Page 18 of Lace 'em Up

By loss.

I sigh softly, carefully tuck his picture where it belongs—right next to the one of my mom—and touch the bracelet I stashed inside years ago. Because Phillip said it was childish and I didn't want to fight. Because it was too precious to keep putting him off about it.

But I didn't realize how naked my wrist had felt since the moment I took it off.

No more.

Be brave and kind.

My dad's words, spoken to me over and over again.

Be brave, like him. Be kind, like the mother I don't remember, the mother I can't remember because she died mere hours after my birth.

I lay the bracelet flat, fumble with the clip for a moment before I manage to get it secured, and then I lift my arm, smiling at the cheap plastic and wood and metal charms that my dad brought me back from each of his business trips.

I have an Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, a koala, the Colosseum, a boat, and even the Golden Gate (though we'd picked that one out together on one of our visits across the bay and into San Francisco). And…I have a charm my dad's assistant found in his briefcase, after he'd had that heart attack while on his final business trip.

This one shaped like a kangaroo.

I smile and touch the little trinket, sending the kangaroo hopping on the link that hangs from my wrist.

My dad wasn't perfect.

But I never doubted he loved me.

Not like?—

I freeze, fingers clenching on the edge of the box, as the hairs on my nape prickle.

Slowly—oh so slowly—I turn my head, and glance back over my shoulder.

I see Phillip standing in the doorway…

And the fury on his face is absolutely terrifying.

Seven

King

I don’t bother knocking as I run up to the front door of Rory’s place—just wrap my fingers around the doorknob and twist it, shoving the wooden panel inward so hard that it slams into the wall with a loud thud.

Because there’s a car in the driveway.

And it’s not fucking mine, not fucking Rory’s.

Which means?—

I hear her cry out and my already increasing speed grows faster.

I’m up the stairs in a flash, pounding down the hall, looking through the open doors as I go.

Searching for her.

Finding her.

Crouched in the corner, wearing my tee and sweats, her sock-covered feet tucked beneath her as that fucker?—

I see red.

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