Isleen shoved away from him. Her eyes were misty and murky, bad memories swimming in their depths. And if he cared to be completely honest, he saw a bit of betrayal in her gaze. She’d thought he’d be on her side. But he couldn’t be. Not about this. He needed to rip every trace of that asshole out of her mind.
Her chin trembled, and the first of her tears cleansed a path down her cheeks. She stumbled. He reached out to her, but she held her hand up to ward him off. Didn’t matter what she wanted. What mattered was what she needed. And she needed him. He grabbed her, pulled her to him. She beat her fist against his chest, two hard thumps of anger, of resistance, and then she sagged against him, sobbing against his heart. The sound cut him to the bone, but crying was good. It meant she was feeling this. Not hiding from it. And not trying to put a shine on the shit.
She was going to be all right.
Chapter 24
Isleen stood outside the closed interrogation room. Xander’s arm was around her, pressing her to his side. She could feel the tension and anxiety in his muscles. He didn’t agree with what she was about to do.
“We shouldn’t be apart. Bad things happen when I’m not with you.” Xander’s grip on her tightened. She knew he was thinking about the night she drove away from him and everything that happened after. She was thinking about that too. But she needed to see her father. And she wanted to do it alone.
Kent walked out of the interrogation room, shutting the door firmly behind him. “He’s ready. I’ve got him chained to the table and practically bolted to the floor.”
“Thanks, Kent. I appreciate you making this happen.” She tried for a reassuring smile to ease the frown he wore on his face. Xander wore an identical expression.
“You don’t have to do this. Kent can handle it.” Concern crinkled Xander’s forehead.
“Yeah. No problem. Just let me take care of it.” Kent jumped in, so quick to agree with Xander. “You don’t need to deal with him, especially with what you’ve got going on later.”
Later she had a funeral. Her mother’s funeral. The coroner had finally released the body, and they were going to have a sunset service. Somehow the funeral tonight made her want to do this all the more. It sorta brought things full circle—if the circle was a misshapen blob. Doing this—meeting with her father one final time—was part of taking back her life and owning her fate. “I will do it.”
She went up on tiptoe and kissed Xander’s chin. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. He can’t hurt me, and there’s nothing he can say that he hasn’t already said to me.”
“I’ll promise you one thing.” Kent spoke to Xander. “He pulls any shit, and he’s gonna have an accident.” Kent’s tone was dead serious.
“Baby, I’ll be right here. One fucking step away, listening to everything. He hurts you—I’ll fucking kill him.” Fury dominated Xander’s tone. She suspected if he got within arm’s reach of her father, he’d try to kill the man. Xander bore his own set of wounds over what had happened.
“I’ll just be a few minutes.” She sucked in a giant breath, stepped away from Xander, and opened the door. Her legs were numb as she walked in the room and closed the door. The space smelled like a boys’ locker room—dirty clothing, old sweat, and guilt. Her father sat, hands cuffed to the table, his head bowed as if in prayer. He didn’t look up.
His hair was the same pale shade as hers. From his profile she could see the shape of her own nose and lips, see the similarities in the way their brows arched. After all these years, it was odd seeing her features on another human being.
She didn’t mean for it to happen, but tears came to her eyes. One of the aftereffects of everything she’d been through was those dratted tears. They flowed when happy, when sad, when she saw something beautiful, when she felt safe. It was just one of those strange things about her. She decided to embrace it instead of fighting it.
Her father lifted his head. His eyes widened. He gasped and tried to stand, but the cuffs kept him locked to the table. “Isleen…” His gaze locked on her tears.
“Don’t think these tears are for you. They’re not.” She moved further into the room and sat in the hard plastic chair across from him, meeting him stare for stare. “They’re for what might’ve been. For all the ways our future could’ve played out but didn’t. For all the possibilities that died when you killed my mom.”
“I—”