Page 2 of For Wrath and Redemption
“Everything will be okay. I promise.”
It’s not true. It won’t be. He’s lying, too. We’re all liars.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, and I nod. “I think they’ve had itwrong this whole time.Youweremypurpose. And I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”
I bury my face in his chest to stifle the sobs that wrack my body. His lips press into my hair, and the plastic from his nasal cannula feels strange against my scalp.
“Never let them make you believe differently, okay?”
I do what Dad said to do. I lie. I nod to pacify him because my parents are right. He doesn’t deserve to feel like a burden. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, careful not to hurt him, and I can’t ignore how different his body feels. Frail. Disintegrated.
Dying.
“I love you, Theo.” I choke out the words, gasping through tears, and swallow back the rest of what I want to say.
I’m sorry, Theo. I’m so, so sorry.
“I love you, too, Jo. Never forget that.”
Six days later, my older brother slips into unconsciousness. Two days after that, I stand against the wall and watch him die while my parents hold his hands.
Then, eventually, I follow.
1
CLAIRE
I rapthree times on the wooden office door, my trembling fingers held tightly in my fist even after I let my arm drop back to my side.
I count to sixty as I wait—he always waits a full minute before he answers—and do my best to keep my breathing calm. Just as I mentally get to sixty, his deep voice booms through the thick door.
“Come in.”
I twist the knob, push the door open, and step into the large corner office. It’s brighter in here than it is in the hallway, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The setting sun is filtering in, and the room is soaking up what’s left of that golden hour glow. The office where I work is thirteen floors below this one and a fraction of the size, but that doesn’t bother me. I’ve only been here for a year, and I’m confident that I’ll work my way up. Not to the CEO’s office, obviously, but executive creative director sounds really nice.
Eventually.
When my boss’s boss glances up from his computer, his blue eyes crinkle almost sympathetically. “Ah, Ms. Davis. I was expecting you.”
“Good evening, Mr. Henderson.” I greet him with a professional smile, my voice only shaking slightly. “I was wondering if you had a minute to discuss the MixMosaic campaign.”
The look he gives me is one of resignation. “You want to know why I gave Brandt Macy the team lead role.”
I nod. Just hearing it makes my stomach twist in a knot of anger anddisappointment. The wound is still fresh, the blow having only been dealt a few hours earlier. I worked my ass off on that campaign presentation, only for the team lead position to be given to Brandt Macy (yes,thoseMacys), the most mediocre of mediocre trust fund white boys. He had absolutely zero hand in any of the creative process. It was all me. And yet, one call from Mr. Henderson to my boss had Macy usurping a role with a huge brand that should have been mine.
It’s upset me so much that I’ve vomited twice, and the only positive thoughts I’ve been able to muster have been gratitude that I keep a toothbrush at my desk and Xanax in my purse.
“I worked really hard on that branding presentation, sir. From conception to delivery, it was all me. I can recite MixMosaic’s numbers in my sleep, and they loved everything I did. They said they wereextremely impressedwith my work.Mywork, Mr. Henderson. With respect, sir, I should have gotten team lead, and I’d like to know why you called my boss and told him to give it to Brandt.”
He gives me a look like a father would give a daughter, and it’s hard not to shrink back into my repressed memories. I hate when he does this. He has a handsome face. Strong jaw. Salt and pepper through his light brown hair. Piercing blue eyes. He’s a very attractive man, but when he looks at me like this, all I see is my father. I have to practically beat back my impulse to submit. To go into people-pleasing mode.
But this is my career. My future. If I don’t advocate for myself, no one will.
“Ms. Davis, you know why I had to make that call.”
“I don’t, actually. You usually have no hand in anything that takes place in the creative development department. Never once have you intervened in the year that I’ve been here. I deserve to lead this campaign. I earned it.”
He sighs, but I refuse to back down.
