Hush (Black Lotus #3) (22 page)

“I don’t see any movement, but I agree. Too many lights are on for nobody to be home.”

No cars are in the driveway, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any in the garage.

“What do we do?”

“We wait,” Declan responds. “See if anyone comes out or if anyone comes home.”

So that’s what we do.

We sit.

We wait.

My mind doesn’t though. It keeps spinning thoughts around, plucking at my heartstrings. They swirl in a kaleidoscope of what-ifs. So many that I can’t keep them inside, so I ask Declan, “What if he’s married?” My voice trembles in despair. “I mean, this is too big a house for just one person, right?”

Declan looks at me and takes my hand, his face mottled in sorrow, and after a span of silence, he responds, “It’s possible.”

I look at the clock; it’s past eight. We’ve been sitting out here for hours when bright headlights beam our way.

“Elizabeth,” Declan murmurs urgently when the SUV pulls into the driveway.

I hold my breath as my heart pounds rapidly against my chest, the sound filling my ears. Leaning forward, I see the driver’s side door open, and when a man steps out, his back is to me. He reaches into the car and pulls out a briefcase at the same time the front door swings open and a young girl comes running out. And when that man turns around, I choke back an audible gasp, gripping Declan’s hand tightly.

“That’s him,” he voices with a look of pure astonishment, but I’m in a state of shock when I see my daddy pull this child into his arms and hug her.

“Dad, why are you so late?” I hear her muffled voice from outside the car ask him, and tears force their way down my cheeks like knives.

“I’m sorry, princess. I got tied up with a client,” he says, and I remember his voice like it was just this morning when I heard it last.

But it was
me
that was his princess.

Everything plays in slow motion, and when I look at his face from across the street, there isn’t an ounce of uncertainty he’s my dad. It’s that same face, the same eyes, the same smile that visits me in my dreams. Except now he’s older with a head of silver hair. The last I saw him he was in his thirties, and now he’s nearing sixty.

But that smile . . .

The smile he gives that girl—his daughter—that was
mine
. It was always mine, and now it’s
hers
.

I swore to myself that if I ever found him, I’d run to him, grab him, and never let him go. But when I see a woman and a boy walking out of the house, it’s another slap in my face—he’s no longer mine to run to. He’s
theirs
.

It becomes too much.

I can’t believe life would do this to me.

I want to die.

“Drive,” I cry, my voice shaky and unrecognizable.

But Declan doesn’t start the car.

“Elizabeth . . .”

“Get me out of here,” I plead.

He releases my hand and starts the car, and as soon as he begins driving, I split wide open and sob—loud and ugly.

“Oh, my God, Declan. He has a daughter. He has a whole family!”

He reaches over to me and pulls my hand into his lap as all the years of longing burn up in roaring flames. I was disposed of by my dad; I don’t exist in his life.

How could he do this?

How could he replace me?

Not only did my mother not want me, but I never thought my dad would feel the same way.

“I thought he loved me,” I cry, and the tears feel like hot splashes of acid as they coat my cheeks and drip from my chin. The pain overwhelms like a cleaver to my heart, and everything I thought I knew feels like pure deception. I feel worthless and unloved by the man I’ve killed for.

I never gave up on life because of
him
.

I kept going because of
him
.

It was all for naught though. He’s moved on when twenty-three years later I’m still living for him, dreaming of him, longing for him.

To feel like a nobody to the person who’s your everybody is a jagged spike that skewers through the scar tissue of every one of life’s blows that mark a permanent wound on my soul.

Suddenly this car is suffocating.

It’s too small.

My skin is too tight.

The air is too thick.

I can’t breathe.

“Pull over!” I demand, and he does instantly.

Ripping off my seatbelt, I leap out of the car and run.

I don’t know where I’m going.

But I run as fast as I can.

I run hard, feet pounding the grass under my feet as I zip across a random field.

“Elizabeth!” Declan’s voice echoes behind me, but I don’t slow.

My legs begin to burn, my lungs are on fire, but I keep going.

I can hear Declan’s feet racing behind me, and I push harder, screaming out my pain. I force it out of my lungs and into the night. The air whips through my hair, and the tears on my face chill against the wind.

“Elizabeth!” he calls again before his hand clutches my arm, sending me tumbling to the ground.

With my hands pressed against Earth’s foundation, I tilt my head up to the heavens I can no longer believe in and scream. I scream so hard it hurts, ripping through my vocal cords, searing them, slicing them.

Declan wraps his whole body around mine, every one of his muscles flexing, cocooning me in a steel vice grip. And when my screams strain into an unbearable bleeding agony, I melt and crumple into Declan’s warm body.

And I cry.

I cry like I did when I was five years old and watched my daddy as he was being handcuffed and taken from me.

I cry because that’s what you do when the person you love most in this world doesn’t love you back.

Declan strokes my hair, petting me while he presses his lips to my ear, whispering gently, “Shh, baby.”

I allow my mind to focus on his touch, on his smell, and on the sound of his voice. He rocks me in a slow sway, comforting me, and I grip my hands to his back, fisting his shirt with my fingers. And through my cries, I ask, “Why did he do this to me?”

“I don’t know, darling,” he responds. “But we’ll find out. I’ll get you answers.”

“I don’t understand why he never came for me. He’s been alive this whole time—my whole life—and he never came for me.”

“Maybe it’s not what you think,” he says, and I look into his eyes and weep, “How could you not come back for your child?”

He doesn’t say anything else, he’s probably scared he’ll dig the knife in deeper. Instead, he stands and scoops me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest. As he walks us back to the car, I rest my head in the crook of his neck and let the tears fall.

