Chapter Thirty-Two. When There’s a Confession
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
WHEN THERE’S A CONFESSION
FARREN
The car ride back isn’t as awkward, but shock and relief create a different kind of stillness.
My father doesn’t want to dress us down, what with James’s face bleeding and bruised and me …
me feeling like I’m going to explode in an emotional heap.
Instead, he waits until we rumble into the driveway.
“Let’s get Hort settled and then I think another family meeting is in order. ”
Mom flitters onto the porch, curious about our day no doubt.
Even more so, I imagine, when she zeroes in on the right side of James’s face.
Her own face falls, and she jumps into a jog toward us.
“What in the world happened? James.” She reaches forward toward his jaw before retreating. “Did a dragon…?”
James freezes, but Dad cuts through the hesitation with a tight and angry “John.”
When Mom only shakes her head, sharing that anger without a hint of surprise, realization hits.
I was the last to figure it out. My parents took James in not because of social standings, but to protect him, to care for him like they care for all creatures.
Mom must decide not to hold back, because a second later she’s hugging James.
He flinches at the affection before slowly hugging my mom back.
My heart clenches. I turn to help my father with Hort, anything to avoid confronting this overwhelming guilt.
There’s not a single person I care about who I didn’t hurt today.
My parents, my dragons, James. And his own mom, who thought we could keep him safe.
Who hugged me like my mother is hugging James.
This will be good. So good, that’s what she’d told me.
A year ago, when I found out about Nity, when her very presence dictated my every move, I came close to failing a History paper.
My parents never had to reprimand me, though, because the guilt of it chewed through me like I was mere tissue paper.
At times like this I try to calm down and forgive myself, but this guilt builds like steam trying to escape a kettle, my whole body a vibrating whistle no one can hear.
But sometimes I feel like screaming just so someone can help.
Today is like a hundred failed History papers all at once.
Dad rubs my back, and I suck in a breath. “You’re okay. Everything is okay,” my dad whispers. “We’re going to talk about it. Make a plan together.”
I nod before hurrying along to free Hort of his trailer confines and pretend bandaging. Fake wrappings fall away, and he whooshes into the sunlight like he’s flinging himself onto the cozy comfort of home.
When we enter the living room, a small bag of ice is pressed to the right side of James’s face. Another twinge of guilt squeezes around my ribs.
We nestle into the same chairs and couch formation we did last time we had a family meeting. James and I on opposite sides of the room, with my parents pressed into the couch between us.
“Farren, you need to catch your mother up,” Dad says calmly, fingers laced in front of him.
I nod, knowing I’d have to rehash the last few hours of horror. Suspicions turned to tests turned to James’s lies and the violence and accusations thereafter.
In the car Dad tried to reassure us, repeating “It’s going to be all right” and “I won’t let anything bad happen.
” But I’ve been waiting on Mom to unleash the truth, talk through the strategy of how bad it can get.
Because my father is the calm optimist and my mother balances him out with a whopping heap of realism.
And I’m counting on that slice of reality.
If we solve this, maybe I can breathe evenly again.
Yet, I don’t expect what she says next. “Thank you for helping Farren, James. That was a smart lie.” Her eyes slide to mine. “Well thought out.”
James’s head snaps upward. “Ah, you’re welcome.”
She glances between us. “There’s more isn’t there? Something you’re not telling us.” The quiet stretches. “You two are dating, aren’t you?” Mom says softly like she’s worried she’s going to scare one of us into lying again.
I wish James and I could have consulted before being forced into this conversation. Half the deal was to make sure he could stay here. His parent’s one rule is still technically there, especially since Mr. Murphy was storming mad at the very idea James could be kind to me, let alone date me.
I don’t know what to say now. Do I need to dramatically act out distaste again? Or should the truth finally fly free?
“No, we aren’t dating, but I want to,” James says simply. Like it’s a fact so understood there need not be any surprised reaction, like it should have been known long before the question was drawn up.
He wants to date me.
I swivel to hide my face. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you either, I yell at myself. You kissed. But my pulse ramps up at his announcement. With eight words he’s crumpled our deal into dust.
“Farren?” Mom eyes me, willing me to lie.
