Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“I go where she goes.” It’s all he says, but his tone doesn’t leave room for argument.
We share a seat inside the truck as they check us out. I know I’m fine but I let them do it because, in the state he’s in, I’m not sure Lach will let them if I don’t. We move to the ledge of the ambulance as they clean his wounds. I’m looking at the lights when I spot my father running through the chaos, rushing around. He runs to Jameson, who I now see is being wheeled away on a stretcher. The police officer that rushed at us earlier points over at us, and Dad’s eyes go wide when he sees me. He jogs over and is stopped by Ronnie immediately. They’re both tall and wide, but Ronnie wins the stare down and my father takes a step back, looking at me over Ronnie’s shoulder.
“It’s fine,” I say, clearing my throat. Ronnie looks over at me. “He can come through.”
“Oh my God, Lyla. What the hell happened?” he asks, rushing over and setting a hand on my forehead like he did when I was little and had a fever. That was probably the last time he cared. “Are you okay?” he asks quickly.
“I’m fine.”
He looks at Lach, down at the wounds they’re cleaning, and back at his face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he snaps, glaring at my father.
Dad takes in his expression and looks at me again. “What the fuck happened?”
“Ronnie,” I say and wait for him to turn around. “Tell the officer I’m ready to speak now. A woman. I’ll only speak to a woman.” I look at Dad again. “Stay here and listen.”
He does, a concerned look on his face. A woman officer walks over. Most officers introduce themselves by their last names. She just tells us to call her Amy. Probably a tactic she uses to make people comfortable. It works. I recount everything — from what happened when I was fourteen to what happened the night of the accident. When I get to that part, Dad, who was already crying, loses his shit. He steps toward me and I pull back, because it’s a sudden movement and I’m on edge as it is. Lach shoots up and gets in my dad’s face.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he seethes. “You don’t deserve to call her your daughter.”
“Lach.” I hop off the ledge and from behind, I wrap my arms around his middle. “It’s okay. Let them finish cleaning you up.”
He does what I ask but keeps his glare on my father, who hunches over, setting his hands on his knees as he doubles over, crying harder. I’ve never seen my father cry. I’ve seen him laugh and scream, but never cry. It hurts a little to witness, but not enough for me to comfort him. When they finish bandaging up Lachlan’s hands, they explain what he needs to do and how often to change his bandages. I tell them I know how to do it, and finally, they check us off their list. We stay on the ledge as another police officer walks over. Despite me telling Amy everything, the police want me to go down to the precinct.
“No,” Dad says, his voice hard as he collects himself. “They’re not going to a fucking police station without a lawyer.” He looks at me. “Where are you going now? Do you want to come home?”
I scoff. Home. I can’t remember the last time I thought of his house as my home. I’m not opposed to going. A part of me still hopes that I can salvage whatever is left of my frayed relationship with my father. That same part of me wants to prove that I can walk into that house and walk out unscathed. I haven’t stepped foot in that house since the night my mom died, and it feels long overdue for me to do this.
“I’ll let you know. Maybe we’ll drop by,” I tell my dad after a moment. “We have to go to the hotel first.”
“Please do,” he says and stops speaking when his words catch. “I’m so sorry, Lyla. I’m so, so sorry.” He begins to sob again.
This time, I hop off the ledge and hug him. Dad’s a big guy. Powerful sobs rake through him and I tremble in response. He apologizes repeatedly. I try to hold back my tears, but they run down my cheeks freely. It's the way he holds me, the way I had wanted him to so many times in the past. It’s another reminder of what he didn’t do and the realization of something I didn’t know I was missing. When I step away, we both wipe our faces.
“Please come by,” he says again.
“I will.” I try to smile. “Maybe tonight. Definitely, before we leave.”