Chapter 57 The Best We Can
THE BEST WE CAN
GREY
Ican't let go of her.
She's shaking violently in my lap, the knife on the floor next to me, pried from her hand. My arms are locked around her like I can keep her together. Like if I let go even an inch, she'll shatter. Every tremble shakes my bones.
"I've got you," I keep saying, my voice rough, raw. "You're safe. I've got you." I don't know if I'm talking to her or myself.
Her hands are fisted in my shirt, her face buried in my neck. She's not crying, not yet. Just shaking. Breathing too fast, too shallow.
The kitchen is destroyed, the table skewed, chairs overturned. One is busted. There's blood on the floor in more than one place. Carlin is unconscious a few feet away. There's a stranger, bleeding, leaning against the cabinets, watching us.
Wait--
The man from the game. The one lurking around. Why is he here? He's looking at her with worry, concern.
I don't know what the fuck is going on.
I should call 911. Secure Carlin. Get Molly to the hospital, check on the stranger. Find out what happened. But I can't move. I can't let go. I just have to hold her. Like if I let her go I'll shatter. Like if I move, she'll disappear.
"I've got you," I mutter, rocking her.
She starts to cry, shifts to look up at me.
And that's all I can take.
Our lips meet, and we're frenetic, desperate, whispering I love you between kisses, between breaths. My hands in her hair. Hers reaching for my face. They're bound.
She's bound.
I take her wrists, my gut twisting painfully at the sight of the raw flesh, the bleeding cuts. With shaking hands, I reach for a paring knife in the scattered mess of knives and cut her loose. And then her arms are around my neck, and I break.
Carlin groans, stirring.
We snap apart, look at him.
"I need to restrain him," I tell her, already moving for him.
"I'll call 911," she says stronger than I expect, wiping her tears, pulling herself together.
Carlin barely stirs as I search him, search his pockets where I find zip ties ,then his waistband where I find a small handgun.
"He had a gun." My words sound far away.
He could have shot her. Or the stranger. Or me.
The stranger.
Before I can ask, I see Molly staring at the gun, ghostly pale, phone in her hand hanging by her side. "Is it loaded?"
Magazine in, round chambered. Safety on.
"Yeah."
The word sits heavy in the air. He could have killed her. He could have killed all of us.
I stuff it in the waistband of my jeans, not trusting it anywhere else.
When I roll Carlin over, it's to bind his hands and ankles as Molly talks to dispatch. And then I approach the stranger.
His eyes are closed, but he's breathing. I kneel next to him. "Hey. Hey, can you hear me?" I lift his limp hand from where it rests on his wound as Molly approaches.
"Yes, he's breathing." She says to the dispatcher. A pause. "His left side--oh--" She gasps when I tug up his shirt so I can see.
I hiss a swear at the sight--the wound is deep, blood pooling dark and fast. I stretch for a towel, pressing it hard against his side. He comes to with a noisy inhale and a groan.
"You're okay," I say, even though I don't know if he is. "Help is coming." I can already hear the sirens. "What are you doing here?" Molly kneels next me. "Why is he here?" I ask her.
She looks at him and says simply, heavily, "He says he's my father. My biological father."
"What? Your father? Your…" My face falls as the pieces click into place. The story Cate told me in the driveway. The kidnapping, the prison time, the restraining order. This is him. This is the man who took her.
This is the man who just saved her life.
"Oh my god. Your…your father." I breathe. "Your mom…she told me what happened, just now. Just today."
"What are you talking about?" Her voice is sharp, bewildered. "What do you mean she told you?" Then recognition streaks across her face, leaving her stunned. "The secret. This is…he is the secret."
Danny shifts, trying to sit up straighter, weak but conscious. "Molly…I need to tell…tell you…"
I help him shift, then try to keep him still. There's gratitude behind his eyes, but they move to her and melt.
"Your mom she…she…when you were five, she cut me off, wouldn't let me see you--" He breathes hard through a pause. "I didn't know what to do. Just wanted us to be with my little girl. So I got you from school, took you. Thought we could start over. You don't remember."
She shakes her head.
He smiles small. "S'okay. Went to prison, your mom had a restraining order after, 'til you were eighteen. Couldn't…couldn't see you until you moved away. Didn't know how…to tell you. Just tried to watch over you. Just wanted to see you…happy."
She's silent, shock layered on shock. I don't think she can speak.
"You were following her." It's not a question.
"I know how it looks," he says. "I'd never hurt her. Wanted to make sure she was safe." He looks at Carlin. "Good thing."
I can't argue with that.
Molly stares at him like he's a puzzle she's on the edge of solving. And then, from somewhere far away, she whispers, "Love you lots, tater tots."
His face crumples. "Miss you tons, honey buns," he says back, tears spilling down his weathered cheeks.
For a long moment, neither of them moves. Then her hand reaches out, trembling, and touches his face.
"I remember you," she says half to herself, wonder and grief tangled up in her voice. "I remember."
"I'm sorry," he says on a sob. "I'm sorry, baby."
She takes his hand as the first responders knock, entering when I call them in. Lights flash through the windows. Footsteps. Voices.
I stand, bringing Molly with me, getting us out of the way so the paramedics can tend to him.
I pull her into me, hold her close. And around us, the chaos goes on.
I hope it's for the last time.