Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
SADIE
“ H ere’s your water.” Dad set a glass down on the dining table between us.
It looked like it had been scrubbed at with the same tired scourer for three decades, but the water inside sparkled with ice and lemon.
I eyed the drink, then him. He wasn’t wearing his usual blue police uniform.
Instead, he had on the same blue collared shirt I swore Mum had tried to throw out just before she died.
It had holes in the collar and the cuffs at the ends of the sleeves, but otherwise, it still fit him like a well-worn pair of boots.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, picking up the glass with a trembling hand, and taking a long sip, allowing the cold to numb my tongue.
Dad eyed me from the chair opposite me, unblinking, the tension humming off him so loud I could almost see the vibration haloing his head.
He held himself as though he was bracing for an explosion.
And I suppose I didn’t blame him for that.
Most of our conversations over the years had ended up with either of us—both—losing our shit .
We sat like that for a long moment. The clock on the microwave ticked over another minute—6:23 p.m. If I’d had a camera, I could’ve made a time-lapse of this sad kitchen and its occupants—the battered fridge, the pile of unopened mail sagging under the weight.
Forgotten deadlines. Ignored bills. And the two Coopers at the table not daring to shift a muscle.
Finally, Dad forced himself to move, lifting his beer to his lips, the glass wet from the humidity that had plagued Barrenridge the entire week.
His throat worked as he drank deep, like a man guzzling down his last drink before a firing squad.
I could have read an entire novel off the micro-expressions stuttering over his face.
I kept drinking, too, mostly hoping it could buy me some more time before another awkward silence swallowed us both. But I drank too fast and nearly choked on a shard of ice. The burning cold did nothing to diminish the heat rising in my chest.
Dad cleared his throat. “You hungry? I could?—”
“No, thanks,” I said, the words more of a bark than actual speech. But I was spiralling, and Dad was in the firing line the longer he sat there giving me nothing. “You said you’d tell me the truth about Mum.”
He sniffed and swiped a hand over his mouth. “I will. But I . . . I want to make sure you’re ready.” It was the sort of cryptic statement he’d used plenty of times, especially when he wanted me to stay in the dark.
I was ready for nothing, and everything, all at once. I’d been born with my emotional skin inside out—raw, exposed—and it bled every time my father brushed against it.
My hand tightened around the glass, the condensation rolling between the creases in my fingers. “I’m here, aren’t I? Just tell me, Dad.”
He winced, his jaw tightening. “Sometimes, Sades, there are things you can’t un-know. You understand?”
Oh god. I wanted to scream. Instead, I did what I always did, snarked to hide the fact I was already dying inside.
“It’s not about Logan, is it?” I said. But everything was about Logan. It always was. “Dad. Can you just spit it out?” I was losing it, losing my cool.
Even my eyesight was betraying me, the faded peach-coloured kitchen cupboards going fuzzy at the edges.
I shook my head, blinking the spots away, while Dad set his beer down, the bottle clinking against the scratched wood.
He nodded, then glanced out the tiny kitchen window behind me.
The sky bled into a burnt-orange haze as the sun disappeared below the horizon.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I snatched it out, my thumb hovering over the screen. Rowan. It was a slight reprieve from my thoughts. But also, where the hell was he? He was late. I wasn’t surprised. I was also not leaving this house until Dad fessed up about what he knew.
I declined the call and dropped my phone on the table. In seconds, it rang again, more urgent. I exhaled sharply, my hand trembling as I picked the phone up again.
“Problem?” Dad said, his gaze hard and searching as it roamed my face.
He was attempting to see inside my head the way he’d always done. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I needed answers about Mum. About Logan.
I shook my head. “It’s just Rowan. I better answer otherwise he’ll just keep calling.” I swiped my thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to my ear. “You’re late, Ro.”
“Sadie?” My name rushed out on a single breath. My chest tightened. “Thank fuck. Where are you? ”
“At Dad’s, where you should be. Did you see Iron? What did he say?”
Rowan’s heavy breathing echoed down the line. “That’s not important right now. I need you to listen to me carefully.” His voice held an edge of panic, and my hand tightened around the phone.
