Page 75 of Bliss: Part 1
Rhys looked pale. “He’s getting the damn shotgun. We’re all dead.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Dash muttered, grabbing my hand gently again. “Come to bed, Lissy. You did what you had to.”
I nodded. My chest was still tight, but it wasn’t unbearable anymore. The weight of the secret was off. I didn’t feel better, because there was still something wrong with me, but I felt like I could breathe.
Rhys didn’t come with us. He disappeared into Tripp’s room, probably hoping for backup if things got bad.
As Dash pulled me back into the room and shut the door, I sat down on the bed and stared at my hands which were cold and a little shaky. Dash sat beside me, not saying anything at first. He didn’t have to. I could feel his worry. He was scared, but he was holding it together for me.
I looked over at him slowly. “He didn’t yell.”
“No,” Dash said. “He didn’t.”
“I think that’s worse.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “It is.”
He reached out and pulled me gently into his arms. I didn’t fight it. I sank into his chest, feeling his arms wrap tightly around my back. He held me to make me feel better, and we both needed it.
“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly, pressing my face into his shoulder.
“I know, baby. Me too.” His lips brushed the side of my head. “But you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out. Whatever happens next…we’ll deal with it. I promise.”
I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes.
Our secret was out. The damage was done.
Now all we could do was wait for what came next.
Twenty-Three
Owen
nineteen years old
“Don’t ever talk to me like that again, you hear me, boy?!”
Dad’s voice shot through the house like a gun going off.
I had just walked in through the front door, fresh off a ten-hour shift, boots dirty and my shirt clinging to my back with sweat. I didn’t even know what the hell was going on yet. Just heard the yelling and knew from the sound of it that it was bad. Worse than usual.
I kicked off my boots, hung my jacket on the hook, and made my way toward the kitchen, my stomach already turning. I didn’t know what I’d find, but I knew the tone in Dad’s voice. That mix of rage and liquor. The edge of violence simmering just under the surface.
And sure enough, I stepped into the kitchen just in time to see Dad slap Odin across the face.
Hard. So hard that the sound of it echoed.
Odin stumbled back a step, hand going to his face. My chest locked up and every nerve in my body went tight with rage.
“Dad!” I shouted.
He turned, like he wasn’t even surprised to see me. He let out this bitter little laugh and pointed at me like I was next in line.
“You got something stupid to say to me too, boy? Huh?” he sneered. “You think you’re different? You ain’t. You’re just as goddamn useless as him. Devil must’ve worked really hard to screw me over this bad. Two sons, and neither one of you worth a damn.”
“Dad,” I said, more serious now, stepping between them and keeping my voice low and controlled. “That’s enough.”
I only looked at him for a moment before my eyes went straight to Odin, who was still holding his face. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were glassy, but he was biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to cry in front of us.
