Page 8 of Their Dark Rose

He huffs another laugh, then…silence.

Closing my eyes, I drag myself back to my make-believe world.

The good one.

I’m in my old home, sitting with my parents on the hearth in the living room.

Snow falls outside our window. Flames crackle in the fireplace. The scent of cinnamon curls around Mom, Dad, and me.

The coffee table is free of syringes and white powder. Mason, Falk, and Finn aren’t hovering to protect me.

My parents are clean. I’m safe at their side. It’s just the three of us. Me and my loving and adoring parents.

Looking at them reminds me why I’ve always loved my birthday month the most. Nothing is more magical than a December in Boston. With my parents.

They’re as excited as I am.

I’m their only child, and I’m turning eighteen tomorrow.

“Baby.” Mom twirls one of my long, golden locks around her finger. In the amber light of the fire, Lee Nightingale’s black eyes glow like hot coals. She’s beautiful. Delighted. “We already got you presents and baked a cake.”

The look I give her is one asking, “Seriously?”

“Well, I did.” When she chuckles, bells chime in our cozy penthouse. “But tell me what you want. What you really want.”

“Anything at all, Briar.” Dad hugs my side, and my head falls on his sturdy shoulder. “New car, designer clothes, a home of your own. Say the word, and it’s yours.”

Tears well in my eyes. My voice breaks. “Our family. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Dad. Just us.”

Somehow, my brain knows my two minutes are up.

Could be that. Or the fact that I’m crying.

Yes, I realize my parents and I never have and never will have a moment like that in real life. You’d think after eight years, I’d get over it.

I haven’t.

Even after overhearing the Abbot brothers talk about the countless times my parents hadn’t changed my diaper for two to three days at a time. Or when they left it to their friends to do most of the parenting for them.

How they pitied me.

I hated listening to it. The pitying part pissed me off. They don’t like me. They felt sorry for me, and that was why they took me in.

Yes, Mason, Falk, and Finn might not be big on hugging. But they took care of me when my parents wouldn’t. Still do.

Wiping off the real tears from my cheeks, I mock myself for being this stupid.

Our family. Ha, what a freaking joke. I am stupid. My dreams are stupid.

The word itself is a farce. And I’m a sucker for keeping it in my vocabulary.

After all, any hope I might have had died a long time ago.

Dad’s been rotting in jail for manslaughter for the past eight years. The medical reports showed he had a mixture of cocaine and heroin in his blood.

Why he decided to go behind the wheel instead of asking our driver to take him and Mom to meet the Abbots’ parents is anyone’s guess. He himself had no answer to offer the police officers.

The only thing he remembers is the text Darcy and Eugene sent him. That they said the house is coming along perfectly.

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