Page 80 of Among the Sins of my Father

He’s here.

And my father is not.

But it’s hard not to look at him, look at Jericho, and not see glimpses of a monster. Knowing what he did to rescue me fills me with both gratitude and dread. When I lie in bed beside him, images of the bodies of the guards, of Michael, of Mr Gorman, and of Aaron Keating loop on repeat through my mind. I’m not sure if he was the one to kill them all. I haven’t asked. But I know it was by his command.

I’ve been waiting for the crunch of gravel beneath the tires of police cars. But they haven’t come. I’ve been waiting for wailing sirens and flashing lights, but the Sanctuary is as tranquil and isolated as it has always been.

“Hey,” Jericho's voice is rough and worn.

I turn my back on the window as he clears his throat. “You’re awake.”

Jericho holds his hand out, beckoning me to him. “You look sad,” he says as I lower myself to the bed, taking comfort in the feel of his fingers wrapping around mine.

“Just thinking,” is all I say.

“Are your flashes worse?”

I shake my head. I haven’t had any since the night Michael drugged me, but I haven’t told Jericho about that. I’m not sure if I will. He’s already asked me what they did. But it’s too hard to tell him the truth. Too painful to relive the memories, even though they haunt me.

I feel guilt for the sadness I’m experiencing over my father, but it’s uncontrollable. As though my blood knows it’s missing a strain of its existence.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since it all happened.” Jericho's eyes travel over my face. I know he’s taking in the bruising left by my father. “Come here.” He tugs me toward him and lifts up his arm, the one not bound in a sling.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say.

“You won’t.”

Jericho’s chest blooms with patches of blue and purple, some of them completely blocking out the feathers that usually float there. His side has been wrapped tightly in a bandage. There are stitches in the gash over his eye and the one that trails over his nose. Some of the swelling has gone, but his face is still a patchwork of pain.

I snuggle into his side and he holds me tightly to his chest. His heart beats steadily, comforting me with its rhythmic counting.

One, two, three, four, five.

First, second, third, fourth, fifth.

“I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he says, his lips moving against my hair. “Please don’t tell me I have.”

I sit up, my gaze honing in on his. His eyes are so murky there’s no blue to be found. Not even a glimmer in the darkness.

“Never,” I reassure him. “I just can’t help but think that some of this is my fault. That if I wasn’t here, none of this would have happened.”

“None of it is your fault, Miss Berkley.” He smiles faintly and reaches to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It’s okay to move on from this. It’s okay to be okay. None of it can be undone and it is me who must bear the burden of their deaths, not you. I will carry that weight. You don’t deserve any of it.”

I sigh deeply. I wish it were as easy as taking him at his word. Simply believing him. But I know it won’t be. I know I’ll be haunted.

Pulling myself away, I get up from the bed, knowing I should go check on the rest of the household.

“Where are you going?” Jericho asks.

“I’ve just got to go check on a few things.”

“I’ll come with you.” He starts to lift himself off the bed, his face twisting in discomfort, but I push him back down. “You’ve got to stay in bed. Doctor’s orders.”

He lifts a brow as he relaxes back against the pillows. “Can’t you stay with me?”

I laugh when his eyes darken even more as they fall to scan my body. “You’re injured.”

“You could be gentle.”

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