Page 24 of Bad Wolf

If Dad’s in a hole, it will be a deep one.

“I think I should stay.” I plaster on a fake smile, holding back the tears. “Yeah, I should stay. I was just being silly. Pfft, like I could just head to New York on a whim like that.” I chuckle, but it’s empty, and I start dicing up the chicken.

Keep busy.Just keep busy.

“Ignore me, Dad, I was talking crazy. Just upset about the money. But we’ll set the ship right, you’ll see.”

I poke around in the fridge again for a few more ingredients when Dad turns me by my shoulder and hugs me again.

“I think you should go. I’ve failed you time and time again and all you’ve done is stand by me.” He squeezes even tighter.

He strokes at my hair, his hand firm as he turns my head to look at him,

“And Wren? The pull is always there, but I’ve not bet on hockey since that game.”

His words hit like an avalanche, and I sob into his shirt, unable to believe him, but wishing I could. Every emotion crashing into me at full force, contradicting one another.

Guilt at leaving him.

Relief at leaving him.

Excitement at the prospect of getting to tell Knox what happened, mixed with the apprehension of seeing him after all this time.

They swirl around until I’m just a puddle of weak limbs and a heart that’s cracking even further.

Forsaking one person I love for another? That’s what I’m agreeing to here, right?

It seemed so simple an hour ago. It was lists and what ifs and plans.

It was Knox.

When I’ve thought about leaving, it was always about the situation, the unfairness of it all. Now I’m standing here not knowing if my leaving will ruin my father for good—and I’m still going to do it anyway.

CHAPTERSIX

KNOX

If you’ve ever askedyourself,how do I forget that I just saw my high school girlfriend dance at a burlesque club while I was out for my cousin’s bachelor party after nearly seven years apart?The answer is, drink until you pass out and hang out with your awesome eight-year-old nephew.

But not in that order, obviously.

We’ve been back from Florida a week and I already miss the weather. Both of us are wrapped up in layers, fighting off the frigid cold.

I’m currently checking us in and signing the bottom of a lengthy waiver—please, it’s crazy golf—while he surveys the course. Never taking a breath, his questions and observations running into one long monologue.

“I think all the different levels look cool,” Jack says, eyes wide as saucers.

“Holes,” I correct, and pull my baseball cap down lower.

“Yeah, the holes. That windmill one for sure, but wouldn’t it be better on skates?”

This kid. I see a lot of myself in him and of course, he means inline skates and not blades, although this is Jack we’re talking about, so who knows?

“That would be amazin’ but it’s just crazy golf. There’s no skating needed, you’ll see.”

We play it cool and hang back while the family in front of us gets ahead a few obstacles. There’s nothing worse than getting held up in the middle of a heated competition.

“Hey, Knox?”

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