Page 31 of Waiting Forever
“You want me to throw a party?”
“Yep,” she chirps with pride.
“I don’t have time for this right now.” I turn.
She catches my wrist. “Think about it.” Her gaze holds mine for a moment and then she walks away.
Nathan must be lost to be caught up with a girl like her.
I drop my bag by the thick tree trunk and call Mom.
“Kensi.” She sighs. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you.”
My heart tugs. “I miss you, too. How’s Dad?”
“He’s doing better now that we’ve heard back from the attorney.”
My muscles clamp. Hiring the family friend was another way to curb Dad’s need for vengeance. Arrests and jail time for my ex and the attackers was another way to stop his desire to slit throats. “What’d he say?”
“Allen is still collecting statements and building a case against Prescott, but he has enough on the two who attacked you to keep them locked away for a long time. You’re not the only girl they’ve done this to, only those girls didn’t escape the way you did.” She inhales a shaky breath. “Honey, the thought of you trapped in that room, fighting alone haunts my dreams.”
I face the tree. “Mom, it’s done. Okay? It’s in the past. I’d rather not relive it, and I’d rather you don’t, either.”
She sniffles. “I know, but I need to say this in case I haven’t already.”
I brace myself.
“I’m so proud of you. You are the strongest woman I know. So brave. You fought them off.”
Hardly.“I wriggled and jerked my body until they got tired of me resisting them.”
“Exactly. You fought. You didn’t stop until you were free, and you got away. If I could have saved you or stopped it from happening, I would have. I’d give anything to erase the memory, but that’s not real life. This is, and you are a fighter. I’m proud of you in so many ways for so many reasons, including this. I know you think you let us down, but you didn’t, and I need you to know that.”
“I second what your mother said.” Dad’s voice sounds through the phone.
Tears fill my eyes. My legs weaken. I lower onto my knees. “Dad?” We didn’t talk much before the move. I thought he was disappointed in me, even though Mom insisted he just needed time to process what happened without killing anyone.
“We’rebothproud of you,” he says.
“I feel like this is all my fault.” I blink the moisture from my eyes.I will not cry at school. I will not.
“It’stheirfault,” Mom says, and Dad grunts or growls. “Give me a sec, luv” she adds. I imagine she’s consoling Dad, trying to calm him down.
If I’d been more careful, if I hadn’t gone to that house, none of this would be happening. “Mom?”
“Yes, darling. I’m here.”
“Is Dad still angry?”
“Don’t worry about him. He has his own issues to overcome, and he will. I’ll make sure.”
“I know you will.” Doesn’t change that I hate she has to.
She’s saved Dad from the evils that haunt him after his years of serving—infiltrating enemy territories in Afghanistan, carrying out covert missions—explaining to him that killing was expected of him overseas; it was the only way to survive. Still, at times of great stress, he reverts to that way of thinking. It’s part of PTSD. People think it’s anxiety brought on from memories, flashbacks, and loud noises. Although those are triggers for PTSD, it’s also fighting the urge to eliminate threats and targets. The rules of war are different and leave a strong impression.
“Sweetheart, I need to check on your dad. I’ll keep you posted on the lawsuit. But it looks really good for us. Those boys will pay and hopefully learn their lessons.”
Lessons.My hands curl into fists. “Their parents should pay, too, for raising them to act that way.” It’s out before I can stop it. I regret it at once.
