Page 109 of Burning Daylight

My dad looks like he’s waiting on me to answer, and I let out a hollow chuckle. “She isn’t talking to me.”

“Heather.” His voice is softer now, genuine remorse tempering the tone.

And for just a moment, I let myself wonder what my life would be like if he had been able to love her. If maybe he would have also loved me.

Would I have turned out any differently?

Would Juliette and I have met when I was a kid and been able to convince our families to put down their weapons and live in peace?

Would Brooklynn be dealing with the things she is now?

My father looks at me again, his face tightening. “If you get the help we offer, if you reallytry, then…maybe.”

“Okay.” Her voice is still small. Still quiet. So unlike the woman I’ve known, both before the accident and this shell of herself that she became after. “I’ll sign the papers. Brooklynn shouldn’t have to suffer any more than what she already has.”

Click.

Goodbye to you, too, I guess.

My father blows out a heavy breath. “Well, that went…”

“Better than expected,” I finish for him.

He frowns and then looks out over the yard, rocking slightly in his chair.

“You did good the other day,” he says. “Speaking to the reporters, I mean.”

I glance at him and nod before sipping the iced tea one of his employees brought us.

“What now?” I ask.

My father shakes his head, placing down his drink and twisting in his chair to face me, a serious expression taking over his features. It hits me as I stare at him that we really do look alike. I take after him much more than my own mother, and I’m not sure whether that makes me angry or proud.

It’s a weird mix of both, and the two sides warring for the spot makes me want to rip out of my skin.

“I know it was you,” he says.

Confusion races through me, and I tilt my head, masking my reaction. “Know what was me?”

“The graffiti that popped up the other week on the train car.”

My heart pounds against my ribcage.Fuck.

He picks up a manila folder, one that I hadn’t even realized was there at his side, and then he hesitates, placing it in his lap.

“Remember our deal,” he reminds me.

I huff, irritated he’s questioning me. “I signed the papers, didn’t I? There’s no going back now.”

“Good. Right.”

He hands me the folder.

I lift a brow, looking down at it. “What’s this?”

“A detailed explanation of the corruption by the Calloways.”

“Okay…” I wait for him to clarify more, but he doesn’t. He just stays still and silent like he’s waiting on me to put things together for myself, which is difficult to do when I have zero moving pieces.