Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(68)

“Ellie?”

“Yes?”

Dad walks into my bedroom and looms over me. He was an enormous man, six-foot-six and a former college football player. My mother, my real mother, was tiny by comparison. They met in school; she was a nursing major.

“You look spectacular,” he says.

With a more practiced eye I realize how silly he thinks my makeup looks. Oh, Dad, why did you have to die?

I want to hug him, but this isn’t happening, I can’t make it real. I’m dreaming. It starts to fade.

Nightmares aren’t as bad as this. I don’t remember any of this, the last thing I remember was that morning— “Ellie?”

Jack’s voice calls from the hallway.

“She’s up here.”

He’s so young. Kind of gawky, even. Cute more than handsome, his whole body quivering with boyish energy that dampens when he realizes my father is watching us. He walks up and takes my hands and kisses me on the cheek.

“You look great. Shall we go?”

“Yeah. You driving, kid?” Dad says.

“Sure.”

Jack looks a little rattled when my father drops the keys to his car in Jack’s hands.

“I trust you with my little girl, what’s a car?”

Jack nods. “Come on, our reservation is at six.”

It’s awkward riding to the restaurant with my father in the backseat, but I get used to it. He’s treating us to dinner.

We walk right in when we arrive. Jack got us a great table. There’s an open-air terrace overlooking the sidewalk, with people walking by and the honking horns and noise of the city. Jack looks nervously at my father—as if either of them is hurting for money—before ordering a spread of appetizers on my behalf.

There’s something wrong. It hangs over the meal like a storm cloud over the horizon.

We’re waiting for dessert when the storm breaks.

“I have something to discuss with both of you,” my father says.

Neither of us speak. Spoke. Whatever.

I start to shake, knowing what he’s going to say.

“Ellie, your stepmother has been putting you under a lot of pressure lately. She’s recently told me that she’s been arranging auditions for you for a bit part in a television show. Some teenybopper thing like girls your age watch.”

I feel the color drain from my face.

“Do you want to do that?”

I look at Jack. He looks at me.

“No. I don’t.”

“Then you don’t have to. I’m going to put a stop to it. Ellie, I’ve been talking to an attorney. I think your stepmother and I are going to separate. Things have been tough between us for a year now.”

I had no idea.

“This crazy plan of hers is the last straw.”

“Dad…”

“No. I’m not going to let someone try to force you down a path they choose. You have your whole life ahead of you. It should be the life you want. The greatest crime the old can commit is to force their mistakes on their offspring. I want you to be happy most of all, Ellie. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go in your life, I’ll be happy to support you.”

Silence falls over the table. The waiter brings dessert and brings my dad a scotch.

“I wish my father was like you,” Jack says, very quietly.

Dad smiles at him. “You know, I’m supposed to hate my daughter’s boyfriend, but you make me hope that one day you’ll join our family.”

Jack beams.

“Ellie, I think I’m going to ask Jessica to move out of the house this week. I’ve had enough.”

“Okay,” I say softly. “It’s your decision.”

“Do you want her to stay?”

I bite my lip.

“No.”

My past self eats cheesecake slowly, savoring the tastes. It’s not something she’s had lately. Real food. All protein shakes and bars and crap from Jessica. For me every bite is heavier and heavier, one step closer to the inevitable.

No. Please. Let me just freeze it right here. This is good enough, I don’t want any more.

I finish. Jack finishes. Dad downs his scotch. The boys argue over the bill. Jack tries to pay. I try to drag myself back but the three of us walk down to the street.

The car starts normally, drives normally. Jack is completely sober, and a cautious driver. He uses his turn signals.

No, no, no, stop.

Please!

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice rising in confusion and panic. “Hey man, the brakes aren’t working.”

“What?”

“I don’t… The engine is speeding up, what the f*ck—”

“Put it in neutral!”

“I did, nothing is happening, the shifter isn’t connected or something!”

“Turn! Turn!”

The wheel is frozen in his hands. He twists it with all his might and it barely budges, chokes it with white knuckles until veins bulge on his neck, but it doesn’t move.

The street lamp rises ahead, casting its sickly orange glow down over us. The world rises, turns. With the tires free from the pavement the engine shrieks, its death cry growing shrill as it spins itself to oblivion. Everything turns lazily upside down, and the car crunches in around me.