Chapter Ten
Seraphine
One hour earlier…
I pull up to my father’s house with a stiff back and gritty eyes. Though sleeping in my car was uncomfortable, it didn’t stop me from oversleeping. Good thing my shift at the spa doesn’t start until late afternoon today.
The cop who knocked on my window was the one to wake me up. He told me I wasn’t in trouble, he just wanted to make sure I was alive.
After leaving the park I found myself in last night, I grabbed some food and coffee.
Now I’m here, sitting in my car, trying to gauge how Dad’s mood will be when I go inside.
Is he going to give me crap for leaving last night?
Even though he told me to, it’ll still be something to complain about.
Or will he finally, for once, give me a little bit of sympathy and act like the father he should be?
I hate being angry with him, hate having harsh feelings toward him, but I can’t help it.
He’s hurting still, my mother’s death took a toll on him.
I get that, but I’m hurting too. The change with him was like a flipped switch.
The day before she died, he was fine. His happy, cheery self.
The day after? All the happiness was gone from his eyes.
It’s like they were replaced with someone else’s.
And now… I’m stuck with this shell of a horrible man who blames me for my mother killing herself.
And I don’t even know why she did it and if I should be blaming myself.
She didn’t leave a note. She and I got along great.
There isn’t any reason for him to blame me—or for me to actually think it was my fault—other than not wanting to blame himself. And that really hurts.
With a heavy sigh, I shut off my car and get out.
I take careful, slow steps toward the house, my skin prickling.
I hate walking into this house; each time is worse than the last. I’m not sure why I thought coming back here would work, but more than ever, I need to find my own place.
To get away from my dad before he drags me too deep into the darkness.
The offer from Mr. Caldwell gets more tempting the more I think about it.
I should suck up my pride and do it. I mean, it’s just a job.
He isn’t all that bad. But working with my ex’s father is a bad idea, especially after what we did.
How will I look at him after that? He’s very handsome and charismatic. That’s a disaster waiting to happen.
And after all those things he said to me in the bar? It’s clear that sexual things are on the table for him, which isn’t the work setting I want to be in.
He’s thought about things like that with me, and though it should make me feel violated, it doesn’t.
It makes me feel good. Seen. Like I’m important enough for a powerful man to notice.
No one ever notices me. My boyfriend couldn’t even stand to be with me—he cheated on me, for crying out loud.
My father has hated me for years and can’t stand to look at me without getting furious.
So, the attention from Elliot Caldwell? It’s nice. Possibly addicting.
Which makes this dangerous, and reason enough to say no.
But… if it’s only for a short time, I could manage it.
I can keep my head down, do what he needs, get paid, then leave when my time is done.
A man like him must use contracts for just about everything, so maybe we can get one of those.
Like a six-month thing or something. With the amount of money I’d be paid in six months at the rate he’s willing to pay me, I could buy a house.
Far, far away from here. I can tolerate being with my father for six more months.
It’ll suck, but if I work long days and get back before he locks the door, it’ll be fine.
I’ll come home and go right to bed. Be up before Dad is, and that’s that.
I can totally handle this. Because obviously living with Mr. Caldwell is out of the question.
I have self-control, but not that much self-control.
Putting myself in that sort of situation is more than a bad idea—it’s downright stupid.
Look what happened the first time I went to his house.
I step onto the first concrete step, then the second, and then the porch. I glance down at the dead potted plant. It’s still there, still dead. Still pathetic.
When I have my own place, I’m going to have a garden.
One where I can grow my own vegetables. I’ll plant apple trees, raspberry bushes, and everything else I can think of.
It was the dream Harrison, and I had together when he finished law school, but I don’t need him for this dream.
I don’t need a man to help me with anything.
I can do this myself. Harrison has no issue accepting help from his father so he can get where he wants, why can’t I do the same?
Mr. Caldwell is offering, so I should take it.
I just have to lay down rules and make sure he knows the massage thing was a one-time only deal.
I’ll do the PA thing, but I am not massaging him or anything else.
Touching each other cannot happen, no matter what.
With another heavy breath, I hold my chin high, open the door, and step inside.
The warmth is welcome, but there’s a strange scent in the air. Home always smelled so good when mom was alive, but after her death, it never smelled the same again. It didn’t have the homey, comforting scent I remembered, and now it’s bitter.
Shutting the door, I pull off my jacket and move down the hall and up the stairs to my room.
The TV isn’t on in the kitchen, so I assume Dad is in his room taking a nap.
He sometimes does that in the afternoons, and the last thing I want to do, after making him angry last night, is wake him up now.
As quietly as I can, I get up to my room, grab some clothes and go to the bathroom.
I spend a lot of time in the shower, but not enough to use all the hot water in case Dad wants to shower when he gets up.
I can’t do anything to upset him today, I need to sleep in my bed tonight.
I can’t handle sleeping in my car again.
If it happens again, I’ll have to suck it up and get a hotel for the night.
I dry off and get dressed, then head back to my room to make sure I have everything together for work.
