Page 128 of Lucas
“Ava? I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” Shame floods me, hot and caustic.
She rolls over to face me, cupping my cheek with her soft palm. “It’s okay. You needed me, and I’m here for you. I’m okay.”
I close my eyes and lean into her touch, savoring the tenderness, the acceptance.
How can she be so perfect?
“Do you want to tell me what happened? Why you came home so late, and what made you come to me like this? What’s wrong? Something’s not right, Lucas.” Her brow furrows with concern, her green eyes searching mine in the dim light.
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” The words feel hollow, inadequate.
“I just want you to talk to me.” She strokes my face, her touch gentle.
“Everything I thought my whole life turned out to be wrong,” I say, closing my eyes so I don’t have to see her reaction. “He’s not the man I thought he was.”
She stays silent, waiting for me to continue.
Can I tell her? I need to tell someone. I have to say it out loud.
“I think my dad did something terrible.” The word tastes like ashes on my tongue. “I think he killed someone.”
Her eyes widen, shock and disbelief warring on her delicate features. “Why would you think something like that?”
“I went to talk to him, and he was on the phone. He didn’t know I was listening. He was talking to someone, maybe a lawyer, about being prosecuted for murder.” I swallow hard, my throat raw and aching.
“Maybe you misunderstood? Maybe he was talking about someone else? Someone in the family?” She tries to rationalize, to make it okay.
I shake my head, the movement heavy and slow. “No. I mean, I didn’t hear the other side, but there was no mistaking what he said. I think my father killed someone.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
AVA
“Iidolized him. I always wanted to be just like him, to make him proud. He was my role model, my hero. A dad who, on the one hand, runs a successful company, an empire built from the ground up, and on the other hand, manages a family of four children and is present in each of their lives, involved and engaged. He was our rock, our strength. I knew he cheated on Mom, but murder?” Lucas shakes his head, disbelief and anguish etched into every line of his handsome face.
“He’s still your father,” I whisper, my face close to his on the pillow. I can feel the heat of his skin, the ragged brush of his breath. I ache to comfort him, to absorb his pain into me. “What he did or didn’t do has no bearing on his relationship with you, on his love for you and your siblings.”
“I feel like I’ve been through an earthquake. Like the very ground beneath my feet has crumbled away. The world as Iknew it has shattered into a million unrecognizable pieces. How can he be my dad, the man who raised me, if he’s capable of something so terrible? And who did he kill? What if it’s more than one person? What if he’s a serial killer, and I never had a clue?” Lucas’s voice rises, edged with hysteria, with self-loathing.
“Have you asked him about it? Talked to him?” I keep my tone gentle. I run my fingers through his hair, the silky strands sliding between my fingers.
“No. How can I? What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Dad, are you a murderer?’” He laughs, but it’s a harsh, broken sound that lances through me like a blade. His eyes are wild, unfocused, lost.
“No. Of course not like that, and not when you’re this upset, this raw. But you need to talk to him, Lucas. You owe him at least that much, a chance to explain. It might not be what you think at all. There could be more to the story.” I cup his cheek.
“I owe him?” His eyes snap open, flashing with sudden anger, his tone sharpening and becoming cutting. “I don’t owe him a fucking thing if what I heard is true.”
“Yes, you do. From what you’ve told me, he loves you all very much. Love is being there through the good and the bad, the light and the dark. And that goes both ways. He’s been there for you every step of the way, and now you need to be there for him. Even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts.” Just like Lucas was there for me when my father stormed into my office, unwavering in his support, and now I’m here for him, offering what little comfort I can.
“My father never loved me,” I go on. “I don’t think he’s even capable of love, of putting anyone before himself and hisown selfish desires. I spent years trying to please him, twisting myself into knots to make him love me, to earn a scrap of his affection. He provided for my physical needs, but that’s where it ended. He was never present or interested in my life or my dreams. He raised me solely to be his puppet. That’s not love, Lucas. That’s possession and control. Love shouldn’t be conditional. It shouldn’t come with strings or expectations.” I blink back tears, my throat tightening with old hurt, old scars that still bleed if I prod them too hard. “You have a dad who loves you. Who cares about you as a person, not just an extension of himself.”
He nods, seeming to absorb my words, to wrestle with them.
“You don’t understand how much you have. How rare and precious it is. You have a world, a family. I have nothing, no one.” A tear slips down my cheek, hot and scalding. I brush it away, hating the show of weakness. “I don’t belong anywhere. I don’t have a single person who loves me.”
“That’s not true.” Lucas props himself up on his elbow, his bright blue eyes glinting at me in the darkness, fierce and intense. “You do.”
“I just told you my father never loved me, not really. Not the way a parent should love a child,” I remind him, my voice cracking under the weight of a lifetime of longing, of yearning for something I could never have.
