Page 18 of Lifebound

That’s why, when a silver car stopped in our driveway and my dad came outside, I saw it.

When two men—one of them familiar, though I wasn’t sure from where—got out of the car and went closer to him, I saw it.

When the stranger pulled an actual gun and waved it at Dad’s face, I froze in place, every muscle in my body locked.

The men were talking, saying something, while my Dad held his hands up and said something back. Tried to calm them down. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t make a single sound, and the moment I could move my limbs again, it didn’t even cross my mind to grab my phone and call the police. I just jumped to my feet and unlocked my door and ran so fast I didn’t remember getting downstairs. My heart hammered, my lungs burned—and the moment I stepped into the foyer, Dad was coming through the door.

Before he closed it again, I saw the silver car driving away.

Tears in my eyes. I was breathing so heavily, and my throat was so tight that I couldn’t speak. All I could do was point at his face, at the paleness of his skin, his forehead slick with sweat.

“Breathe, Nilah,” Dad said, slowly coming closer, and his hands were shaking but he looked concerned now—concerned about me. His eyes were wide and dark with panic.

“Wh-who was that?” He came closer and I put my hands on his shoulders for support. “Dad, who was that?! What-what…”

“Nobody—it’s okay,” Dad said. “It’s fine. Let’s go sit down.”

He basically dragged me all the way to the dark kitchen where only a little light came through from the hallway. He sat me down and poured me a glass of water while I got myself under control, breathed in deeply and forced my body to stop shaking.

“Who was that, Dad?”

He remained standing, hands on the back of the chair across from me, head down.

“Just some friends of William Owens,” Dad said.

If he’d slapped me, burned me, dragged me across town tied to the back of his truck, it would have hurt less. William Owens, the father of that girl who’d invited Fi to the birthday party. The owner of the car I’d slashed the tires of and Betty had coated the windshield of with dog poop.

“We have to call the police.” That he would dare to send people here to our door, people withguns,to threaten my father?—

“We will do no such thing.”

I shook my head, the adrenaline now making me jump to my feet, my body suddenly restless.

“Dad, they showed up at your door and threatened you with?—”

“They didn’t threaten me. We had a conversation.” Lies. All he told me were lies. “He just wants new tires, which is fair, and the promise that you won’t bother him or his family again. I agreed and gave him my word that you wouldn’t.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks, and they seemed to come all at once within the second. A lump had formed in my throat and my stomach was a twisting mess.Your fault-your fault-your fault, said the voice in my head.

And that voice always told the truth.

I’m sorry.

The words remained there in my throat, stuck in that lump.

I didn’t mean to—but I did. I’d wanted to pay them back.

Now look what I’d done. My dad was shaking and sweating, and he was as pale as the kitchen cabinets behind him.

“Nilah,” Dad said, and I broke a little more. Those eyes, the way theypleadedwith me… “I gave them my word that you wouldn’t bother them again.”

What he didn’t say wasplease.

Something about making strangers wave their guns at your father’s face, and something about making your fatherbegyou with his eyes.

I stood up. I moved toward the hallway.

“Nilah, where are you going?!” Dad called.

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