“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word in the hopes it would make him fill the silence. “Rowan, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t react, just answer yes or no. Is your dad with you?”
A chill ran up my spine. “Yes.”
My gaze flicked to Dad, fast and accusing. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t flinched. As if he already knew what Rowan was saying.
Rowan’s next words came out in a rush. “Fuck. Okay. I need you to tell him you left something at my house. Say it like you mean it. Tell him you’ll be back in ten minutes. Can you do that?”
My eyes burned, and I blinked rapidly, blurriness overtaking my vision again. “What? Why?”
Rowan exhaled, like he was forcibly pressing all the air out of his lungs so there’d be no room for any lies. “Goddamn it, Sadie, just do as you’re told, for once in your life. We don’t have time to argue.”
“Can’t we just talk about it later? This is import?—”
“Your father killed your mother, Sadie.” His voice sliced through mine, shaking. “Get the fuck out of there right now.”
It took a moment for the words to register. And then they slammed into me, gravity flipping sideways and dragging my stomach with it.
The walls closed in, my throat tightening. All the colour and sound drained out of the room at once, the world suddenly black and white and under water. The only noise was my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
My father sat there, unmoving. Blank-eyed. Familiar in every way that no longer felt safe.
“Wh-what?” I whispered.
“Please, baby,” Rowan choked out, the words muffled. “Just tell him you’ll be back. I’m on my way.”
“Okay, Ro. I’ll see you soon.” My words were steady, or at least I aimed for steady, but I couldn’t help the tremble at the edge of the next words. “I love you.”
“Sadie—”
I hung up and placed my phone carefully on the table, keeping my movement slow and steady. The silence in the room was so sharp, it sliced an actual ache into my jaw. I stared at the glass of water on the table, circling my thumb over the lip to keep from shaking.
My father had killed my mother. Rowan had said those words. He wouldn’t lie. Not about something like that. Not him. Not after everything.
I glanced up and stared directly into my father’s face. He hadn’t moved except to blink, slow and measured, like he was waiting for the next move on a chessboard he’d been playing alone for years. My stomach tightened and wouldn’t let go.
“Everything okay?” Dad said, lifting his beer to his lips.
I stood, dizziness taking over for a split second.
“Yeah . . . it’s fine.” I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the swaying sensation, pressing my palms against the dining table.
“Rowan will be here soon. Listen, I forgot some folders back at his house, ones I think you’ll want to see.
I’m just going to duck over there and grab them really quick. ”
Dad pushed up from the worn-out chair, the wooden legs squealing over the old linoleum. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. You’ll understand soon. Just stay, Sades. Please.” His voice was steady, but there was a slight urgency in his tone.
A chill raced over me, and I stumbled. “What?” I blinked rapidly. My eyesight blurred into a smudged outline of my childhood kitchen, the edges of the room leaking like blood through water. “Why? I just need—whoa.”
My knees buckled and my head swam. I reached for the wall but stumbled sideways, my hand dragging uselessly along the cream-coloured paint, slick with sweat or fear. Probably both. The scratched kitchen table felt miles away, the room shrinking around me. Something wasn’t right.
“Dad, I don’t feel so good.” My gaze flicked to the water glass. “What did you—” Ice melted in the bottom. The lemon slice sat there, hopeless. I couldn’t feel my legs. “Oh god. You drugged me.”
He stepped closer, his expression a mix of determination and desperation, but as I tried to push past him my legs wouldn’t move. They were heavy and unresponsive, as if I was wearing concrete boots.
“It was the only way to draw him out,” Dad said, his eyes pleading with me to understand. “But I’m going to fix everything, Sades. I promise. You just have to trust me.”
“Draw who out?” My muscles weakened further, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my words barely forming coherent sentences as I struggled to stay upright. “Dad, what . . .”
Darkness surged over me like a thick blanket, enveloping my senses. I staggered again. Hands gripped my shoulders. I blinked. Again. Nothing but blurred images danced in front of my face.
Then one came into view, as clear as the image of Logan’s body that had burned itself into my memory .
My dad’s face, etched with worry.
I collapsed into his arms, the world fading to black.