“That is literally my job,” Keanu says as he opens the door. “What’s up, Becca?” he asks, directing his attention to me, and his eyes quickly drop to—oh my God—my hand, which is inches from an impressive, very interesting place on Cal’s body.
I yank my hand away, and my cheeks go red. Cal laughs, and I jab my elbow into his ribs, knowing his failure to move my hand at Keanu’s arrival was intentional.
“Cal and I are going to visit my parents right now. By the way, has Sophie called you?”
Sophie is supposed to fill him in on Austin and the upcoming plan.
He nods. “She and Rose stopped by on their way home last night and told me everything. I don’t think you guys should go alone. Want me to tag along?”
Cal scoffs menacingly. “Don’t think I can handle it?”
Keanu smiles. “I mean, I’m the one actually trained for it. And you know, I have this.” He pulls the gun out of its holster.
“He’s got you there,” I tell Cal. “But we’ll be fine. We’ll be back after that. I’ll text you when I get in,” I tell Keanu.
“Sounds good. Be safe. Call me if you need me,” Keanu says as he closes the door.
“Do you always tell him your every move?” Cal asks as we walk to the elevator. His tone is playful, but I think he is genuinely curious.
“Noteverymove. But I hired him to know exactly where I am to keep me safe. And if he doesn’t know my location, how can he do that? I also don’t want him to show up with guns drawn if he can’t get ahold of me, like he did last night. He can always see my location on my phone, so if he can’t get ahold of me, it’s his job to show up and treat it like a threat.” I tell Cal the truth, and when he realizes that I hired Keanu because I’m terrified of being attacked again, he settles down.
When we get into my private parking garage, I click the unlock button on my other baby—Rupert, my black Bugatti Veyron. We get in and quietly make the short ride to Pat’s Flowers, my favorite local floral shop, and then we head to the cemetery.
Walking up to their graves, I twirl the white tulips in my hand, feeling a sense of déjà vu. I remember yelling at my father, being so angry that he took his own life.
And some of that anger is still there. I miss him so much. I can’t ever take back what I said to him, and I think that’s what haunts me the most.
Cal kneels first, between my mom and dad, and I follow suit, kneeling across from Cal.
My fingers drag back and forth in the grass. Laying the bouquet of flowers on my mom’s grave, I feel the pull to my father, the guilt trying to drag me into my own six-foot hole.
And I take a leap of faith, keeping the promise I made to myself. “I said something to my father the day he died, something horrible. Something I can never take back.”
Cal takes my hand in his own. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, love. And he knew how much you loved him.”
He has no idea.
I take a deep breath before I open my mouth to reveal one of my biggest regrets. “The last thing I ever said to him was, ‘I wish you had died instead of Mom. At least then, I would be happy. At least then, I wouldn’t hate coming home.’ I told him I wished he had died the day he took his life.”
I’ve never told that to anyone. And the second the words leave my lips, a door I’ve always kept locked in my chest flies open. And I do everything I can to get it shut again.
But I fail.
A lump grows in my throat as I traceBeloved Fatheron his headstone. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheeks to stop the burn in my eyes.
They well up anyway, and when the first one falls to the grass by my hand, I cry out, “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to die. I needed you. I need you.”
Cal pulls me onto his lap, running his hand down the back of my head over and over. “It’s okay, Bec. I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay.”
I stop fighting the rattling door inside me, and I let go. And every built-up emotion from that night tears out of me, shredding my chest.
I cry, and I sob for minutes. And when the tears dry up and the dread dissipates in my chest, I feel a sense of relief for the first time in months.
The next day, Sophie hops up onto my kitchen counter as I make a salad. “I want all the details, everydirty,sexyone.”
I glare at her. “There aren’t any to give.”
She laughs, lightly kicking my side. “Yeah, right. I could cut your guys’ sexual tension with a knife. I’d be surprised if you haven’t slept with him yet.”
