Page 7 of Wanted

There, I know I would always be safe.

I would always be loved and protected.

My mother sighs and says impatiently, “We’re going to be late.”

Exhaling his own sigh, my father pats me gently on the back. “Yes, dear, we are.”

Purposely ignoring the cue, I hug my father harder. Not wanting to let go.

He’s my only light in the world, and I rarely get to see him. He’s always too busy working and leaving me alone with Mother.

If I could somehow bind myself to him so he had to take me everywhere with him, I’d do it.

I’ve tried in the past to hide in his car before he leaves for work. Begging to go with him. Promising I wouldn’t be in the way.

But I always get caught. My father has made it a habit to check his backseat now before leaving the house.

He thinks it’s adorable, so I never get in trouble with him.

But Mother is never amused. She hates how my father ‘overindulges’ me.

“Charles,” my mother hisses, reaching the end of her patience.

Setting me on my feet, my father pries me away from his chest and holds me out in front of him.

His eyes remain warm and loving as they roam over my face. But once they land on my shoulders, something causes him to frown.

Fingers plucking at my dress, he holds up a few long strands of my black hair. “A little hair emergency, Catherine?”

My mother waves her hand in the air dismissively but seems a bit flustered as she quickly explains, “Yes. Alena took it upon herself to do her own hair and you can see for yourself the mess she made.”

My father’s frown deepens. “I see.”

“Come, we will truly be late if we don’t leave now.” Sweeping past us, Mother walks down the stairs.

My father turns his head, scowling at her back, before returning his attention to me. His gaze full of questions.

Questions I wish he would ask.

Questions I’m dying to answer.

But something must hold him back.

Letting out a long sigh, he shakes his head. “Your mother is right. We should be on our way.”

Grabbing my hand, he urges me down the stairs with him. But he keeps me close as we approach my mother, tucking me protectively into his side.

Lips thinning as we near her, my mother sticks her nose high in the air and walks out the door ahead of us.

“Did your mother explain how important today is?” my father asks as he helps me into the back of the black car he hired.

Scooting into the middle, being careful to keep as much distance between my mother and me as possible, I hesitate before I answer. “No, Daddy.”

Pressing herself up against the opposite door and crossing her legs, my mother shoots me a dirty look. “There wasn’t time, Charles. I was too busy fixing her hair.”

Sliding in beside me, my father nods, as if he’s accepting that answer, but I see his jaw clench.

I jump a little when he slams his door shut, my pulse fluttering with nervousness. But he’s quick to grab my hand again and gives me an affectionate squeeze.