The bloodied piece of glass fell from my father’s hand as his legs buckled out from underneath him. He folded like a paper sack.
I stepped back, clutching the music box. “Dad?” I whispered.
He didn’t move.
Had I … killed him? I edged around his body, reaching Carson. “Are you okay?”
Face pale and contorted, he nodded as he pressed his hand against the wound. “It’s not deep. Thought … I was going to rescue you.” He gave a dry, shocked laugh. “Holy crap, Sam, holy crap …”
I dropped the box on the floor and placed my hand over his. Blood seeped through his fingers, causing my stomach to roll. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Stop.” He grasped my other hand as he pushed off the wall, pulling me toward the door. “None of this is your fault. We need to call the police, but let’s … get out of here first.”
Together, we rushed from the room and down the hall. My eyes were fastened to him the whole way. The wound didn’t seem too bad, but the blood kept making its way down his gray shirt. Dad had been aiming for his throat, but Carson’s reflexes had saved him. And he’d most likely saved me by showing up. I’d gladly spend the rest of my life thanking him.
At some point my brain had clicked off, and instinct had taken over. Get out. Call the police. Get Carson help. It was all I could focus on. He leaned into me, letting go to pull a phone out of his pocket.
We reached the door downstairs, my heart pounding as my fingers circled the cold doorknob.
“Stop!”
We whirled around. Dad was coming down the stairs, and there was that pistol—in his hand and pointed right at us. Carson pushed me back against the door, shielding my body with his.
“No!” I screamed, struggling to knock Carson out of the way. “Dad, don’t do this!”
He came across the foyer, his arm shaking. “None of this was supposed to happen! You have to believe me, princess. I never intended for Cassie to die. For you—”
The gun went off, and I screamed, wrapping my arms around Carson’s waist. I expected him to slump down, to fall, and the terror of losing him was so real I could taste it on my tongue.
But he never fell. He only turned slightly, trying to force me away, and I didn’t understand why. Confusion poured through me as I managed to move to the side.
Dad lay on the floor, facedown. A red spot on the center of his back quickly spread. Lifting my head, I saw my mother standing behind him, holding one of his hunting rifles.
I sat on the front porch steps for the longest time, numb after answering so many questions. I’d learned that Mom had come home from the meeting and gone for the gun when she heard me scream upstairs. I don’t know what had been going through her head when she saw Dad pointing the gun at Carson and me, only that she’d reacted. She had immediately protected me. No questions asked. No hesitation.
People came and went, trying to talk to me, checking me over. The lights kept flashing. Blue. Red. Blue. So many voices crowded me. Activity was everywhere, even after they’d rushed Dad off to the hospital.
He had still been alive then, but now, I didn’t know.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I tried to make myself as small as possible. The police still had Mom separated from me. Carson had disappeared in a swarm of EMTs and police. Had they taken him to the hospital? Was he okay?
Out of the mass of people milling about, a familiar figure headed toward me, and I looked up, surprised that he was still here. Other than the bandaged shoulder, he looked fine.
“Just a scratch,” he said, dropping down beside me. He wrapped his good arm around me. In a daze, I noted that Dad hadn’t injured Carson’s throwing arm and ruined his future. “I have to go to the hospital, but I needed to see you first. Took a little convincing …”
I leaned over and kissed him deeply. “Thank you.”
He kissed my temple softly, whispering something in my ear that I couldn’t hear. Voices rose suddenly, and Scott appeared in the chaos, his face pale with shock as he strode toward us before being cut off by the police and led over to where they were questioning our mother.
A tremble ran through my body, and I twisted toward Carson, burrowing my face against his chest. What was I supposed to tell Scott? How were any of us going to get over this? What Dad had done, what he’d planned to do to Carson and me, was a bitter ash forming on my tongue.
If Dad made it out of surgery alive or not, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.
Carson’s hand ran the length of my spine, soothing in spite of the tremble that coursed through his arm. The tears wouldn’t stop, but beneath the sorrow, there was some relief driving them. The truth was finally out there, and maybe this would bring Cassie’s family some peace.
Maybe it would bring me the same peace one day.
He brushed the hair away from the side of my face. “It’s okay. Everything is okay.”
And it would be. Eventually.
epilogue
There was one thing that I knew was the same before Cassie died and now. I had no patience whatsoever.
Shifting my weight from one foot to the next, I watched the time count down on the microwave like a bird of prey. Even when the contents started popping in rapid succession it still wasn’t fast enough.
I hated missing previews, even the ones shown on DVDs.
When the kernels slowed in their explosions, I whipped the bag out of the microwave and emptied the popcorn into a large bowl waiting on the counter. Cradling the buttery goodness against my chest, I spun around. Strands escaped my messy ponytail, falling along my cheeks.
Mom leaned against the kitchen bar with a bottle of water. She hadn’t picked up a glass of alcohol since that night. I couldn’t blame her, though, if she had indulged, but she had become a stronger person. The media had gone crazy with the story once it went live, and there was no way Mom could worry about what her friends said anymore. And I didn’t think she really did.
A tentative smile pulled at her lips. The gray shadows under her eyes weren’t as dark as they’d been the weeks following Dad’s arrest. He’d survived the shooting, and we were told he’d plead guilty to manslaughter plus a slew of other charges once he went to court. I really didn’t know how to feel about Dad. I don’t think I’d ever know how to feel about him.
“Watching a movie?” Mom asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s about to start.”
She stepped aside. “I don’t want to keep you, then.”
It had been a month since I’d remembered everything, since the day Mom had shot Dad, stopping him from silencing the truth forever. Things hadn’t been perfect. Over the course of the following days, I had moments when I couldn’t remember something clearly and frustration would lap at my sides and quickly turn into anger.
Or when I couldn’t stop thinking about Cassie and the horrific details of the night she died. All she’d wanted was what I had—a real father. I wished I could have gone back in time knowing what I knew now and been a better friend.
Tomorrow would’ve been her eighteenth birthday. I planned on visiting her grave site … with Cassie’s mom. Strange to do so after she’d smacked me, but a few days after everything had happened, I remembered the music box.
With Scott in tow, I’d gone to Cassie’s house, and reluctantly, her mom had let me inside. As I suspected, Cassie had hidden something important in the music box. It was why she never wanted me touching it.
The music box housed her birth certificate.
Her mom had no idea how she’d gotten her hands on it, but seeing my father’s name listed as hers had been what started it all. I didn’t think Dad even knew he was on that birth certificate.
Holding the proof of who Cassie really was to me—to Scott and our whole family—had been harder than I ever thought it would be. There were so many what-ifs—what if Cassie had confided in me earlier on, what if Dad had just told the truth and accepted her. So many things would’ve been different.