Page 104 of No Place Like Home

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I hated that fucking question.

“Yes.”

It was a lie, but no one called me out on it. Everyone tiptoed around me. They were too scared to shatter something that was already broken.

I began to walk away, but he pulled me back. I almost hissed, like some type of wounded animal. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t need or want anyone with me.

“You know I love you, right?” he said solemnly.

“I’m fine.” I pulled my hand away and locked myself in my room, staring at those two pink lines.

What was I going to do?

It was a sleepless night full of tossing, turning, and thinking of everything. By the time the sun broke, I had finally formulated a plan.

Since Cubbie was home and was hesitant to go away because he was scared to leave me alone, I left first thing in the morning. I needed to do this before I backed out, and maybe a part of me was using this moment to find an excuse to talk to him again.

I drove, just wanting to get some space and for no one to see me while I made one of the hardest calls of my life. Putting the phone on speaker, I pressed call on the name I had talked myself out of calling so many times.

My hands shook as it rang. My stomach felt like it was sinking when the ringing stopped, a clear sign the call was taken.

No answer on the other end. I should have expected that since I was the one who was calling.

“Hi,” I whispered.

Still nothing. He was angry, and he had every right to be.

“I know I should have called sooner, but there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Quincy can’t come to the phone right now,” a male voice said.

Even though the phone, I could tell the distaste it had for me.

I cleared my throat. “May I talk to him?”

“No,” the voice on the other end of the line barked.

My stomach sank.

“Pardon?” I whispered in disbelief.

“Look, Miss Morrison, Mr. Hardwell is finally getting back on track. That means his undivided attention has to be on his career. He doesn’t need someone who will not only hinder that progress, but stain it.”

Since I didn’t speak, he kept on going.

“One Google search, and I found your life story. A murderer for a father-in-law is not what he needs to get his career back on track.”

I clutched onto the phone.

“Please don’t call anymore. We both know someone like Quincy Hardwell is way out of your reach.”

He disconnected the call, and I looked blankly at my phone. His words kept coming back to me.

A murderer for a father-in-law.

He was right. What could I offer anyone with the past that I carried with me?

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