Page 47 of The Fight

My eyes get blurry from the tears starting to well in them. “My… my dad?” My voice comes back on a low whisper.

Blake is saying too much and not enough all at the same time. It’s jumbled and messy and broken. Nothing is making sense, but those words rang loud.

He lets out a sigh, ignoring my question and ignoring the sobs I can’t seem to control anymore. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I—I—” I stutter, trying to get anything out, but it doesn’t work.

“That’s okay. I don’t really care what you think. Soon enough, you’ll be gone too. She never wanted you, she told me. So, this is my gift to her. Mylastgift before I steal her away for good.”

I feel bile rise in the back of my throat as the panic claws its way up my gut. “You’re insane. My mom doesn’t love you.”

“You say that, but you’ll… well, I suppose you won’t see, will you?” He laughs.

He doesn’t even give me a chance to answer before he’s stepping away and exiting out the door.

Shay. Please find me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SHAY

Moving back and forth across the foyer of our house, I try and keep some sort of handle on myself as I keep digging through the last hour, trying to really process what the fuck has happened—whathasn’thappened. Every time my gaze flicks down the hallway, I know Sylvia is down there in her room, hunting for the old yearbook she mentioned, but the waiting is unbearable.

I want answers. I need answers. I clench my hands at my sides, my knuckles turning white, and try to remain as calm as I can. The image of the church is still so fresh in my mind. My phone just lying there, the blood. Everything. The image replays on a flicker, over and over, and it’s all I can think about.

I look over at my dad, who is pacing the same way I am, phone pressed to his ear. His voice is steady, but there’s a sharp edge to it that’s hard to ignore.

“Yeah, I understand,” he says into the phone. “Get me everything you can anyway… Richard Slane, yes. I don’t care how old it is. If there is anything in the system, I want it. Who signed the death certificate, cause of death, everything.”

He listens for a moment, and I can see the lines in his face deepen.

“Slane,” he repeats himself. “Yeah. Aliases, too, if there are any. He didn’t just disappear. I’ll take whatever you can find.”

I’m too angry—too worried—to just keep lingering beside him, hoping some Hail Mary comes about. I move over to the window and pry apart the blinds. It’s so dark.

“What?” My dad’s voice suddenly rises, pulling my attention back to him. “You’re sure? No record at all?”

His eyes flick to me, but he doesn’t break from his call. His fingers tap on the side of his phone, and it sounds like a ticking clock as he mutters something else into the receiver.

“Yeah. I’ll follow up with you later.”

He finally hands up and exhales sharply. “Damn it,” he mutters, defeated, then looks at me. “I’m not letting this go, Shay. I’m calling in every favor I have. We’ll figure this out.”

I don’t doubt him. My dad’s a damn good lawyer, but right now, not even his best efforts feel like enough. Nothing does.

I turn back from the window and start pacing again as my dad dials another number. This time, his voice is more controlled, more level.

“I need to talk to Judge Matthews.”

He continues to speak, but it fades into the background.

Suddenly, the sound of sirens squeals in the distance.Fucking took them long enough. I turn toward the door, my feet already moving before I even realize it. Without saying anything to my dad, I rush out the door.

Flashing lights from the patrol cars slice through the night, and in a weird way, it brings me some comfort. The officers step out of their vehicles and adjust their belts, moving across the drive toward me.

“Good evening,” the first speaks.

“Not a good fucking evening, Officer,” I bite back.

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