Page 7 of Wolf Cursed
“Dad, don’t say another word,” I told him. “I’m going to call for help. I’ll be right back. Stay with me.”
“Ash.” His hand gripped my wrist with not nearly the force needed to stop me. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t make myself walk away. In the back of my mind, I knew he wouldn’t be breathing by the time I returned from making that call.
A sob built in my throat at the thought.
“Ash, I love you. I’m so damn sorry. For all of it.” He sighed, and it was the saddest sound I’d ever heard. “Your mother thought it best, and I . . . all I ever wanted was to protect you. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. For her. For you.”
“Forget Mom,” I nearly screamed. “I’m here. Do this for me. Survive for me.”
Stay sober for me.
It was everything I’d wanted to say for years. But I bit my lip and pleaded instead with my eyes.
With shaky fingers, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a familiar pendant. “Take it,” he rasped.
I started to shake my head.
“Ash, I’m not asking.”
“I told you I refuse to wear anything that came from her,” I spat. Even now, he was trying to bring my mother into this. To make it seem like she was still a part of this family. She wasn’t.
“Not for her,” he insisted, shoving it at me. “For me.”
I took the pendant, squeezing it inside my fist with one hand while still holding pressure to the gunshot wound on his chest with the other hand.
“It’s important,” he said, his eyes intent on mine now. “Put it on, and don’t take it off, okay? No matter what. Promise me.”
For once, I didn’t argue or roll my eyes at the one thing my mother had left when she abandoned us.
“Promise, Ash,” he repeated.
“I promise,” I said quickly.
He reached up with his free hand and cupped my cheek, calloused fingers brushing over the bruise I could still feel throbbing from where that asshole had punched me earlier.
“No matter what happens, don’t let them cage you,” he whispered roughly.
Then his hand fell, and his expression went slack.
A sob ripped from my throat, and this time, I didn’t bother holding it back. For a long time, I sat there, hands still pressed to a wound that couldn’t be healed. Blood pooled until I was covered in it. My face swelled until it pulsed with my own heartbeat. The only heart in this room still beating.
Finally, the sky behind me began to lighten.
Something about the breaking of a new day snapped me from my grief, and I forced myself to accept what had happened—and to get up. I moved like I was in a haze. Brain fog made my thoughts fuzzy, my movements methodical.
Vaguely, I supposed I was in shock. But what could I do about that? What could I do about any of it?
On autopilot, I grabbed the cash from the freezer and a bottle of water from the fridge. Then, I snagged the car keys from where I’d dropped them hours ago.
It felt more like days. Like last night had been a nasty nightmare. Not real. But then I saw my father’s body lying in the entryway, and I had to face the reality of what had happened all over again.
Pausing at the back door, I used our landline to dial emergency services and report my father’s body. He would have told me not to bother, but I couldn’t leave knowing he’d be lying here for who-knew-how-long before someone found him. When they asked my name, I hung up.
In the light of dawn, I stumbled my way to the aged sedan Dad had hustled from a desperate used car salesman back in Kansas City a few months ago. The air conditioning didn’t work, but the windows did. I slid into the driver’s seat, numb and lost.
After a long moment, I pulled out the pendant and fastened it around my neck—a white crystal carved into the shape of a crescent moon. It sat cold and still against my chest, a weight I’d long refused to accept no matter how many times Dad had tried talking me into it before.
My mother couldn’t be bothered with raising me, so why should I let her off the hook by accepting her stupid necklace?
