Page 73 of A Lethal Game of Trust
My gut churned as she put the key in the lock.
26
Just a House
Leonie
The last time I was here was three days after my father’s death. I’d grabbed the necessities, Issy and Ivan at my side. I’d only gone up to my room, loaded their waiting arms with ridiculous things like half-finished homework assignments and left.
At that point, I had cried so much my eyes were permanently dry.
Mum went back once she was discharged from the hospital, claiming she was fine. It hadn’t helped her mental state.
That was before her most detrimental psychotic episode.
In all my years there, I had only opened the door with a key once or twice. We had around-the-clock security, two full-time housekeepers and other staff. The door was always open. Or I would sneak in through my window like Dom would sneak into my room.
He held my hand, rubbing his thumb into my skin. My palms were sweaty, but I knew he wouldn’t let me slip from his grip. Not when I needed him so badly. If only he had been like thisten years ago.
The opened door revealed the foyer, marble floor and the circular entry table just before us. Mum always had pink and white lilies in a large vase resting upon it, but instead now it was just a white sheet. A grey-white sheet.
A beep thundered next to the door but my feet refused to go further and, with a cautious glance my way, Dom removed his phone from his pocket, pressed a few buttons and the beeps stopped. “I’ll get this downloaded on your phone, too,” he said softly.
This man. He had once been my complete and utter future, every daydream, every wish on a star, eyelash, birthday cake.
He wasn’t anymore.
But I was so grateful to have him with me. We weren’t the same as we had been or could have been, but this was enough. This was us.
I lead the way to the kitchen, the barest of the rooms in our house. Again, the surfaces were clear, the kitchen table was covered. But the floor was clean, not a shatter of glass to be seen.
Who had replaced the window? Who had paid for it? Maybe Mum, but she had never been practical about those things, especially not after. She would have ghosted through the house, probably not even noticing. Did she do it intending for us to move back in eventually, just the two of us?
My inheritance was large, enough for me to live on for the rest of my life and didn’t just consist of money and property.
But after my stint in rehab, I begged Dom and Issy’s dad to not allow me the money until I was ready. They had offered it to me at twenty-one, the year I was meant to inherit everything, including his side of the business, but five yearslater I still denied it.
One day, I would be ready.
In the kitchen, there had been so much blood. My dad’s, mine. Nearly all of my mum’s, too.
It was just a kitchen. A kitchen that held so many good memories and one awful, horrific memory.
Issy and me playing dress up and drawing.
The gunshot.
Opening my acceptance letter to the dance academy.
My mum screaming on the floor with the gun to her head.
Dom and me making an awful birthday cake for Issy.
Dom coming up behind me to take a gun from my hands.
The smell of Dad’s cooking, singing along to the songs I didn’t understand.
His last breath.