If I leave now I’ll be early, but it’s better than being late and better than being here.
Doing one more sweep to make sure I’ve got everything I need, I head out of my room and carefully walk down the stairs.
I veer left toward the front door, but stop at the last minute.
I should pop my head into the kitchen just to see if Dad is in there.
If he is, I should say goodbye. If he isn’t, well, I tried.
I move toward the kitchen, hesitating when that bitter smell gets stronger.
It’s metallic, stale. Reminding me of spoiled food.
I take my first step into the kitchen and freeze.
I stumble back, slamming into the wall behind me so hard the air punches from my lungs.
A scream gets caught in my throat, and I fight to take in air.
My brain isn’t working. It’s short-circuiting, not understanding but also understanding all too well what I’m looking at. What’s right in front of me.
The smell makes sense now because there’s blood everywhere.
Pooling on the floor, dotted on the table, and splattered on the wall behind my father’s head that has a large bullet hole in it.
The gun lays on the floor not too far from his limp arm that’s hanging over the arm of the chair.
His skin is grey, lips a shade of purple-blue that at any other time I’d find beautiful.
He’s wearing that same black and red plaid shirt he always wears, with his jeans and his boots—those too with blood all over them.
A sob claws its way out of my throat. I turn away and vomit all over the floor. Everything I’d just had for breakfast comes up, along with tears pouring from my eyes. I stumble out of the house, choking out sobs as I pull my phone from my bag and dial 9-1-1.
I’m in the elevator going up, not sure where I am or how I got here. My eyes burn, my face tight with dried tears. My chest aches and my heart hurts. Blinking a few times, the reminder of what happened comes barreling back into my mind, the images playing on a slideshow in my head.
My father killed himself. I found him.
He killed himself, and I found him.
The blood… There was so much blood. All over the place. The floor, the wall, the table… all over him.
He wanted me to find him. Did it on purpose.
He left a note addressed to me. That’s what the cops said.
They showed it to me. It was inside a plastic bag, but they let me read it.
I couldn’t though. Everything was a blur, but I made out some of the words.
Words that are too painful to recall right now—maybe ever.
The elevator stops on the forty-first floor, and that rings a bell. When the doors open, I recognize the black and gold abstract painting that’s hanging on the wall in front of me.
Why did I come here? Even more than that, how the hell did I get here?
Even after remembering what happened, I don’t remember getting here. But I did for a reason, and as pathetic as that is, I don’t care. I have nowhere else to go, and right now, I need to be with someone.
My legs move by habit down the hall and to the last door on the end. I knock, holding my breath, unsure of what I’m going to say or do when he opens the door. If he even does because I don’t know if he’s home.
It’s only a moment before the door opens. Harrison’s face looks almost suspicious as he comes into view around the door, but then it turns to confusion.
“I’m so s-sorry. I d-didn’t know where else t-to go.” The words fall out of my mouth through sobs. It’s pathetic he’s the only person I can go to. After what he did to me, I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, but I need comfort. I need something familiar. And he is all I have.
“What’s going on, Seraphine?” he says, pulling me into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I cry harder, tears soaking his shirt that smells of the detergent he uses.
It reminds me of the way our bed sheets smelled, and my laundry too.
His strong arms are around me and though everything in my life is terrible, this feels good.
Even if it’s only for a moment because this can’t ever work after what he did to me, but I’ll take what I can get from him.
Just for a short time. Until I can pull myself together.
We stand there in the doorway for a long time, until I can’t cry anymore, and my hearing comes back, allowing me to make out his shushing. He’s rocking us slowly from side to side, cradling my head.
I take a deep, shuddering breath and pull back. Harrison cups my face, staring down at me with absolute concern. He wipes beneath my eyes with his thumbs, holding my gaze.
“My father, he…” My throat tightens again, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“What did he do?”
Those words have my spine stiffening. It wasn’t Harrison who said them. Behind Harrison is his father. Elliot Caldwell stands there, furious—either at me or on my behalf. But why would that be? Why would he be angry for me? He doesn’t even know me.
“What did your father do, Sera?” Harrison asks more gently, sliding his hands down to my shoulders. I bring my gaze back to him, confused about why they’re here together. As far as I know, Elliot has never been here before, but honestly, I don’t know why that matters right now.
“He killed himself,” I finally manage to say. “He killed himself, and I found him.”
Harrison’s eyes widen and he curses under his breath. My gaze finds Elliot again, and he only looks angrier, his eyes heating with rage.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Harrison pulls me to him again, but this time I turn my head so I can stare at his father.
Are they messing with me? Could this really be blackmail?
Is his father trying to find a reason to make me look bad?
Say crude things to me to see if I’ll react, so he can paint me as the villain?
This way, if I say something about what I saw, it won’t be credible.
People like him always think others do mean things for the hell of it.
They expect the worst of everyone. Elliot Caldwell doesn’t trust people like me, who are truly kind and don’t do mean things just because they have the opportunity to.
I’m not that kind of person. But I push those thoughts away, tearing my gaze from Elliot, because I have more important issues to deal with.