Page 75 of Wicked Sins

As if they cared for Emma, even the slightest.

Why not me?

Because I pushed him away when he tried, and I guess he’s tired of trying.

I should feel guilty, but I’m hollow inside, carved out by the thought that Emma died while I was away.

They’d been too busy fighting to watch her swim.

I’d been too far away to help. We could all have been there for her, but it hadn’t meant enough to us to stay together.

“Josiah, would you like to say a few words?”

I’d zoned out through the entire sermon. Now everyone’s looking at me expectantly. My gaze darts to my father. Did he plan this? Does it make him warm and fuzzy inside when his son is humiliated?

I shake my head, cross my arms over my chest. Everyone’s eyes slide away; their contempt weighs over me like a leaden sheet.

Father says stuff instead. Stupid, empty, faux-sentimental shit about how Emma was this bright light that’s been snuffed out too soon.

I don’t like the way he says that.

Snuffed out.

Like he imagines God’s hand came down and pinched out her flame.

God had nothing to do with this. It’s all my father’s fault. He should have been there for her. He should have made time to watch her swim instead of picking fights with his new wife.

They start lowering the coffin. I slide past someone—one of Emma’s teachers, perhaps?—and catch hold of my dad’s suit sleeve.

His fake sad smile makes my stomach churn.

“You honestly couldn’t spare a few minutes?”

Dad frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“She asked you.” My voice starts rising. “She asked you to watch her swim, but you were too fucking busy.” Diana’s between my father and me, but she steps forward and slips away. Yeah, best not get in the middle of this. Candy, on the other hand, huddles closer to my father’s side. He absently strokes her hair, his frown deepening.

“Keep your voice down,” he murmurs, breaking eye contact to glance around.

The fuck does it matter if someone overhears? “Why, Dad? Don’t you want people to know the real reason she’s dead?”

Anger prickles at my fingertips. It’s getting harder to breathe, as if my lungs are slowly filling with lava.

“Josiah.” My father releases Candy and takes hold of my shoulders. He walks, pushing me back, herding me away from Emma’s graveside. “If you want to talk, we can do it at home. This is Emma’s time now, not yours.”

My disbelieving laugh draws more than a few eyes. “You think I’m doing this for attention?” I stab a finger into my father’s chest. “She asked you to watch her swim, but you were too busy.”

A dangerous gleam flickers in my father’s eyes. “Be quiet.”

“You killed her!” I yell, shoving at my father’s chest.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for him to move back a step, then grab me and haul me to the car by my ear. Some stern words. You’re grounded. Shit like that.

It’s been years since I’ve dared to get physical with him. Years of football practice and gym workouts, and me slowly growing, and growing, and growing.

He lets out a cry of surprise. Flies backward. He catches Candy in the face with the back of his hand as he’s flailing to catch his balance.

She yelps in pain.

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