Page 74 of Thorns of Malice

I freeze.

Dax does as well, worry growing in his expression. "Baby girl, what's wrong?"

Grief fills me. I blink hard, trying to stop the onslaught of pain, willing myself not to cry.

It's a losing battle. Tears spill down my cheeks.

He rolls off me, tugs me into his arms, and holds my head against his chest.

I release an uncontrollable sob.

"Shhh. Baby girl, what's going on?" he gently asks, stroking my head and holding me tight.

I can't fight him. I know I should push him away, but I'm too weak.

Too many things hit me all at once. I wish it was grief only for my father. Instead, the years Dax and I lost, the ever-present agony, and my shattered heart that's impossible to mend, drill deeper into my wounds.

There's too much broken trust, too many dreams that will never come to fruition. And it ruins me over and over.

I wail harder, unable to stop.

"Shh, it's okay, baby girl. Everything's okay," Dax says, tightening his hold and attempting to reassure me.

"It's never going to be okay," I say on a sob.

"It is. I promise you it is," he declares.

I shake my head, insisting, "No, it's not."

The shame I've felt over the years regarding what happened and my addiction, along with the desperate urges that never stop, take their sharp edges, slicing me until I'm raw.

Dax continues to console me, but it only makes it worse.

I don't know how long I cry on his chest. When I finally retreat, my tears are everywhere, mixing with the whore-red lipstick on his body and sheets.

I force myself to pull it together, getting to a point where I'm only sniffling.

He kisses my forehead. "I promise you I'm going to make everything right."

He promises.

Dax made one vow after another to me ten years ago. I know what happens when he makes a promise—the exact opposite.

Anger replaces everything else I'm feeling. I push away from him. "How are you going to make anything right? Are you going to bring back my father?"

His eyes widen in shock. "Bring him back? What do you mean?"

My lips tremble. "You killed him."

His head jerks backward, pressing into the pillow. "Ivy, why would you ever believe that? I didn't kill your father."

"You did. You and your sister killed him," I insist, my voice growing firmer.

"Ivy, I'm lost. Fill me in on why you're claiming something so horrible," he says, sitting up and pulling me with him.

I shake my head in disgust, hating myself and once again blaming myself for my father's death. But Dax and Avery aren't getting off the hook either.

No one is. Everyone in this house is responsible. They all played a role in my father's demise.

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