I tried frantically to respond. I knew he was watching me, waiting for a reaction, but I didn’t have any words. I just lay there, my heart pounding as I tried to untangle the thoughts running through my head. Memories of my dad, his tattooed arms flexing as he lifted me up, carrying me after I was way too old to demand he did. The way he’d pull off his glasses and dig his fingers into his eye sockets as he laughed at some harebrained scheme I’d come up with. His face in the delivery room when I’d had Rebel, white as a ghost, but so damn proud.
The way he walked. The way he laughed. The way he clammed up whenever my mom was mentioned. The way he would always sheepishly put a shirt on when I had a friend over. The scar on his ribs where he’d been stabbed in a bar fight before I was born. My name tattooed over his heart. Rebel’s name tattooed down the middle of his chest. The time he’d grown his hair out. The time he’d asked me to shave it off and I’d left bald patches and he’d had to wear a hat for a solid month. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. The frown lines between his brows. The way he called me princess.
The look in his eyes the last time I’d seen him.
The look in his eyes the last time I’d seen him.
The look in his eyes the last time I’d seen him.
“Molly,” Will barked, flipping on the light.
I’d known it before he’d told me, known it before I’d ever left that house. But still, somewhere inside me, I’d held out hope that Grease and the other guys would get to him in time. I’d been delusional, and I’d known it, but I’d still had that hope.
And now that hope was gone, leaving a deep, dark hole in its place.
“Molly,” Will said again, ripping the bedding down my body. “Answer me.”
I stared at him blankly as he pulled me out of bed.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled incoherently as he lifted me into his arms.
“Mom!” Will called as he carried me into a dimly lit hallway. He walked quickly through an archway that had chips in the paint and some sort of writing all over it, and then we were in a loud room with people everywhere.
“Will?” An old man with a long, red beard laced with silver stepped in front of us.
“I think she’s in shock,” Will told him in a tone I’d never heard before.
“She’s earned it, poor lass.”
“I need—she needs—”
“Probably just you,” the man said softly, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “Take her back in your room and care for her.”
“Will?” another voice asked from behind me. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Poor timing, girl,” the old man said.
I turned my head to the side and found the woman I’d seen with Will at the gas station staring at us in confusion. Oddly, I didn’t even care.
“Go on, now,” the old man said to her, waving his hand. “Shoo.”
I dropped my head to the side and rested it on Will’s chest.
“You seen my parents?” Will asked, settling me more firmly in his arms.
“Over by the pool table with the kids,” the old man answered.
Then we were moving again, shuffling around people as Will carried me across the room. He hadn’t said anything to the woman, hadn’t acknowledged her at all.
“Oh, Molly,” Mrs. Hawthorne said sadly when we finally reached her. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Will said quietly.
“I do,” Grease mumbled gruffly. “Hold her tight.”
I turned my head just as he set a familiar weight on the curve of my body.
“Mama,” Rebel said in relief, leaning forward to rest against my chest. “Mama. Reb.”
I shuddered, a sob bursting out of my mouth. I pulled her in tight, ignoring the way her heavy weight put painful pressure on my arm. “Hello, princess,” I blubbered, kissing her head. “I missed you.”
“Take them back to your room,” Mrs. Hawthorne ordered Will. “They need to get some rest.”
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly, meeting Grease’s eyes.
“Yeah,” he said simply, not asking me to clarify. “He fought like hell, though. Took one of the fuckers with him.”
“Which one?” I mumbled through numb lips.
“Tall. Dark hair.”
“Okay.” That was the guy who’d held me. The other big guy had light hair, almost blonde.
Will carried us back through the room while I held Reb snug against my chest. She was smoothing her fingers through my hair repeatedly, humming a song that only she knew. I wondered if the events of the day would mark her somehow, or if for once, her inattention would work in our benefit.
Oh, who was I kidding? Rebel was never truly inattentive. She saw everything. She just didn’t respond the way other kids would. Rebel might not freak out in a way that any other parent would notice, but she’d be fighting her own demons somehow. I pressed my lips against the top of her head as Will carried us through the door to his room, thankful that she was letting me hold her at all.