This is not how I imagined being asked out for the first time. “I want to as well,” I whisper.
James angles his head to the side and presses his lips together like he’s trying not to smile. This also shouldn’t be news to him either, and yet I’m hot lava melting onto the carpet at my admission.
Dad blows out a breath before dropping his head into his hands at the revelation.
“My father already knows about her crafting ability and my … feelings,” James starts. My heart hammers. “We just need to be sure to keep him off the sanctuary at all costs.” James looks to my father. “After what you said, he wouldn’t dare come.”
“What did you say?” Mom asks, turning to Dad.
“I threatened him.”
“Patrick,” she sighs.
“Needed to be done.”
“My father is a coward when it comes to his reputation,” James says.
“But you’re still his son,” Mom volleys back. “Your parents won’t give up on you or let you stay if they think we’re thieves.”
Thieves. Because of me. Because I acted on instinct when I should have paid more attention, should have let myself get whacked unconscious before crafting anything. One job and I failed at it in the worst way.
“I can’t go back,” James states. Ever is implied even though for weeks I’d shuddered at the thought of James returning to that house once I learned what went on inside those walls.
“I agree, he can’t go back. So, what should we do?” I ask.
“We need to figure out who John will tell and what kind of repercussions this might have. If we lose business, that would be one thing. But we can’t have officials poking around or any investigation of the sanctuary.
So, our first order of business is figuring out what rumors Mr. Murphy will create, and how to make sure they stay rumors. ”
“And about Farren and I liking one another?” James asks.
Dad’s face pinches in pain. “And here I thought I’d have a few more years before I had to discuss Farren dating.”
And I thought I could maybe like a boy without having to have a family meeting about it. God, this is a new level of embarrassing.
Mom cuts in. “I’m glad to hear you two actually get along and don’t hate one another, but with everything going on right now…”
“He can’t leave,” I say again, firm as metal. “Not after what he’s done for us.”
“No.” Mom looks at James. “We don’t want you to leave.
And we aren’t saying we’re against you two—” Her hands flap and mortification rushes through me like the emotion is being pumped into my veins, staining me red.
“We’re not saying never. We are just saying not now. Now we need to keep you both safe.”
James nods, head angled down.
But I stare on, because her speech reminds me of a similar family discussion we had over a year ago about pretending to be a copper. How that was a promise involving “not forever” and “not never.” And yet, here I sit, still pretending.
I was tired when we got home. After that conversation though, I’m drained, limbs heavy, heart a mound of metal sinking in my chest. My parents are reasonable to a fault. I think that’s what hurts so much. I can’t get out of this, get what I want through reason.
James speaks of a nap as he shuffles out of the house, and before my parents can turn on me to talk more, I mirror his sentiments and tumble to my room. I don’t let my brain fixate on any one thought, caving into exhaustion.
When I wake up again, darkness has nestled over the house, a calm swaddle to the world. In the kitchen is a note with where to find dinner if I’m hungry. I gnaw on leftover meatloaf and try to wake up without plunging through the guilt and worry of what I did this morning. No chance.
My parents went to bed long ago, but my nap has thrown me off.
I don’t normally mingle with the stars; I’m more used to seeing them shutting their eyes than their bright twinkling charm.
I’m sitting on the kitchen counter, working on crafting a silver tea with the intention of bringing it to James the moment it looks vaguely consumable. It’s been an hour of failure.
Then the boy I like, who I can’t stop thinking about, walks in.
I half straighten, half jump. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he answers, also looking a little startled.
“Do you want some leftovers? There’s meatloaf,” I inquire.
“Actually, yes. I’m starving.”
I get him his plate from the fridge, heat it up, and then hop back up on the counter.
The space between the table and the kitchen is close enough to talk, but far enough away to avoid each other if necessary.
I don’t know where we stand. Today James defended me like a friend might.
Or more like a boyfriend, holding my hand in the dark.
I felt chosen and like everything was my fault at the same time.
The strange combination of want and shame still swirls in my gut, unrelenting.
I focus on my tea, which has gone cold, the silver particles floating unfused with the water. Even with all this power, I still can’t make a silver tea.
“What are you doing?” James suddenly asks from the table.