We walk a hell of a lot faster back to our shoes and I make sure to dust my feet off before I put them on.
“I’m sorry about this,” I say and Sylas waves me off.
“It must be important. Your father doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who panics.” No, he’s not. He wasn’t panicking, exactly, but I won’t really know what’s going on until I get there.
Sylas says he’s going back to his place for a little bit after he drops me off. He hardly said anything to me on the way back, and I hate that the distance is back between us, but I don’t have time to think about it as I grab my keys and throw myself into my car.
I pull into the driveway and see only Dad’s car is here. Mom’s home, but she’s been going out even more lately. It’s nice not to have to worry about seeing her when I come to talk to Dad.
Martha lets me in and I head right back to the office.
“What is it?” I say, opening the door and then locking it behind me. He looks up at me, eyes full of an anger I’ve never seen before.
“He’s alive. That mother fucker is alive.” I sit down, confused.
“Who is?”
“Andrew Carter. Sylas’ father.” I gasp, bringing my hand to my mouth.
“How do you know?” The man was killed in prison years ago. Or so we thought.
Instead of answering me, he just throws a stack of grainy surveillance photos at me. I pick them up and see a man who looks like looking at an older version of Sylas, but without all the muscles and tattoos. This man is thin and wasted, his face hollow, but it’s undeniable that this is Sylas’ father.
Dad starts pacing the room, muttering to himself.
“Where is he?” I ask, keeping my voice level.
“Texas,” he spits out and then starts throwing things off the bookshelves. At first I don’t know what to do. Never have I seen my father act like this. He doesn’t lose his cool. Ever.
I sit and wait as the storm blows itself out and he starts to cool down, his chest heaving and his eyes red and wild.
He looks like a feral animal and I’m glad Mom’s not here. She’d be even more at a loss than I am.
“Are you okay?” I ask, because I honestly don’t know what else to say. He wipes his eyes and I see they’re wet. He’s been crying.
“No. I am so far from okay, Saige.” I can tell, so I get up from the chair, wade through the detritus of his tantrum and give him a hug. Like I used to when I was little, my arms around his middle and my head on his chest.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say, running my hands up and down his back. “It’s going to be okay.” He trembles in my arms and just… falls apart. Strange sounds gasp from his mouth and it’s hard to hold onto him.
“Shhh,” I say, doing my best to keep us upright together. His breakdown finally starts to subside. I don’t let him go until he says something.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is still rough with emotion. He pulls back from the hug and looks down at me. He’s an absolute mess. I search around on the floor and find a box of tissues he knocked down. I pull a few out and dab at his face.
I want to ask so many more questions, but this isn’t the time for answers. I hand him another tissue and he blows his nose and then clears his throat. He’s turning back into the man I’ve known my whole life.
“I thought he was dead,” he says in a low voice.
“I know you did. Everyone did.” How in the hell was this guy able to evade everyone for this long? Witness Protection, maybe? There’s really no other explanation.
He swallows hard.
“I have to kill him.”
I suck in a shocked breath.
Thirteen
Now I really don’t know what to say. Dad steps away from me and starts picking up the items on the floor. I wait for a moment and then join him. We’re silent as we replace everything to where it used to be. The only casualty is a paperweight shaped like a ship my mother bought him.
“Shame,” I say, tossing it in the trash.
“Not really,” he says and I see the glimmer of a potential smile on his face. “I always hated that thing, but I held onto it because I didn’t want to argue with your mother over it.” He does a lot of things to avoid arguing with her.
“Why do you stay with her?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’ve said them. I’ve never asked him this before, even though I’ve wanted to my entire life.
He pauses, his hand adjusting a book on one of the shelves.
“As the years go on, I find fewer and fewer reasons,” he says quietly, not meeting my eyes. Going back to his chair, he sits down. I resume my place in his leather guest chair.
“In the early days, I told myself I could grow to love her. And then you came along and I told myself it was best for you to have two parents. As you got older, I told myself it was to protect you from your mother. And now you’re a grown woman and don’t need my protection.” They’re all valid, though misguided, reasons.
“I would have gone with you. If you left,” I say. Given the choice between my two parents, I would have picked him. For a moment, I imagine that life. Free from the constant criticism and fights. I wonder if I would have turned out differently. There’s no way to know.
“I know. But she would have fought for custody and probably would have gotten it. I didn’t want to take the risk.” That I can also understand.
“I don’t blame you. I just wanted to know,” I say. He made the best choice he could, given the circumstances.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you resented me. I deserve it.” I shake my head.
“No, you don’t.”
He’s being so honest with me and my lie is heavy in my stomach. Like a dark, rotting thing, eating away at me. I want to purge it from my body, get it out, but I just can’t seem to tell him.
“Are you going to tell Sylas?” He deserves to know. I can’t even begin to imagine what his reaction is going to be.
“No,” he says.
“No? Are you serious?” I ask. What is he thinking?
“No. I’m not going to tell him. I’m going to take care of this and then it will be like he’s been dead all along. Telling him will only hurt him.” I get to my feet.
“You cannot be fucking serious.” I’ve never sworn at my father. Ever. It shocks both of us.
He points a finger at me. “Watch your tone.” Oh hell no.
“You can’t hide this from him. It’s not right.” Now I’m the one pacing the room and I definitely want to throw things. This back and forth with my father and Sylas has been slowly driving me crazy. It’s too much to deal with.
Dad’s eyes narrow and I know I’ve said too much.
“Are you still seeing him?” I open my mouth to lie and I can’t.
“Yes. I am. He and I are…” What are we? I don’t even know what to call it.
“Saige!” I pivot in around and clench my hands together. I wanted to put this off as long as possible, but here we are.
“I know! I know! I’m an idiot, but I can’t stop. I love him. I love him,” I say, and my voice breaks. Now it’s my turn to cry.
Dad opens and closes his mouth a few times.
“I wanted to tell you. I’m so sorry I didn’t. But I love him. I didn’t mean to, but once it started, I couldn’t stop it.” Loving Sylas feels like being hit by lightning. One minute you’re standing there and then you’re completely different and you have no idea how it happened. I loved him without intention, without forethought. Before I knew what was happening, I was in too deep to get myself out. I had no choice but to let myself drown.
“How long?” Dad asks.
“For a while. Before I stopped working on him. I told myself it was part of the con, but it wasn’t. I said it and I meant it. And he loves me too.” Dad makes a snorting noise.
“And you believe him? What are you thinking, Saige?” This is the exact reaction I expected. I only have one answer for him.