14. Oh Father - Alex
Keeping me in line meant giving me a reminder of his my-word-is-law attitude by chaining my ankle to the bed again. Only this time, he slept at my side. After a couple of days of eating my meals in our bedroom, I got a bad case of cabin fever and pleaded for my freedom, promising him that I’d behave.
He finally relented and let me free on the fourth morning.
I chased off boredom by spending the day cleaning the place, starting with those dead plants on the kitchen windowsill. And after Angel scrubbed the bathroom floors with a toothbrush—by choice—she worked alongside me ridding the cabin of dust and grime, but we exchanged minimal conversation. The long stretches of silence didn’t bother me. I found her quiet nature comforting, companionable even.
While we kept busy inside, the guys disappeared outside to work on a few upkeep projects, including putting up a temporary fix for the window I’d broken.
I expected Rafe to lock that shackle around my ankle again, staying true to his “backup plan,” but he didn’t. After a dinner of steak and potatoes, he dragged me to bed and had me on my back, legs spread as he slid between them.
The way he loved me—with a rare tenderness that was so out of tune with his character—nearly made me cry. It couldn’t be classified as fucking. This was so much more, and my heart overflowed with too many vying emotions that I didn’t know what to do with them.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“Nothing. I just love you.”
As he nibbled on my lower lip, I wondered if he would say it back. I knew he loved me, but he didn’t voice it as much as I’d like. He spoke the language of love in so many other ways—some normal and healthy, others sick and wrong.
“Telling you I love you isn’t enough, Alex.” He trailed his lips along my jawline. “It’ll never be enough. There aren’t enough words in the fucking dictionary to describe how I feel about you.”
“Try.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, his teeth nipping at my earlobe. “Consumed. Territorial. Protective.” He inched back, and his green eyes twinkled at me. “Twitterpated.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Keep going.”
“Whipped, a piece of twine wrapped around your little pinky.”
“You’re being oddly gentle tonight.”
“I’m obsessed. Out of all the words in the English language that one says it best.” He claimed my mouth, effectively shutting me up as he increased his pace, hurtling us both to the finish line.
Later, Rafe lay sleeping at my side, and that’s when my demons came knocking, and the absence of that shackle around my ankle blared in my mind, refusing to be silenced by my will alone.
Sleep was fruitless.
And that was the thing about obsession; it was a prison, an inspirer of madness. It was the bind that tied Rafe and me together, the urgency that festered in my soul. An ember that never stopped burning, no matter how long Rafe and I had been on the run. I knew all about being focused on something to the exclusion of all other things.
Rafe was by far my biggest obsession, followed by the seed of doubt that Zach had planted in my brain the night I let him escape that damn fight. For the past few months, putting my mother’s death out of my mind hadn’t been easy, but with my dad locked away, out of reach, it had been doable.
Necessary, even.
But Dad wasn’t out of reach anymore. He was free, and probably without conscience as he went about his life, unimpeded by what he’d done. Maybe it was dangerous, but I couldn’t ignore the part of me that needed to look him in the eye and ask if he murdered my mom.
Deep down, I didn’t expect him to admit it. He hadn’t become so successful over the years by giving away his secrets. He was shrewd and lethal.
But his eyes. They’d give him away. If you knew what to look for, the eyes rarely lied.
And I needed to know.
Rafe wanted me to wait, to move forward first, but what he didn’t understand was that I couldn’t marry him and be happy until I confronted my past.
My dad’s release from prison had tripped a wire in me, had awakened something I thought was dormant. Something urgent.
As I slipped from bed and tiptoed across the room to where I’d left a pair of shorts and a tee stacked on top of my duffle, I prayed for the continued sounds of Rafe’s deep, even breaths. Grabbing a hoodie to ward off the wee hour chill, I slipped my feet into my flip flops, then I headed for the bedroom door, careful not to let the soles of the shoes slap against my heels.
He would be so angry. Fucking furious. He’d left me unchained on good faith that I wouldn’t do anything stupid. But this wasn’t Rafe’s decision to make. Other than Zach, my dad was the only one I could go to about Mom.
Moving through the cabin as if I were an intruder, I grabbed my purse, along with Rafe’s key to the Jeep. He’d left it on an end table by the door. I reached for the knob, but Jax stirred on the couch, his light snores pausing for several heart-pounding moments. He turned over on the sofa, and a few seconds later, his snoring resumed.
I snuck out of the house with a light click of the front door as it closed behind me, and the soft pads of my feet hit the porch stairs. The sight of Jax’s truck brought me up short. If they didn’t awake until morning, I’d be in the clear.
But what if they did?
It would be too easy for Rafe to come after me if the truck were operational. He’d drag me back to the cabin, and my ankle would become best friends with that fucking shackle.
No.
Rafe didn’t understand why I needed to do this. No amount of pleading with him would change his mind. I had to do this, regardless of the risks. I entered the cabin and grabbed a knife from the kitchen before returning outside again.
