Empire of Desire(Empire #1)(24)

A thousand scenarios explode in my head, none of them pleasant. In fact, each one is more dangerous than the previous, bloodier, uglier.

I ask Martha to call me if Gwyneth returns and then hang up.

When Kingsley had an accident, I suspected this would happen. I just knew that she’d somehow be too overwhelmed and would do what she does best.

But I saw her talk to Susan like she owned the world. I saw the determination and the need to protect her father at all costs and that blurred my vision, in a way. It blurred my vision of who Gwyneth actually is and what she does.

She hides.

She goes in so deep that it’s impossible to find her unless she crawls out of whatever hideout spot she’s in. And something tells me she doesn’t want to be found right now.

My hand flexes around the phone and I curse under my breath.

But I will fix it.

I will find her.

I’ll make Gwyneth visible.





9





Gwyneth





I haven’t slept all night.

And that’s sort of a problem because I become jittery and a bit neurotic when I don’t sleep.

Insomnia and I aren’t strangers, especially since I didn’t manage to completely desensitize myself to that word. It might be written in a red Sharpie because it’s one of the words I struggle with the most.

Along with death.

I think I also need to add moving on to the red list because I can’t do that. I’m supposed to, I have to, but my mind is stuck in a different type of loop that I can’t escape.

So I spent the night in the closet. I wanted to stay with Dad, but Nate said in that stern voice of his to “go home and get some sleep” because tomorrow—today—is a big day. He didn’t voice the last part, but I figured it out on my own.

However, I couldn’t just get some sleep. Not even after I blasted Twenty One Pilots on my headphones and exhausted myself by dancing. Not even when I swallowed like three sleeping pills. Or maybe it was five. I lost count somewhere.

My mind was definitely not shutting down. Usually, Dad makes me some herbal tea—with vanilla flavor—and reads me a story as if I’m a little girl. He puts on some soothing music and stays by my side until I fall asleep.

But he wasn’t there in the ghostly house that, with the lack of his presence, felt like the set of a horror movie. And maybe that’s why I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do if something happened to him while I was under. What if I couldn’t get to him in time?

What if death strikes him like it did Grandpa?

So I hurried here first thing this morning. I had to see him for myself and make sure the stupid machines are beeping. That he’s alive and didn’t leave me.

They moved him out of the ICU because he can breathe on his own and the swelling has nearly disappeared. However, they need to keep a close eye on him, so he’s now in a private wing of the hospital, where he has a special nurse, a special room, and everything. But nothing is special enough to heal the bruises on his face or breathe life back into his unmoving body.

I fall to my knees beside the bed and hold his hand. It’s scraped and appears lifeless like the rest of him.

When I try to speak, a crushing wave of emotions clog my throat, making the words strangled, closed off. “Dad…you always say to tell you everything because you’re my best friend, right? You’re the only friend I trust enough to pour my heart out to without worrying that I’ll be used down the line. The only friend who won’t judge me, even if I’m a little weird and have a strange phobia of words and people and I can be empty sometimes. I feel that way again, Dad. Empty. And unlike the other times, I can’t find a silver lining. It’s just off and wrong and many other negative words. I thought about it last night like you tell me to whenever I’m stuck. You said I should take a deep breath and think about the root of the issue, because once that’s solved, everything else will be as well.

“I think I found it, Dad. The source. It’s agreeing to marry Nate. I’m not supposed to do that, right? Even if it means protecting your legacy and what you left me. I’m not supposed to latch onto him like a pest. I don’t want to be a burden, Dad. I don’t want Nate to baby me or treat me like a delicate flower just because I’m your daughter.”

I lick my lips, tasting the saltiness that seeps into my mouth. “So please wake up. If you do, I won’t have to feel shitty because I’m using him. I won’t have to force his hand and make him do something he dislikes. I did that before and he reacted badly to it. I don’t think you noticed it, but he was avoiding me, plastering me to the background as if I never existed. And that hurts, but it’s okay because I’m over him now. I think. So please open your eyes and come back. Please don’t let me be a burden, Dad.”

I drop my head to his hand as if that will make him move or acknowledge me. As if that will hasten the process of bringing him back.

Because what I said? Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for five days, letting it fester inside me until it’s killed all the good words and left only negative ones. Like the red list that I have trouble with.

I’m torn between a sense of duty and common sense—that includes not being a pain in the ass.

“Who said you’re a burden?”