Page 2 of Shattered Souls
There’s a tightness in my chest at our failure. We tried so hard to spare Riley from this pain. Now, not only does she have to deal with the loss of her daughter, but I’m going to have to break the news of my father’s release. Just thinking about adding more to her overloaded plate has my stomach twisting. Except, I can’t focus on that right now.
Dragging my hand down my face, I push aside my exhaustion. I need to be on my game for this conversation with my father. If he’s on my doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, he’s here with a reason in mind.
Side-eyeing him, I ask, “Were you just released this morning or…”
“This morning.” My father grins at me. “My first stop was seeing my son.” Lifting a hand, he squeezes my shoulder, a gesture I once would have viewed fondly—a father-son bonding moment—but now, as his fingers dig into my trapezius muscle, I see it for what it truly is: a passive-aggressive display of control.
The blinders I’ve been wearing when it comes to my father are damaged beyond repair, and in their place is so much anger I can barely withstand it, along with a hefty amount of self-disgust that Iallowedmyself to be blinded when it came to him. The potent mixture is toxic, poisoning my veins every waking moment. If I weren’t so selfish, I’d give Riley up, knowing she deserves far better than me. But I am my father’s son. I’m not a good man. Riley is mine, and there isn’t a goddamn thing on this planet that will stand in the way of that—including my father.
“Since you haven’t been to the prison recently.”
Aaand another manipulative talon slices into me, this time in the form of guilt.
“Sorry.”Not. “Senior year,” I give by way of explanation. “It really is as brutal as everyone says.”
My father chuckles, a charismatic laugh that immediately ingratiates people to him. Now, I realize it’s part of his repertoire—a skillset he uses to distract people from seeing the contemptible soul beneath his polished veneer.
“Everything will be easier now. We can be a family once again.”
That’s the second time he’s referred to family, and my brows furrow, trying to read between the lines as we enter the coffee shop. The place is empty, too early yet for the morning rush before work and classes. I’m fortunate that anywhere was even open at this hour.
We place our orders, and I pay for our drinks before we sit at a table at the back of the cafe where we won’t be disturbed.
“What do you meanwe can be a family again?” I ask, eyeing him over the rim of my espresso cup. God knows the double shot I ordered will barely hit the exhaustion and stress already riding me hard today.
Blowing on his black coffee, he gives me a sly grin as he slowly sets his cup down, prolonging the suspense.
“Imean, we can all finally be a family again. The four of us—you, me, Lydia, and your sister, Riley.”
“Stepsister,” I quip, unsure why I’m focusing onthat. Probably because it’s the only aspect of that entire sentence that doesn’t make me want to throw my steaming cup in his face. “I thought you and Lydia were divorced?”
My father’s brows furrow. “What gave you that impression?”
Aware I’m treading in shark-infested waters, I shrug casually. “I just assumed, you know, given the allegations…”
This time, my father’s laugh is dipped in arrogance. “Lydia knows there was no substance to those accusations. We both agree Riley was going through a difficult time—struggling to adjust to her new life and no longer having all of her mother’s attention and affection.”
I practically choke on my next sip. I’m certain Lydia isn’t capable of motherly affection, nor would Rileywantto be the focus of her mother’s attention. Even if Lydia wasn’t a narcissistic bitch, Riley isn’t—nor was she ever—the type of girl who demanded attention.
“We decided that while I was…” my father grimaces before spitting out in distaste, “incarcerated, Lydia would live her life, focusing on giving Riley everything she needed. Now that I’m released, we’ve agreed to give this another try. To focus on ourfamily.”
I tense at the emphasis he puts on the wordfamily.It’s clear this isn’t purely about him and Lydia—it’s about the four of us, and the coffee burns a hole through my stomach at the notion of Riley being anywhere near either of them.
Unaware of my rampant thoughts, my father graces me one of his winning smiles. “I’ve asked Lydia to move in with me, and I’ve arranged for the four of us to have dinner on Saturday. You’ll be there.”
It’s not a question.
Knowing there is no other response, I give a curt nod. However, my thoughts are a million miles away—well, not that far. They’re down the street inside the brownstone where the devastated woman who has become my obsession is currently sleeping and wondering if this news will be the nail in the coffin of her sanity.
How thinly can you be stretched before you snap?
How much pain can a soul endure?
How many scars can a heart carry before breaking?
Wherever that boundary lies, I can sense Riley teetering on its edge. She’s already traversed the unfathomable, overcoming trials that would shatter most. She’s fashioned her trauma into armor, resilient and unyielding, but recent events have left it marred and vulnerable. Each blow has chipped away at the sturdy facade she’s built. I fear this latest revelation—this expectation of my father’s—may deliver the fatal strike, shattering her carefully forged defenses beyond repair.
My father makes small talk while we finish our drinks. Frankly, I’m not listening to a word he’s saying. I nod and smile at all the right times, but otherwise, I’m absent from the conversation.
