Page 46 of Salvation
“Now what happened to your hand?” she demands, and I shrug, mimicking what she did seconds ago.
“I cut it.”
It’s not the answer she was looking for, but it’s the one she’ll get. She can keep her secrets about her engagement ring, and I’ll keep mine because in the end, it’s not a secret I want her ever to know. I wouldn’t survive the disappointment in her eyes when she finds out just how weak I am.
Chapter 23
Ivy
The drive to the Bryants’ home is long and awkward. Willow was angry when we told her we were taking her back, but with her boyfriend gone, she didn’t have many options.
Now we are piled into Campbell’s truck, with Campbell in the driver’s seat, white knuckling the steering wheel, Willow in the back, refusing to look away from the window, and me watching them both, afraid that if I blink, it will all go away.
No one says a word until we pull onto the road that leads to the Bryants’ home. Then, Willow finally looks away from the window and sits forward, poking her head in between Campbell and me.
“You can just drop me off at the corner. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
Campbell turns his head toward her and gives her a look that might as well say, “In your dreams.” Willow sighs dramatically, sitting back in her seat.
“Fine. You can take me home, but can we not mention that my boyfriend was the one who dropped me off? I feel like we’re going to have enough drama on our hands once they see you guys, and my parents aren’t exactly fans of Cameron.”
“Why?” Campbell asks, looking at Willow in the rear view mirror. “Does he look like a poster child for goth fashion week,too? Do you have an aversion to color or something? Ever heard of pink?”
“Do you have an aversion to personal choice, or is that the patriarchy talking?”
Campbell smirks, and Willow does the same. My heart nearly falls out of my chest because of how much father and daughter look alike at that moment.
“Okay,” I say, ending the staring contest between them. “We’ll wait to bring up the boyfriend thing.” Willow seems to relax, but I continue. “But if they ask, Willow, we aren’t going to lie for you. We will tell them the truth. The only reason I’m agreeing not to tell them now is because you’re right. There’s already going to be enough drama as it is.”
Campbell looks like he wants to say something, but he clamps his mouth shut and doesn’t argue.
Willow chews on what I said for a minute before nodding and saying, “Fine. I can handle that.” She looks at Campbell. “What about you? Are you going to snitch?”
With his tongue in his cheek, Campbell turns his head toward me, and I silently beg him not to ruin this one chance we have with our daughter. He must understand what I’m asking because he sighs and says, “I won’t snitch.”
He doesn’t look at her when he says it. He looks directly at me, and I try to remember how to breathe. Campbell’s attention has always felt like it’s too much and not enough, and it’s confusing. So I pull my eyes away from his because my life is already confusing enough. My gaze lands on his hand wrapped around the steering wheel. It’s one with the gauze wrapped around it, and I wonder again what happened.
Curiosity and unease mix inside of me. I’m not sure what it is about the wound that holds my attention, but something about the way Campbell avoided answering my question makes my stomach ache.
I don’t have a long to think about it, though, because soon enough we pull into the Bryants’ driveway, and I have to prepare myself for the onslaught of a whole other type of worry.
Campbell pulls the truck to a stop, and we all file out, each lost in our own thoughts as we march up the sidewalk to the front door. Campbell is at the front of our group, and he raises his hand and knocks. Willow tries to hide behind him, but he gives her a look and steps to the side, forcing him closer to me. His hand lands on my back, and I grit my teeth to repress the shiver that runs down my spine. The heat of his hand soaks through my shirt, the sweetest torture I’ve ever known.
Footsteps hurry toward the front door on the other side, then the door opens, revealing a younger version of John. The boy has the same brown hair and dark eyes as his father, but when I look closer, I can see the kindness of his mother there, too.
He looks from me to Campbell to Willow, and his eyebrows raise.
“You’re in so much trouble.” His voice is lifted in a sing-song as more footsteps approach. Silently, I hope it’s Jackie. She didn’t greet us with all-out hostility, but when a deep voice rings out, calling the kid’s name, I tense. Campbell must feel my muscles bunch beneath his hand because he starts rubbing soothing circles on my back, but when I look up, he’s looking straight ahead with his jaw clenched tight.
“Kolton, who is it, son?” John asks as he rounds the corner and comes into view. His footsteps come to a stuttering stop when his eyes land on us. Burning anger flashes through his irises until his eyes land on Willow. Then they soften.
Willow winces.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says, and John softens a little more. If I wasn’t sure about him loving her before, seeing her with him now confirms it.
He sighs and turns his attention back to us. “Since you’re here, you might as well come in.”
All his anger from before is gone, and in its place stands reluctant acceptance.
