Page 71 of Broken Halo

They were only supposed to collect the mattress but I decided on a whim this morning to add everything else I hate. The charity was so pleased when I told them I was donating the master furniture as well, you’d have thought they were collecting it straight from heaven. That made me so happy, I threw in everything from the office and dining room, too.

Fuck, they can have it all. I can’t wait to sell this place even though I have no clue where I’ll go. My mom has mentioned multiple times I should move back to the ranch for a while, but there’s no way. I might’ve used it as an escape when Robert was alive, but not anymore. Now, I need to build a new life for Griffin and me.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

I look at my dad, bigger than life and just as intimidating as ever. Jen could always handle him but not me. Not after he threatened me with Trig’s freedom.

I was only a girl. I might’ve been eighteen, but I was young, in love, pregnant, and wanted nothing but to live happily ever after with Trig Barrett. So, when my father basically hogtied me by threatening to go after Trig for being with me while I was seventeen, giving me no choice but to retract Trig’s alibi, he lost my trust—forever. It doesn’t matter how much we’ve ignored the dead body lying between us all these years. It’s there, and even after an entire decade, it reeks.

I grab the box of cookies and turn for my pantry. “You seem to know everything. I’m surprised you have to ask.”

He lowers his voice. “Twitchell Grace.”

I reach for the chocolate covered almonds because this has really been a fucking day. “Oh, yes. By all means, refer to me as the name you cursed me with. That’s the way to get me to talk.”

He’s holding Griffin’s hands and walking with him across the kitchen when he peeks up at me. His tone softens, but only by a touch. “Are you and Barrett together?”

I toss two almonds into my mouth. “If we are, you can’t do a thing about it. Statute of limitations and all—I googled it. Threaten me, threaten the ones I love,” I cross my arms and lean onto the marble counter, “do your worst. I’m an adult, Daddy. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

A flicker of something crosses his face—regret, fear, or maybe grief. It’s as if a haunted memory passes over his eyes, leaving nothing but pain in its place. “You don’t get it, darlin’. You have no idea.”

19

The Course of Us

No matter our motivation, worry for our children never dies. But they still need to fly.

Ellie

He doesn’t get to do this, try to demean me like I’m still too young to know what’s best for me. And he damn sure isn’t going to control who’s in my life, let alone who I sleep with—figuratively and otherwise.

My spine might be shorter than his, but after all I’ve been through, it’s stronger than ever and there’s no way I’ll allow him to make me believe that I don’t get it. I, unfortunately, get it more than I should.

I snap right back, “I remember it like it was yesterday—hell, like it just happened. Don’t tell me I have no idea.”

The chaos going on around us drowns out. My dad, still as big and strong and sturdy as he’s ever been, tosses Griffin up and catches him in his thick arms. “What I’m saying is you don’t know everything. You didn’t then and you don’t now, and it has nothing to do with what went down ten years ago with you and Barrett. It all started when you kids were tiny—especially you. You didn’t remember Silvie, but after she died, I wanted nothing to do with the Barretts. It was bad enough their land was so close to ours.”

My face falls and I turn to him. “What does Aunt Silvie have to do with the Barretts?”

Silva Montgomery was my dad’s younger sister. From the sagas my mom and dad told us, Silvie was always a wild-child and her story did not have a happy ending. She disappeared from their lives. Even my father couldn’t find her for years, and from what my mom said, he spent a pretty penny looking. My dad is right, I don’t remember her but I do remember going to her funeral. All the money my father spent on private investigators and the pressure he put on local law enforcement to look for her finally paid off. But when they did find her, she was in a ditch two counties over, dead and as naked as the day she was born.

She was covered in track marks, bruised, beaten, and pumped full of narcotics. DNA evidence was collected but they never found a match. Our parents used Aunt Silvie as a scare-tactic when we were young to stay in line, to avoid drugs, and be an upstanding Montgomery. Their way of doing this was to keep us busy as hell and expect perfection in everything we did.

Now that I have Griffin, I guess I can see where they were coming from, but I’ll never put that kind of pressure on my son.

I suspect my dad was a lot like Jen when he grew up, perfect and willing to fall in line with his family’s plans. Silvie never did, though. The lesson we grew up listening to over and over—our aunt was born a rebel and she died a horrific death as a drug addict.

“Ma’am, we’re done.”

I look away from my father and to the man holding out a clipboard for my signature. “Of course, sorry. Let me get you a check. I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”

The women’s shelter had no way of getting the furniture and I told them I’d handle it. The cost is nothing compared to the need to rid my life of all traces of my dead husband. I scribble out a check, sign the paperwork, and just like that, a huge chunk of Robert’s memories are out the door, and I’m again alone with my father.

Now that Griffin is a free man again, he speeds on all fours back to the family room and his baskets of toys.

My father stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Nothin’ scared me as a parent more than you. I used to tell your mama to do everything she could to keep you busy. From the time you could roll over, you did everything you could to defy us.” He levels his eyes on me and his tone is as sharp as a razor. “And you know you did.”

I don’t answer and turn to get myself a glass of water. He knows he’s right and so do I.

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