Page 59 of The Locksmith's Promise

I rolled up to my feet, a process that took far longer than usual, and dragged my heavy limbs out of my bedroom.

My stomach made all kinds of threats, but it was the stabbing headache that marked the worst hangover I’d ever had before or since. I barely noticed the flames licking my spine.

I put them out of my head now just as I had before.

There was nobody else in the house, but I couldn’t leave Jenny in case my father returned. Fortunately, she stumbled into the kitchen not long after I did.

I tried to talk to her, but she waved me away with a mumbled, ‘home.’

In the shower, I scrubbed my body, looking for evidence of activity from the night before. I knew I had to tell Maggie. Based on my history with Jenny, a history I’d sworn to her was ancient, the outcome seemed locked in.

My breath stuttered in and out, my heavy heart bleeding out now as it had then.

I thought I had time to pull myself together. A few hours to settle my stomach and ease the pain in my head before talking to Jenny to find out what the fuck happened, but I’d fallen back into bed and slept for hours.

By the time I dragged myself to Maggie’s house that night, she had already left with her mother, and her dad wouldn’t tell me where they went.

I slept in my car outside her house for three days, waiting, hoping, and praying she’d come home.

Her dad came out at intervals, his disgust slowly giving way to pity. Finally, he walked over and confronted me.

I stepped out of the car, my heart in my throat, to meet him.

He shook his head, face drawn. “You can’t do this. Not to her. Not to yourself.”

I dropped my face into my hands. Barely having anything to eat or drink, the confusion I woke up with that morning had clung to me like a burr. “I know it doesn’t look like it,” I replied thickly, “but I do love her.”

“Are you worthy of her?” he challenged softly. “Are you worthy of her like this?”

I shook my head. On that point, the truth was clear.

He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.

Instinctively, I jerked back and drew back my fist.

His eyes remained steady on my face as I snarled at him, my blood rushing in my ears as I assessed the threat. A wave of shame lowered my fist.

His eyes hardened. “Your father’s a right bastard. I’m sorry I didn’t intervene more often than I did.”

Intervene?

He dropped his gaze. “I’ll carry that regret until the day I die.”

“It wasn’t your problem,” I wheezed, adrenaline pumping through me.

He was quiet, staring at the ground, then said something that shook the foundations of my world.

“There’s no one on this earth who wants you to pull it together more than I do. Get away from him. Make something of yourself.” He raised his chin and stared into my soul. “Then come back for her.”

I’d had every intention of listening.

I spent the past eleven years wishing I had.

If I’d left then and there? Everything would be different.

I might have won Maggie back, somehow explained what happened.

I wouldn’t have lost my son.

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