He puts me into the car, buckles me in, and not another word is spoken. When we arrive back at our hotel room, he takes over. I’m dead inside, so he bathes me, brushes my teeth, and puts me to bed—all in silence—all while I cling to him.

Because without him, I don’t exist—and I need to exist.

I’M WALKING ALONG
a busy city street. I’m not sure what city I’m in, but it’s filled with noisy cars and too many people to count. I don’t know where I’m going, but I go. I follow the crowds. Maybe they know where they’re headed.

We all stop at an intersection and wait for the crosswalk sign to light up. Leaning against a large flowerbed that hugs the perimeter of a tall building, I look down to see pink daisies. I grab one of the stems, pluck it from the soil, and watch as a little caterpillar emerges.

I smile when I see my friend.

“There you are, Elizabeth,” he greets in his British accent.

“Carnegie!”

I lower my hand for him to crawl onto and then lift him up to my face.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell him.

“It’s been much too long.”

I stumble on my feet when a bicyclist nearly sideswipes me. Looking back to my hand, Carnegie is no longer there. I scramble, skittering my eyes along the sidewalk, turning in circles.

“Carnegie?” I call out, but he’s nowhere to be found.

I’m jostled again, this time by a man as he rushes past me.

“Hey!” I shout, and when the man turns to apologize, I see his face. “Dad?”

“Sorry, miss,” my father says as if he doesn’t recognize me.

“Dad! It’s me!”

He turns, no longer acknowledging me, and I chase after him.

“Dad, wait! It’s me!”

He’s only walking, but somehow the gap between us widens, and I’m losing him. I whip around a corner and nearly lose my footing. When I right myself, I catch my reflection in the mirrored glass of a building.

I’m five years old and still wearing my glittery princess dress from our last tea party. Turning back in the direction my father was heading, I run while continuing to call out to him. I weave through the crowds of people, dodging elbows, and pushing my way through.

“Daddy!”

I finally catch up to him when he’s stuck at a crosswalk.

“Dad,” I say when I walk up to him.

He looks down at me with an aged face and silver hair. “Little girl, are you lost?”

“No, Daddy. It’s me, your daughter.”

He shakes his head. “No, little girl.” He then points his finger to a blonde-haired child across the street waving at him. “That’s my daughter over there.”

I wake with a start.

The room is black.

My heavy breaths are the only sounds I hear.

I roll over, my body numb.

Declan is sound asleep, and when I slide out of bed to get a drink of water, I see that it’s five in the morning. I’m rattled by my dream as I sip from a bottle of water while I sit in the living room. I stare out the window at the full moon, and it feels strange to know that only twenty minutes away, the same moon hangs above my dad. Although I doubt I ever cross his mind like he crosses mine.

I think about the girl in my dream—the same girl I saw him call
princess
last night in his driveway. She was young, maybe eight or so. And the more I think about her, the more my hands tingle in acerbic bitterness. Vile thoughts run rampant, thoughts of kidnapping her, thoughts of killing her.

My legs shake erratically, bouncing up and down at a rapid pace. I can’t sit still. They’re out there—he’s out there—and I’m stuck in this hotel room. Thoughts about his new family fester.

I peer at Declan through the bedroom door, and he’s still fast asleep. Gently, I close the door after slipping on a pair of pants and a top. Grabbing the keys to the car, I quietly sneak out of the room. He’s going to be pissed when he wakes up to find that I’m gone, but if I told him what I’m about to do, he’d refuse. And I can’t just sit in that room and drive myself crazy.

Once I’m in the car, I drive back to Gig Harbor and park along the street a few houses down from my dad’s. His SUV is no longer in the driveway where he parked it last night. I’m not even sure what I’m doing here.

Time passes, the sun makes her appearance, and eventually the garage door opens. A car begins to back out and then stops halfway down the driveway. I sink down, worried I’ll be seen, but keep watching. The driver’s side window rolls down and the woman I saw last night hangs her head out and hollers, “Come on, kids!”

A few beats later the blonde girl and the brown-haired boy run out from the garage with backpacks hanging from their shoulders. They hop in the back seat, and when the car starts driving away, I sit up and follow. When we turn out of the neighborhood, I make sure to follow with one car between us.

Hate rises in my soul for these people that my father’s chosen over me. Good or bad, I don’t give a shit—I want to hurt them. I want to take them away from him, then maybe he’ll be so lonely that he’ll finally want me.

My knuckles are white as my hands choke the steering wheel so hard it just might snap. The car pulls off into a strip shopping center, and I follow, parking several spots down from them. The kids hop out of the car, cash in their hands, and run into a smoothie shop while the woman stays in the vehicle.

Without much thought, and honestly, just not caring, I get out of my car. I walk past the woman and see she’s paying no attention as she’s chatting away on her phone. She’s blonde as well and appears many years younger than my dad, and I wish I had a brick to throw through her windshield to smash her pretty little face.

The bell above the door jingles when I step inside the smoothie shop. The two kids are watching the blenders mix up their drinks.

“What can I get for you this morning?” the guy behind the register asks in a much too peppy tone for it being so early in the morning.

I pick a random drink from the menu on the wall and shove him some cash.

“Hailey,” one of the employees calls out, and the girl runs to grab her drink.

Her name’s Hailey.
How fucking precious.

When I see her walking to the door, I fake clumsiness and bump into her, sending her smoothie to splatter all over the floor.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention at all.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “Accidents happen.”

I grab a wad of napkins, and with her help, we do our best to clean up the sticky mess