Page 49 of October
"unfortunately, you're family. Through some twist of fate and your long-suffering wife's good judgment—which you burned to the ground, by the way—I'm stuck with you."
He paced a little, then paused, folding his arms. "And Iknowthe burden of having a crappy childhood and crappier parents. Trust me. I didn't exactly win the parent lottery either. Cold, neglectful, demanding—pick your poison. So I get it. That stuff leaves holes. Scars.
He exhaled hard, then jabbed a finger in the air again.
"But here's the good news: it's not irreversible. You don't have to stay small just because they kept you caged. Youcangrow outside of them. You can rip up that old blueprint and draw something better. Sloppier, sure. But real. somehow, despite all the therapy I refused, I figured out how to be a decent father."
His voice dropped just slightly—not softer, just more weighted.
"And now... now that there's a grim, flickering, deeply skeptical hope that you might actually grow up and stop being a sentient cautionary tale, I'll be here. Whether you like it or not. As your substitute dad. Or your personal, snarky parole officer."
A pause.
"Whichever makes you cry less." He smirked, but the warmth behind it was undeniable.
I was tearing up but I also laughed. It felt strange. Cleansing.
"Thanks," I said.
"Don't thank me yet," he grumbled. "We've still got to take down your warlord father and the she-devil sidekick."
"Right. Portugal."
He sighed. "how can I help?"
My throat tightened around the words like they might betray me if I spoke too loud. Still, I forced them out, barely above a whisper.
"Will you come with me? When we take them down. Please."
Chapter Sixteen: Breathe in, Breathe out
Today is the day.
I didn't sleep. Not even a little. I just lay there all night with my eyes wide open, my thoughts sprinting in circles, every outcome, every word that could be misheard, every twitch that could blow the whole thing sky-high. I thought about the plane, the car ride, the moment the sirens would start. I thought about October. Her silence. Her eyes. Her disappointment. I thought about how this might be the last thing I ever do with my father—and that, for once, it would actually mean something.
It's done. The groundwork is solid. The lawyer has every document, every thread of evidence. The police chief has the arrest warrants, the surveillance. Everything's in place. Every piece has been laid out like a chessboard before the final blow.
I'm just the bait. I was pretending to work, staring at spreadsheets I couldn't see, when his voice cut through the room like a scalpel. "Are you done scribbling? Let's go. We've got a plane to catch."
I looked up slowly. He didn't wait. He never does. Just turned on his heel, walking out like he always owned the air between us. A man so smug he couldn't smell the gasoline soaking the floor under his shoes.
"Yes, Father," I muttered, so quietly it felt like praying.
He didn't look back. Just called over his shoulder, "Ride with Laura. She's already waiting in the car." Of course. One last ride with the accessory to my downfall. The ghost of every mistake I made in the shape of a woman who once made me feel useful. Or flattered. Or something else I now hate myself for needing.
I grunted, jaw tight. Yes, Father.
I stepped outside, and there she was—Laura, lounging against the car like she was posing for a magazine shoot. Hair just right. Designer bag dangling from one wrist. Those sunglasses she wore like armor against reality. She smiled when she saw me. Smug. Like we were co-conspirators, and not moments away from the fallout of a war she didn't know she'd already lost.
"Oh good, you didn't chicken out," she said. "I had a bet going with myself."
I didn't respond. Just opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. My hands were slick with sweat, knuckles white where I gripped my knee. The air felt too thin.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.
"Ready."
From the lawyer.
