Page 126 of Bad Little Puck Bunny
Fifteen years.
A five million dollar fine.
No parole for the first eight years.
The words land like a fucking gut punch. My father stays still, absorbing it the way he does everything like it’s just another business deal gone wrong.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
And then it’s over.
He’s escorted out.
I don’t even get a last look before he’s gone.
The second I step outside, cameras flash in my face.
“Eli! What do you have to say about your father’s sentencing?”
“Did you know about his crimes?”
“Are you involved?”
I shove past them, jaw clenched, ignoring the microphones shoved in my face. My head is pounding. A bodyguard pushes people back, clearing a path, but it doesn’t stop the voices.
“Eli, are you worried about your family name?”
I get to the car and slam the door shut. My chest heaves. I drop my head back against the seat.
“Just drive,” I mutter to the driver.
The house is too quiet.
Too fucking empty.
I stand in the living room, staring at nothing. The silence presses in, making everything worse. I walk to the cabinet in the corner, pull open a drawer, and grab the small pendant tucked inside.
It’s old. Faded. Inside is a tiny picture of my mom.
My fingers shake as I hold it.
Everything I’ve been shoving down — every ounce of anger, grief, loneliness — slams into me all at once. My throat tightens, and I press the pendant to my lips, squeezing my eyes shut.
I breathe in.
And then—
The tears come.
I sink down onto the couch, gripping the chain, and just fucking cry.
My phone rings.
I wipe my face, try to pull myself together before answering. “Yeah?”
“Eli?”
Sienna.
