Page 114 of Shattered Souls
Logan’s arms tighten around Aurora and he shifts so she can’t see Bertram, ducking his head to murmur into her earbefore my father interrupts. “What was your name again? Larson?”
Logan’s responding stare is as icy as Royce’s. “Logan.” Not sparing my father another minute of his attention, he turns to Riley. “I’m going to take her back to the car.”
Riley manages a smallthank yousmile. “Okay.”
With a repulsed sweep over my father, he drawls, “I think today calls for milkshakes once you’re all done here.” With that, Logan stalks off toward the car, Aurora safely in his arms.
I’m not the only one who releases a breath of relief, knowing Aurora is no longer subjected to his presence. Now, I just need to get Riley away, too. We’re all playing at being civil because this is not the time or place, but I’m so fucking done with pretending when it comes to my father.
In fact… Lifting an arm, I drape it around Riley’s shoulders, bringing her flush against me as I kiss the top of her head, all while keeping my eyes on my father. I smirk internally at seeing the burning decimation of his rage blazing in his eyes.
“No Lydia today?” I ask casually, more out of curiosity than anything.
“No.” Not looking at any of us, my father slides a hand down his wrinkle-free suit jacket. “She’s had enough of all this cold weather. Decided to soak up some sunshine in Europe for a while.”
“How nice for her,” I drawl, all the while wondering if we scared her enough to send her running or if it’s yet another lie. Another deception. Although, if it is, I doubt my father is covering for Lydia. I’m pretty sure the only reason he stayed married to her and decided to give things a go after his release was because he thought she could be of use to him. Or perhaps it was a case of keeping your enemies close. I can’t imagine he was too happy to discover she had neglected to inform him ofAurora’s existence and then tried to get rid of her before his release. “Well, we should get going.”
Arm firmly wrapped around Riley, with Royce at her other side, I move to step past my father. That’s when he reaches up and grabs my arm. “Really?” he hisses, voice too low for anyone else to hear. “You think you can just walk off with what doesn’t belong to you?”
Lifting my face to his, I keep my voice equally low. Only Riley can make out our whispered conversation, although she pretends not to as she stares at the car where her daughter is safely ensconced. “Which one of them are you referring to? Because as far as I’m concerned, they’rebothmine.”
My father shakes his head at me, the corner of his lip lifting in this smug little smirk like he genuinely believes he will ultimately win. Doesn’t he realize he’s already lost? That this was never a fucking game—just him unable to accept not getting whathewants for once in his life.
“You’ll regret crossing me,son.” Standing tall, he straightens his tie and says loud enough for Royce to hear, “I’ll see you Monday at the office.”
We stand in a line and watch him stalk back to his car and drive away before Royce exhales loudly. Tilting his head, he gestures toward the car. “I’ll be with Logan. Take your time. We can leave when you’re ready; no rush.”
When we’re alone, Riley glances up at me. “I can go, too, if you want to be alone.”
“Stay,” I urge with a squeeze of her hand.
She rewards me with a rare, accepting smile. One that isn’t often directed my way.
Turning back to face the grave, she rests her head against my chest, and we simply stand there, lost in our thoughts. At some point, my focus shifts to my mother’s gravestone. Noticing, Riley’s gaze follows.
“I barely remember her,” I confess. “Anything I do remember, I’m pretty sure it’s from photos and stories Gran shared with me as opposed to actual memories.”
“How old were you when she died?” Riley’s voice is tentative as she slides her gaze to mine, holding my stare.
“Three, I think. I don’t remember it. I vaguely recall her being sick, but that’s about it.”
“What was wrong with her?”
I wrack my brain, trying to remember. “I’m not sure. I remember her sleeping a lot. Some days, she was so weak that she couldn’t even get out of bed.”
Riley seems to chew on the inside of her cheek before she spits out, “You said your dad abused her?”
Shoving my hands in my pants pocket, I nod. “I found photos Gran must have taken. Evidence.” My voice is thick. “I don’t think either of them ever did anything with them. There was also a journal. It was all pretty damning.”
A steady touch on my arm snaps me out of that dark place, and I stare down at where Riley is touching me. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. Her gaze is tender with empathy. “Your Gran told you your dad killed her?”
“I mean, you can’t trust everything she said—the Alzheimer’s—but she was right about everything else.”
Nodding her head, she seems to think.
“What?” I eventually ask.
“I just… with everything your mom went through, I’m wondering if she was depressed.”
