Page 69 of Pretty Heartache

“Go home, Lachlan,” I say, moving past him to get inside.

I’m pulled to a stop when his hand wraps tightly around my arm. “Wait,” he breathes. Now I’m standing closer, I have a better look at his eyes. His pupils are wide, and the whites surrounding his hazel irises are bloodshot. “I was hoping you might have a few pills you can spare. Like the ones you’ve given me before. You know...”

I rip my arm from his grip, stepping back. “I don’t have anything for you.” I swallow, memories of the past ten years digging their claws in, once again. “You know I don’t.”

“Please,” he begs. Part of me feels sympathy for him. The grips of addiction are white-knuckled on this man, but my sympathy is short lived.

I point my finger toward the open gate, down the driveway. I have no clue how he got here. I don’t see a car other than mine in the driveway, and I didn’t see one out front. Quite honestly, I don’t give a fuck how he got here. I just want him gone.

“Get the fuck off my property… or I’ll call the police.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He steps up to me, shooting me a sinister glare. “Besides, do you truly believe the police will be on your side? With your history?” My brain practically explodes, and he laughs. “You wouldn’t dare turn in your best friend’s dad. You’re too loyal to risk losing Archer. You’ll always do what’s best for him, regardless of what the cost is to you.”

I curl my hands into fists. My chest twists and aches. Poisonous hatred and resentment bubbles in my white-hot veins. I shove Lachlan, and he stumbles back, the withdrawal evident in his lack of balance and strength.

“Fuckyou,” I spit. “Even if I had pills to sell, I wouldn’t give them to you. You haven’t done a fucking thing for me.”

He falls back onto the asphalt and props himself up on his elbows with a groan. I lean over him, bringing my face close to his.

His swallows, his eyes twitching. “I couldn’t do anything for you.”

“You were District fucking Attorney. You could have done something—anything—but you kept your mouth shut.”

“I couldn’t,” he says, sniffing.

“You make me sick,” I tell him, the claws in my mind digging in again. I lean down even closer. “Now, I’ll only say this one more time: get the fuck off my property before I turn you in. The truth always has a way of revealing itself, Lachlan. Oh, and you might want to tell your son to get his shit straight before he ends up getting us all killed. Tell him to leave me out of whatever bullshit you and him have going on. I’m done hiding the truth. It’s getting pretty fucking exhausting.”

Lachlan rolls to his side and pulls himself to a stand. He smooths his disheveled hair and inhales a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.

Without another word, he saunters out of the yard and down my driveway, disappearing down the street. It isn’t until he’s out of sight do I feel the massive, weighted rope knotted in my chest finally let up.

No matter how hard or how much time has passed, I was right about one thing.

The truth always has a way of revealing itself.

One way or another.

EIGHTEEN

I clung to the house like one of the hundreds of vines of ivy. Resting my head back against the brick, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare.

This was all a daydream. A figment of my imagination.

A truth that holds no water.

My father in Micah’s backyard.

Ten minutes ago, I’d come out back in the hopes of planting new flowers in the garden box Micah had cleaned out. The sad, pathetic dry dirt was calling for new life. Some of the furniture we’d pulled out of the shed was beyond saving, but the garden box was different. I could see the potential. I could envision what it would look like flourishing with full blooms, new life breathed into what was once viewed as a symbol of death.

But I’d stopped when I heard movement from the far end of the backyard—someone climbing over the half-broken fence. I knew it wasn’t Micah, considering he’d taken his car to meet with his brothers. Ray had dropped me off after breakfast with Ember.

Then my heart plunged deep in my stomach when I spotted the man climbing over the fence and falling to the ground. He’d barely looked up when I saw who it was.

Lachlan Mayfield.

My father.

Quickly, I’d ducked and ran to the side of the house. I knew he was on the other side of it, peering in through one of the windows.

---