “Trust me, I’ve been in your family drama for years.” His hand continues its path up and down my spine. “Longer than you know.”
I wish Julien had been there every time. Holding me like this and making everything okay instead of…
“Do you know those little couple videos?” I ask. “The ones where they dance in the rain?”
“No.”
Normally, after my father has a bad night, I binge-watch reels like that.
Just scroll and scroll. “They look so happy and free, even though they’re getting drenched.
Hair a mess, clothes ruined.” I breathe out the fear and guilt that’s been choking me, replacing it with his scent.
“And maybe they had the worst day. But in that moment? It’s like the best time they’ve ever had. ”
Just like this.
I used to wonder what that felt like. To be so happy about something so simple. To not care how you look or what people think.
To just… be.
His arms tighten around me, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs into my hair. “None of it.”
I want to argue. Want to list all the ways I’ve failed Amelia, my parents, and myself. But his warmth seeps through me, thawing parts of me frozen for so long I’d forgotten it could be otherwise.
I burrow deeper. “We should go.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Because Amelia. Because my parents. Because I don’t think I can survive without this from now on. “Sun’s coming up. The others will notice we’re gone.”
“Let them.”
“But—”
“Dakota.” He strokes my hair. “Just stay. For a minute. Please.”
Damn him.
We stay like that, his arms locked around me like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. The sun climbs higher, painting the bell tower in gold, and birds call to each other from the trees beyond the fence, oblivious to the monsters below.
“Thank you,” I say, the words muffled against his chest.
His hand stills in my hair. “You’re welcome.”
I close my eyes, letting the birds’ melodies wash over me as a low, metallic rattling fills the air, raising the hair on the back of my neck.
I snap my eyes open.
The massive bronze bell sways.
It. Sways.
Just slightly.
More than a wind could do.