His lawyer stepped forward. I hadn’t even realized he was there. “Aaron, I would suggest—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Dad smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. “Lawyers. They can’t stop suggesting things.”
“You should probably take his advice.” We were in a roomful of deputies and lawyers. What he said could be used against him if he didn’t watch it.
“I’m thinking you should probably take my advice.” His smile was eerily pleasant. I could imagine him leaping across the table and wrapping his hands around my neck so he could choke me out. The only reassurance I had that he wouldn’t do it was the presence of all the menacing deputies surrounding us. They’d pull him off of me in seconds.
“And what’s that?” I asked warily.
“Don’t talk about that day. Any of those days you saw Katie Watts. Say you don’t remember what happened.”
I gaped at him. Couldn’t believe he had the nerve to say something to me like that. “Like they’ll believe me,” I scoffed.
“They can’t make you testify. If you can’t remember, you can’t, you know?” The silence between us, between everyone in the room, was downright deafening. “I would suggest it’s best if you don’t remember, if you know what I mean.”
“What, like that’s going to help get you off, my faulty memory? I don’t think so.”
“It’ll help, damn it.” He banged his fists on the table, his handcuffs clanking, and two deputies shifted forward, ever ready to pounce. “Not that you give a shit.”
I pushed back in my chair and stood, staring down at him. “You’re right,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t give a shit. Just like you never gave a shit. Did you care what happened to me? You were too busy fucking all your whores or snorting crank or whatever you did. Stalking and murdering little girls.”
He smiled again, serenely. Like he hadn’t a care in the world. All while I was seething inside, filled with rage and so tense I felt like I could shatter. No one else said a word—not the lawyers, not the deputies. The only sound that filled the room was my harsh, ragged breaths.
“You never cared about me,” I finally said. “I was always a burden, or a toy for you to play with when you felt like it. So fuck you.” I looked at my lawyer, who was already scrambling out of his seat. “I’m done.”
“Let’s go.” Stone grabbed hold of my arm and started to escort me out of the small room, the deputies falling into step beside us.
“I won’t forget this, son,” my father called, his voice ringing with an almost manic-sounding false hope. I couldn’t begin to understand him. I never could. “I’ll never forget you turned against me. Someday you’ll pay for this. Karma is a bitch.”
“You should know, old man.” Pausing at the door, I glanced at him from over my shoulder. “Considering where you’re going to spend the rest of your life. And don’t call me ‘son.’ You lost that right a long time ago.”
With those final words, I walked out, headed straight to the courtroom . . .
And sat on the stand for over two hours as I testified against my father.
“I feel like I did something wrong.”
My therapist—she keeps insisting I call her Sheila, and so now I finally am—watches me with her ever thoughtful gaze, her lips pursed as if she doesn’t like what I just said. She probably doesn’t. “Why do you feel like that?”
I shrug. It’s hard to put into words, my disappointment. How all-encompassing it’s been these last few days while I’ve been telling myself over and over I’m being too dramatic. I’ve been rejected. I spend one incredibly romantic night with Ethan, I tell him my last name via text, we discuss having a serious talk about my past, and now . . . nothing. No word from him. Crickets. That’s it.
Clearly he wants nothing to do with me.
“Because I told him who I was and I haven’t heard from him since. He probably Googled my name and found out all the dirty details of my life. That would scare any guy away,” I explain, blowing out a breath of frustration once I’m finished.
“Then he wasn’t the man for you,” Sheila says, as if that’s an acceptable answer.
But it’s not. Not to me. I truly thought Ethan and I had a connection. The chemistry was definitely there between us. I know he felt it, too. That night when we made out, if I hadn’t been so nervous, I would have let him take it farther. If he showed up on my front doorstep right now I’d probably let him take it farther.
Well, I’d want to punch him first. I’m sure he could persuade me with his lips, though, and make all of that anger melt away with just a few kisses. Not smart on my part. I shouldn’t be so easy, but I don’t want to let this go.
I don’t want to let him go.
“I want him to be the man for me,” I say with a sigh. “I like him. But maybe he doesn’t like me. Maybe he thinks I’m too damaged.”
“Who says you’re damaged?”