Hush (Black Lotus #3)(52)

“Oh, my God, Declan. He has a daughter. He has a whole family!”

He reaches over to me and pulls my hand into his lap as all the years of longing burn up in roaring flames. I was disposed of by my dad; I don’t exist in his life.

How could he do this?

How could he replace me?

Not only did my mother not want me, but I never thought my dad would feel the same way.

“I thought he loved me,” I cry, and the tears feel like hot splashes of acid as they coat my cheeks and drip from my chin. The pain overwhelms like a cleaver to my heart, and everything I thought I knew feels like pure deception. I feel worthless and unloved by the man I’ve killed for.

I never gave up on life because of him.

I kept going because of him.

It was all for naught though. He’s moved on when twenty-three years later I’m still living for him, dreaming of him, longing for him.

To feel like a nobody to the person who’s your everybody is a jagged spike that skewers through the scar tissue of every one of life’s blows that mark a permanent wound on my soul.

Suddenly this car is suffocating.

It’s too small.

My skin is too tight.

The air is too thick.

I can’t breathe.

“Pull over!” I demand, and he does instantly.

Ripping off my seatbelt, I leap out of the car and run.

I don’t know where I’m going.

But I run as fast as I can.

I run hard, feet pounding the grass under my feet as I zip across a random field.

“Elizabeth!” Declan’s voice echoes behind me, but I don’t slow.

My legs begin to burn, my lungs are on fire, but I keep going.

I can hear Declan’s feet racing behind me, and I push harder, screaming out my pain. I force it out of my lungs and into the night. The air whips through my hair, and the tears on my face chill against the wind.

“Elizabeth!” he calls again before his hand clutches my arm, sending me tumbling to the ground.

With my hands pressed against Earth’s foundation, I tilt my head up to the heavens I can no longer believe in and scream. I scream so hard it hurts, ripping through my vocal cords, searing them, slicing them.

Declan wraps his whole body around mine, every one of his muscles flexing, cocooning me in a steel vice grip. And when my screams strain into an unbearable bleeding agony, I melt and crumple into Declan’s warm body.

And I cry.

I cry like I did when I was five years old and watched my daddy as he was being handcuffed and taken from me.

I cry because that’s what you do when the person you love most in this world doesn’t love you back.

Declan strokes my hair, petting me while he presses his lips to my ear, whispering gently, “Shh, baby.”

I allow my mind to focus on his touch, on his smell, and on the sound of his voice. He rocks me in a slow sway, comforting me, and I grip my hands to his back, fisting his shirt with my fingers. And through my cries, I ask, “Why did he do this to me?”

“I don’t know, darling,” he responds. “But we’ll find out. I’ll get you answers.”

“I don’t understand why he never came for me. He’s been alive this whole time—my whole life—and he never came for me.”

“Maybe it’s not what you think,” he says, and I look into his eyes and weep, “How could you not come back for your child?”

He doesn’t say anything else, he’s probably scared he’ll dig the knife in deeper. Instead, he stands and scoops me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest. As he walks us back to the car, I rest my head in the crook of his neck and let the tears fall.

He puts me into the car, buckles me in, and not another word is spoken. When we arrive back at our hotel room, he takes over. I’m dead inside, so he bathes me, brushes my teeth, and puts me to bed—all in silence—all while I cling to him.

Because without him, I don’t exist—and I need to exist.





I’M WALKING ALONG a busy city street. I’m not sure what city I’m in, but it’s filled with noisy cars and too many people to count. I don’t know where I’m going, but I go. I follow the crowds. Maybe they know where they’re headed.

We all stop at an intersection and wait for the crosswalk sign to light up. Leaning against a large flowerbed that hugs the perimeter of a tall building, I look down to see pink daisies. I grab one of the stems, pluck it from the soil, and watch as a little caterpillar emerges.

I smile when I see my friend.

“There you are, Elizabeth,” he greets in his British accent.

“Carnegie!”

I lower my hand for him to crawl onto and then lift him up to my face.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell him.

“It’s been much too long.”

I stumble on my feet when a bicyclist nearly sideswipes me. Looking back to my hand, Carnegie is no longer there. I scramble, skittering my eyes along the sidewalk, turning in circles.

“Carnegie?” I call out, but he’s nowhere to be found.

I’m jostled again, this time by a man as he rushes past me.

“Hey!” I shout, and when the man turns to apologize, I see his face. “Dad?”

“Sorry, miss,” my father says as if he doesn’t recognize me.