Page 19 of Clash of Sin and Secret

Scottie

After the chaos of last night—the energy blast and then the trauma of my nightmare—I need a few hours alone to regroup. Zane left me a text saying that he’s the king’s quarters working on some embezzling issue he and Brandon Stern discovered if I need him, and Tucker left to check in with his father.

I need to check in with him, too.

Jack is the only person who might know what’s going on inside me—because something definitely is. My skin is practically sparking with energy, my libido is getting hard to ignore, and it feels like my blood is fizzing in my veins.

This can’t be normal.

I pace around my private sanctuary and calm the chaos within. Everything here is exactly as I remember it all the years I was growing up. It’s a modern, comfortable space decorated in monochromatic tones of sage green and gray, and furnished by me and my obsession with Urban Barn.

Thankfully, Da never cared about any of that and handed me his bank card.

The floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflect the golden glow from the fire and the wall sconces. It’s not as bright as daylight, but it kept Zane and Francesco alive when they spent time here, so that’s a win.

I never minded the concessions made so that we could live here.

Keeping Francesco and Zane safe was the most important thing. Da was an incredible security officer. He was an incredible father, too.

I stop my tour of the main living space and study the Caravaggio painting hanging above the fireplace. Francesco gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday, and then two of Rodin’s lesser-known sculptures for my twentieth.

The hole that losing the two of them has left inside me is soul-consuming.

I don’t know how to navigate the world alone.

The moment I think about that, I hear Da’s voice in my head… “Yer not alone, lass. Yer just stubborn as rocks.”

“And whose fault is that, oul man?” It hits me then, that as often as I’ve wanted to hear his voice and talk to him about everything running through my head, he left video messages for me which I’ve refused to watch.

Refused might be too strong of a word—been utterly terrified to watch is closer to the truth. But as Rodney Atkins says,‘If you’re going through hell, keep on going. Don’t slow down, and if you’re scared, don’t show it.’

There’s a lot of wisdom to unpack there, and so, I grab my laptop, take it over to flop onto the couch, and pull a fluffy throw blanket over me.

Opening things up and accessing my father’s private cloud files is the work of a moment, and then I click on the folder with my name on it.

Six videos with my father’s face frozen in the first frame open and a sob escapes my throat. The sadness in his dark blue eyes is heartbreaking and I fight to breathe through the constriction of my lungs.

“I can’t do this.” Tears catch in my voice, and I close my eyes and pray to whatever deity might be listening to make this all a horrible nightmare and to give my Da back to me. I wait, listening, hoping, my wish losing strength with every minute that passes.

Da is gone and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back.

Mustering all the strength I can, I tap the first file.“Och, my wee girl, I’m so sorry yer here. For if yer seeing these files, somethin’ happened and our time has been cut short.”

I press my hand against my chest and heave a ragged breath into lead lungs.

“I love ye, lass. Take all the comfort ye can from that. I love ye to the breadth of the world and the depths of the seas. Of all the experiences I’ve had and the treasures I’ve held in my hands, none have even come close to the pricelessness of callin’ myself yer da.”

“I love you, too, Da.”

“And so, here ye are, searchin’ fer answers, although I don’t know that I have any to give. All I can do is direct ye back home. If I’ve been killed in battle, Francesco will take care and love ye as his own. If the worst has happened and we’ve both been lost, then Jack will step in, I’m sure.”

“He has.”

“And while I know ye don’t want to hear it, me bein’ dead means I get the last word and ye can’t argue. It’s time, my girl. Ye’ve hurt him long enough. When he sent ye away, he did whathe thought best. He loved ye to the best of his ability in a dark time. And what happened after—the things ye went through in New York—they weren’t his fault and ye know it.”

Another sob ribs from my lungs. “I know. I’m getting past it—I swear.”

“It was a terrible time fer everyone, lass. And knowin’ what he became after ye left, I’m thankful ye weren’t there because he might well have taken ye from all of us and where would we have been then?”

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