Chapter 10 Malachi
Malachi
Dad’s car tore down the driveway, scattering stones across the courtyard in yet another desperate rush to get away from Riverside.
Malachi stood there a moment longer, jaw tightening.
He was just as guilty of sidestepping conversations about the river.
But he’d assumed that once he finally plucked up the courage to admit his part in Rhys’ death, Dad would at least stick around long enough to hear it. Apparently not.
“Oh, come on.” He jiggled his sticky key in the lock, shoved the door open with his foot, then slammed it behind him.
The satisfying bang echoed down the hall.
He cocked his head, waiting for Ina’s inevitable yell about ‘slamming that bloody door off its hinges.’ Even though her bedroom was on the top floor, Ina could hear a pin drop several stories below.
Nothing.
The kitchen gleamed—the air tinged with lemon and bleach rather than fresh baking. No trays cooling on the hob. No storm of flour and sugar coating every surface. No sign of Ina at all.
He leaned against the doorframe, listening for footsteps. His phone buzzed. Jeff. It buzzed again, and again.
He exhaled sharply and answered.
“Yo!” Jeff barked before Malachi could say hello. “Have you told him yet?”
“Tonight.” The word tasted final. “I’m telling my dad tonight that I’m leaving Latharna. Wish me luck.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ina slipped out of Dad’s office, easing the door shut as though she didn’t want anyone to hear she’d been in there. Malachi ended the call, cutting Jeff off mid-whoop, and shoved the phone into his pocket.
“What were you doing in there?” He nodded towards the office.
Ina startled, only for a heartbeat, before collecting herself with a bright too-casual smile. “Tidying up your dad’s desk love.” She smoothed the hem of her yoga top. “I didn’t hear the door slam.”
“You know me, I’m very quiet.” The joke fell flat, even to him.
Dad hadn’t used his desk in years. No universe existed where it needed to be tided. He brushed past her and headed for the stairs. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs. A nap pulled at him like gravity, even if sleep meant sliding straight into another nightmare.
“I think your dad wants to talk to you when we get back from the Johnstons.”
Malachi paused halfway up the stairs. Of course she knew.
Ina always did. Dad and Ina were as thick as thieves, whispering behind doors, closed enough to stop secrets slipping through the cracks.
He nodded, not bothering to question her and carried on up the stairs.
Let them keep their secrets. In a few weeks, he’d be leaving Riverside, the nightmares, and Latharna behind.