As I stabbed all four of Jax’s tires, I almost expected to get caught. Fuck, my nerves were fried, but no one tore out the front door. No one’s feet stomped down the stairs. The birds weren’t even awake yet.
It was now or never.
I slid into the driver’s side of the Jeep, entered my dad’s Portland address into the GPS, then slowly backed out of the dirt driveway, the path dark without the aid of headlights, since I didn’t flip them on until I drove far enough away from the cabin. Over an hour later, I turned onto the main highway but had to stop for gas halfway to Portland.
I pulled out some of the money Rafe had given me from his last fight and paid for a strong coffee, a day-old pastry, and a fill-up. The irony didn’t escape me. He’d been generous with everything that came his way, and here I was, using it to betray him.
A twinge of guilt hit me as I returned to the highway, one hand wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee, the other on the leather-covered steering wheel. The pastry sat like lead in my gut the rest of the way to Portland. By the time I turned onto the street where I grew up, the sun had risen, and I was downright nauseous.
My dad’s large, circular driveway sat empty. Hitting the brake, I dug into my purse and found my keys. I hadn’t salvaged much of my previous life after we’d fled Shelton’s the night of the barn fire, other than a few changes of clothing, my birth certificate and identification card. And my keys; one of which was silver with a spot of red nail polish on it.
The key to my childhood home. The key to my past.
Appropriately smudged in the color of blood.
Some nasally sounding pop singer droned through the Jeep’s speakers as I stared at the front door. I could wait in the car until Dad returned, assuming he came back before I lost my nerve. Or I could swallow the lump of fear in my throat and try the key.
Decision made, I killed the ignition before pushing the driver’s side door open. The sun’s warm rays hit my skin, and it made me think of Rafe, sending me back in time to camp and how we’d gotten tangled up in each other under the sun.
I missed him already, though I wasn’t looking forward to facing him after running away in the middle of the night. Crossing the driveway to the covered porch of the De Luca estate, I glanced at my phone and winced at the number of missed calls and texts, all from Rafe.
Not wanting him to worry, I sent off a text that I was okay and would be back before dark, then I shut off my phone, stuck the key into the lock, and turned. My heart thumped out of tune as the lock clicked over, and the door swooshed open.
Over a year had passed since I’d set foot in this house. The memories rushed me all at once, like a flood of sorrow I couldn’t block. In the silent, dim foyer, I sank to the floor, depleted of strength, and drew my knees to my chest. As I envisioned Mom coming down the main staircase, her dark hair pulled back in an up-do that some would call regal, I ignored the pain leaking from my eyes as the past confronted me.
I was wrong.
I thought I’d been in control, the one in the driver’s seat as I careened down the road to my past. A girl on the offensive, armed with determination and enough ferocity to confront the ghosts that still haunted me in this place.
But the past beat me to the battlefield. The fucking past had set off the first bomb, and now I found myself hunched down in the destruction. My chest squeezed, and despite going through several rounds of breathing exercises, I still couldn’t pull in a full breath.
Rafe was right. I shouldn’t have come. Not now, and certainly not alone. Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for my phone and called him. He didn’t let me get a word in before he started going off on me.
“I’ve been so fucking worried! Do you have any idea how much trouble—?”
“I need you.”
Three simple words, strung together with haunting sorrow and desperation. With a pathetic twinge of weakness.
His breath hitched over the line. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this.” A sob burst from my throat. “I thought I could face him. I thought I needed to.”
“What did that fucker do to you?” he practically shouted the question.
“Nothing. He’s not here. I used my key to get in.” Darting my gaze around the front entrance, I took in the family photos on the wall—a warped illusion of joy and togetherness from when I was younger. From when my mom’s jasmine scent and her laughter filled the space between these walls. Now, the emptiness of the estate, and the coldness despite the ninety degree weather, hit me where it hurt the most. This house wasn’t a home.
“It’s just me. I’m so alone.”
“You’re not alone. I’m here.” But his voice was tight with fear, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing—how reckless I’d been by coming here. My dad was a dangerous man, and if he didn’t pose a big enough threat, Zach did.
No one knew where he’d gone. He could pop up at any moment, and here I was sitting alone and unprotected and bawling like a baby in the place where we’d grown up together. For all I knew, he could be lurking in the shadows.
I gulped at the thought.
“Rafe, I’m scared.”
“I want you to get the hell out of there as fast as you can. Do you understand me?” He was afraid for me—I heard it in the shakiness of his voice. And I’d left him helpless to help me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be sorry. Just get your goddamn ass out of that house!” His voice cracked. “Please, baby. For once in your life, do what I tell you to do.”
“Okay.” I rose on trembling legs and reached for the knob, hand shaking as I pushed the door open.
A tall silhouette ate up the sunlight filtering onto the porch. My knuckles went white around my cell.
“Alexandra?”
Raising my eyes, I let the phone drop to my side as I came face-to-face with the monster who raised me.