Page 141 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
But there in the doorway stood a man. Alive. As robust as he had always been.Logan Keats.But dressed differently. Not like her father. He was dressed for this world. A long cloak swept back over his shoulders. Weapons hung at his side. A sword rested on his back like he actually knew what to do with it. Instead of loafers or flips-flops, he wore high boots. The man stared back at her like she was a bizarre sight, a second sun rising in the sky, stunning and frightening all at once.
She had traveled over oceans, mountains, and entire worlds to reach him. Risked everything for this moment, but inexplicably, now she couldn’t move. Was this just another illusion? There had been so many.
And then he put his arms out for her, the way he always had, whether she was four, twelve, or twenty. That was all it took. She ran into her father’s arms.
“Brije,” he whispered into her hair, his voice catching, holding her tightly.
“Daddy,” she choked, clutching him in the same desperate way, her face buried in his chest.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’m here.”
When she was in his arms, she was a child again, safe. His voice soothed her, made her believe that everything would be all right.
But then he pulled away and grabbed her arm. He glanced across the valley, a sharp eye scanning for threats, before drawing her inside the barn. A dusty beam of light poured through a hole in the thatch roof, lighting the space between them.
“What are you doing here?” There was an unexpected edge in his voice.
“You sent me a note?” she answered hesitantly.
“No, I mean inthisworld. Elphame.”
“Willow told me you weren’t dead. That she saw trows take you. I made a bargain with the Danu Nation so I could come here to find you and help you out of whatever trouble you’re in. I’m here to bring you back home.”
“What?”
She didn’t see the relief she had expected. Or the happiness. What was wrong with him? “We always knew you and Mother were running from something,” she explained. “After Willow told me what she saw, I thought it was the trows that finally caught up to you. Willow said—”
He whirled, raking his fingers through his hair, hissing. “Bristol! No!”
“What’s wrong?”
He turned back to her. “I wasn’t running from trows. I needed their help to come here. They helped me fake my death and got me here through a portal.”
Bristol’s head swam, like she had just walked into a wall and was knocked senseless, like the pressure in the entire universe had just changed. Her ears rang.Faked death?The words couldn’t quite find purchase. They were sand spilling from a steep cliff. She felt herself slipping, right along with words that were impossible.
He faked his own death?
She only saw the real one, the death she had lived with all this time. She saw the sheriff standing on their porch, his hat in hand, his voice shaking. She saw the funeral home, the full pews, his urn of ashes center stage, the urn she had to carry home and put on a shelf out in his workshop. She saw the roadside memorial with faded silk flowers, and the bills they struggled to pay. She and Cat trying to be not just sisters but parents to Harper. Blood pooled in her limbs, her fingers cold, her voice a whisper. “You mean . . . you deliberately led us to believe you were dead?”
“Brije—”
Heat flooded back in, her voice alive again, his words finally reaching her like a hard slap across her face. Every inch of her stung. “Stop! I am not yourBrije! I am your daughter who has been grieving all these past months! How could you do this to us? Do you have any idea what our lives have been like? How could—”
“Bristol!” he shouted. “Let me explain!”
But she wasn’t done. “Explain what? The misery you’ve put us through? The heartache? We’ve been through hell! Is there anything truthful about you at all? Jasmine told me she had raised you and you left without even saying goodbye! Is that what you do to all your families? Abandon them?”
His dark brown eyes that could cast spells glistened, and a smudge of fatigue settled beneath them. “Please,” he said, his voice so low and broken it made her muscles ache. “Let me explain,” he pleaded again.
Her voice quieted, but it only made it sound more bitter. “You’ve lied to me my entire life. Foster care. Your reasons for running. You hid it all from us. Why should I believe you now?”
Something inside him caved, like his bones had cracked and shrunk. He stumbled to an overturned cart and sat, too weak to stand. He looked like he did after her mother died, waves of grief stealing his strength.
His chest rose in controlled breaths, as he wrestled with some demon in his head. He finally looked up. “I don’t blame you,Brije. I understand why you’re angry, but everything I did, I did to protect my family, and I would do it again. I love you all more than life itself. You need to know that. I didn’t want to lose any of you. If you’ll give me a chance, I promise I’ll tell you the whole truth. All of it this time.”
But could he? Bristol’s insides were raw, still trying to comprehend a faked death, the cruelty of it.I love you all more than life itself.
And yet she knew that much was true. She had always known it, always heard it in his voice, seen in in his eyes and in his actions. Helovedhis family. But was love enough? Was it a good enough excuse for what he had done?
