Page 3 of Beautiful Ruins
How could he make it about himself? Like I was just another case, and he was the one bleeding.
I pointed to the massive black eye I’d been sporting, still dark and swollen after three days. I didn’t mention the bruised ribs. “I’m not about to tell you I walked into a wall.”
The silence that followed was louder than any slap. He didn’t ask how it happened. He just looked at me like I had been reckless for surviving it.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dad’s jaw tightened. He stood rigid as if bracing against some wild storm named Sadie. “That’s not what I meant.”
His concern was a kind of prison, and I had spent my whole life trying to break free of it. He’d left me no room to breathe back then, treating me like a suspect before I’d even committed my first crime.
I’d always told myself I ran to escape the pain of losing Logan, and while that was true, I realised now, as I stood there staring at my father, I’d also ran to escape the suffocation. I ran to escape him.
Dad took a deep breath, wearing his disappointment like a well-fitted shirt. “I’m not saying it wasn’t,” he said. “But Christ, Sadie. You just missed his heart.”
“I guess we’re even then.” My voice cracked at the end, betraying the only truth that mattered.
I swiped at my tears with the back of my hand, furious they’d betrayed me. Furious he saw them. Dad didn’t deserve to witness them, and Marcus didn’t deserve to create them.
Yet, there we were.
The silence stretched in the dust-filled room, the air stale with things we hadn’t dared voice.
Dad sighed, a little of his anger draining out of him. “Listen, kiddo,” he said, his voice lower. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not tonight.” He scrubbed his hands over his face like he was trying to erase the wrinkles of our shared history. “I’m just—there’s a case that’s eating at me. A murder-suicide. Young girl, about your age. Murdered her family. Mother, stepfather, and kid brother. Then killed herself.” He leaned back a step, as if the words weighed more than he expected.
But the weight of them crashed into me. He may as well have pulled his service weapon and fired it at my chest.A young girl, about my age. Murder-suicide. He didn’t have to say it—comparing me to her—but I knew what he meant.
“Was she from here?” I frowned, swiping the rest of my tears away.
Dad nodded, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. “Yeah. Zara Stone. The Hughes family.”
A rush of air left my lungs. “Nash Stone’s sister?” He’d been the next big thing in NBA—full ride to Duke University, then drafted straight into the G-League. The whole town used to chant his name like a prayer on game nights.
“Afraid so.” The weariness in Dad’s voice was evident.
I wasn’t sure if it was because the Stone and Hughes families had been part of this town for years, or because I’d somehow become Zara to him. I hadn’t committed murder, but I could have. A little more to the left, and Marcus would have been buried in the ground, not still enjoying his freedom.
But more than that, I couldn’t help but feel for Nash. We went to Barrenridge High together, and everyone knew everyone. It was hard not to. All you had to do was sneeze and your neighbour three doors down would know about it.
Nothing stayed a secret for long. Not when ghosts had names no-one had ever forgotten.
Sadie Cooper was back in town. The whispers would start soon enough.
“And you think she did it?” I tilted my head, my need for more information warring with my need for Dad to just leave.
From what I remembered, Zara was quiet, kind. Just your average small-town girl with big dreams.
Dad waved a dismissive hand, swatting away the thought. “I shouldn’t be talking work with you. Besides, you need to sort out your life and not worry about anyone else’s.”
I rolled my eyes. He was like a dog with a bone—justcouldn’t let it go. I already knew I’d messed up, and I didn’t need his judgement as well.
“Do we really have to do this now? Can’t you let me settle in first before you give me the lecture on how I’ve messed up my life?” I slumped down on the edge of the bed, the springs protesting under my weight. The mattress barely held its shape, just like everything else in this town.
Dad stared at the floor for a long second. Maybe the carpet held a better version of this conversation.
“It wasn’t my intention,” he said. “It’s good to have you home, kiddo. Just wish it were under . . . better circumstances.”
I forced a smile, the fresh bruise under my eye protesting under the movement. “Yeah, well . . . guess you’re stuck with me now.”
Dad nodded, then gestured vaguely to my bag, like he wasn’t sure what else a father was supposed to do. A hug would have been nice. “I’ll let you settle in,” he said, glancing back at the open doorway. “My shift starts in half an hour. Will you be okay on your own tonight?”
