Page 143 of The Truths We Burn

“One last lap.”

Sage

It’s just one day. You can handle one day.

I tell myself this knowing I’ve been through harder things than this. I had spent months of my life trapped inside of a psych ward, where I’d been mistreated and abused. I’d lost my twin sister to a gruesome murder, and I had gone through the worst thing imaginable as a young girl.

I had survived all of these traumatic things, and yet, this Spring Luncheon in celebration of my father feels like the last straw for me.

“Sage,” I hear, prepared to settle into another dull conversation with another person who didn’t care about a word I had to say.

It’s the same thing for each new group of people.

How are you?

How is college treating you? What are you majoring in?

Some of them slide in a joke they think is original about how college is the best years of your life. My father would occasionally compliment my academic excellence and talk about how bright my future was going to be.

But I can see in their eyes what they really want to ask me. They don’t care about any of this.

They want to know if I’m mentally stable, how I am with Rosie being gone, how losing my mother had affected me as a woman. I can read them; they’re paper-thin in this light. But instead of actually asking me, they keep quiet, waiting to draw their own conclusions when I leave.

I blink, turning my head to see Conner Godfrey, my school counselor, standing next to me with a smile on his face and a glass of champagne.

“You look miserable, and I thought this might help.”

“Thank you,” I say simply, pressing the edge of the champagne glass to my lips.

Attending this ridiculous event had not been my idea. It had been a stipulation when I’d talked to Cain at the church. I hadn’t found out any new information, and in order to stay in his good graces, I was to show up, wear something pretty, and play the role of the supportive daughter.

“I didn’t know you were friends with my father,” I say, making conversation, not wanting to assume anything about him, but also confused as to why he’s here. From what I know about him, he lives quietly with his wife and two children, having only moved here a few years ago.

“We’ve chatted in passing. Stephen and I went to graduate school together,” he says, smiling charmingly. “He actually got me the job at Hollow Heights. I didn’t necessarily come from a family with this kind of wealth.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that with the last name Godfrey.”

“I hear that more often than you would think.”

Not able to stop myself and not caring either way, I speak my mind.

“Was Stephen always a pompous asshole?” I look over at him, watching as he keeps the smile on his face and chuckles.

“He has always been…” He thinks for a moment. “Driven. But no, there were times, believe it or not, that he would stumble into our shared apartment piss drunk. But his father was very strict with him about taking over the family business. I think over the years he has just done what we all strive to do—make our parents proud.”

He’s right. I don’t believe Stephen is capable of anything other than poise and discipline. However, it would seem he passed that tradition down to his son, turning him into another man fueled by toxic masculinity and entitlement.

“Not all of us strive for that,” I say honestly. “Sometimes it’s the opposite.”

I have no reason to lie or uphold an image. And while I wouldn’t run around screaming my father is involved in a sex trafficking ring and is the reason my sister died, in order to protect Rook, I won’t pretend to like him. Not anymore.

This makes him pause for a second before he nods, accepting my answer and taking it much better than anyone else would.

“We all have something that drives us, and it doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it makes us better people in the end.”

“That’s good advice. Ever thought about being a counselor?” I quirk an eyebrow up at him, smirking, and he grins, showing off his white smile.

I may not know fully who I am or what I want for myself—I don’t think that’s the point anymore, because we are supposed to grow, to change, to heal—but I do know what drives me.