Chapter 22 #3
Conversation comes easy after that, the way it always has with him. Little things. How are Mom’s rose bushes doing? What about the new neighbors that moved in down the street? Then his gaze settles on me a little longer. “How you been feeling?” he asks quietly.
I shrug. “Tired,” I admit, because that’s the safest truth. I trace the rim of my mug. “You and Mom… are y’all still planning to take that trip?”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re still going to go. Just… putting it on hold for the time being.”
Guilt punches me in the gut. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I know their trip is on hold because of the mess with Robby and me. My dad’s hand comes across the table, covering mine. “Stop,” he says firmly. “None of this is your fault. Not a damn bit of it.”
I blink fast and stare down at my tea. He watches me for another second, then his eyes flick to my face, to the dark smudges under my eyes. “You look tired,” he murmurs. “Go on to bed. I’ll be right here until Catcher gets back.”
I stand, the chair legs scraping softly against the tile, and lean down to kiss his cheek. His stubble scratches my lips. “Night, Daddy.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
By the time I crawl under the covers, the house feels quieter. I’m on my side with one hand resting over my bump, listening for the familiar sounds of my dad moving around in the kitchen.
The warmth of the tea sits calmly in my stomach, and my eyelids begin to feel heavy. I take one slow, even breath after another, then before I know it, I’m out.
A loud bang wakes me from sleep, and I jolt upright in bed, heart hammering so hard it hurts. For a second, I can’t tell if the noise was real or if I dreamed it, but the fear flooding my veins is real enough to make my hands shake.
I hold my breath and listen.
Nothing.
Not footsteps or voices.
Just the hum of the house settling and my pulse roaring in my ears. It’s quiet, too quiet, and that makes the hair lift on my arms.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and move on bare feet.
When I reach the bedroom door, I ease it open inch by inch, peering into the dark hallway.
I pause, listening again. The bad feeling in my gut grows as I step into the hall and start toward the living room.
The house is mostly dark, the only light a faint blue flicker spilling from the living room television.
The glow paints the walls in moving shadows as I creep closer, every instinct in me screaming to turn around.
I step into the living room, and my world tilts.
My dad is on the floor, sprawled near the coffee table. There’s blood… too much of it is spreading dark across the rug. Beside him is a man I don’t recognize, collapsed on his back, unmoving.
A strangled sound tears out of me. I drop to my knees and scramble to my dad’s side.
“Daddy?” I whisper, then louder, shaking his shoulder.
“Daddy, wake up. Please… please wake up.” That’s when I see it, his gun lying near his hand.
My gaze drops to his stomach, and I suck in a breath so sharp it burns.
His shirt is soaked, the blood pooling beneath him.
I glance at the man beside him, and my stomach churns.
There’s a dark hole in the center of his chest, and his eyes are open, staring at nothing.
My hands fly to my mouth. “Oh, God.” I gasp. I fumble back, nearly slipping in the blood, and force my legs to work.
My phone. I need my phone. I need to call 911.
I turn and run, bare feet against the tiled kitchen floor, the darkness swallowing me as I rush back toward the bedroom.
I’m two steps from the bedroom doorway when an arm snakes around me from behind and yanks me back hard enough that I stumble.
My scream gets cut off as a gloved hand clamps over my mouth.
Terror grips me, and my fight-or-flight instincts kick in.
I choose to fight. I throw my elbows back, stomp and kick, twist and claw for anything I can grab.
All I can think of is my baby, protect my baby, don’t let them hurt my baby.
Then I think about my dad lying on the living room floor in a pool of his own blood.
I think about how my mother wouldn’t be able to go on without her other half.
We can’t lose him. Then I think about Garrett and all he has endured.
This can’t be it. He can’t come home to find me and our baby dead, just like he did with his wife. I refuse to let that be my fate.
With as much strength as I can gather, I rear back and land an elbow to my attacker’s gut, causing him to stumble back, taking me with him. We slam into the wall, and pain shoots through my shoulder.
“Fuckin’ cunt,” my attacker sneers, his hot breath washing across my face. I manage to wrench my mouth free long enough to suck in air, but the attacker’s fist flashes out and catches me across the face. White sparks burst behind my eyes.
I taste blood instantly and swing blindly, my nails raking skin, and I hear a grunt.
For half a second, I think I might actually get away.
Then his fist connects again, a brutal punch to my cheek that snaps my head sideways.
My knees buckle. I try to curl around my stomach, try to make myself small, but another blow lands hard, and the hallway spins.
My last thought is a plea I don’t get to speak out loud—my baby.
And then everything goes black.