Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(39)

“Thanks for sticking with me.”

“Always. We’ve all had our struggles, and none of us is perfect. I sure as hell can’t claim to be. I’m just happy you’re back—for however long you can stay.”

I rolled down my window to punch the code Mom had given me into the intercom. “Means more than I can say. And I’m glad I’m back, too.” Even if it was the hardest thing in the world.

“Stop by the station later. We can do a little sparring if I’m not too slammed.”

“I’d love that.” More than that, I needed it. And Law wouldn’t pull his punches. He craved the brutal outlet the same way I did.

“See you later.”

“Later.”

I hung up, pulling through the gates and heading higher up the mountain. There was no large collection of my siblings’ vehicles this morning. I just had to hope Dad was home.

I pulled to a stop in front of the house and turned off the engine. Sliding out of my SUV, I glanced up at the home I’d grown up in. My gaze caught on a figure in one of the rocking chairs.

With a deep breath, I started up the steps. “Morning, Dad.”

He looked up at me but didn’t say a word. He appeared older in that moment. Not sick or frail but tired. As if life had thrown him one too many curveballs.

He patted the rocker next to him. “Take a seat.”

Now was as good a time as any to start my atonement journey. I lowered myself to the chair, the blades of the rocker thumping against the porch in a rhythmic sound. “Dad—”

“Don’t,” he cut me off.

My rocking stilled.

“I have some things I need to say.”

I braced. If I wanted that atonement, I’d have to take whatever the people in my life dished out. “Okay.”

“I’ve been an ass to you since you got home.”

My brows rose at that. Factually, I didn’t disagree, but it was more complicated than that. “I’d say you were justified.”

Dad grunted, staring off at the horizon. The view was breathtaking and the whole reason he’d bought the property to begin with. It had a vantage point that let you look down on Cedar Ridge—the forests, the town, the lake. It was so quiet up here; it was as if the air itself had gone still.

“I didn’t know how to help you,” he said, still not looking at me. “I knew you were twisted up inside, but I didn’t have the tools to make any of it better. When you left, I thought maybe it was what you needed. A fresh start. A purpose.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” I saw now that I had been looking for a way to prove to myself that I could be trusted. That I could protect those who needed it. Some small part of me hoped that if I could do that, then maybe I could find my way back home.

“Your mom always saw it for what it was.”

I glanced over at him in question.

“Running from the demons tormenting you.”

My grip on the rocker’s arms tightened. I hated that she could see that. Hated the worry it must’ve caused her. “I thought it was the right thing at the time.”

Dad turned to face me, his deep blue eyes so much like mine. “And why’s that?”

My jaw clamped tight, not wanting to let the words free. “I didn’t protect her. She’d been let down so many times, and I promised her I would always be there for her. When she needed me the most, I was nowhere to be found.”

He blew out a long breath. “Holt. That shooting wasn’t on you. Those kids were sick. Twisted. If they wanted to find a way to hurt her, they would’ve succeeded. And I’m damn glad they didn’t have to go through you to do it.”

“Dad—”

He held up a hand. “I hate what Wren went through; it kills me. Neither of you should’ve had to face what you did. But you can’t be with someone twenty-four-seven. It’s impossible. Accidents happen. Horrible tragedies. Evil. That’s life. What matters is sticking with the people you love through it all.”

That fire lit, swirling deep and burning everything in its wake. “And I didn’t.”

My dad looked me straight in the eye. “You didn’t. And you need to face that. It won’t be easy. But you have to find a way to take ownership of your actions while having empathy for the boy who was scared out of his mind.”

“Not sure you can have both of those things.” From a very clinical viewpoint, I saw why I’d made the choices I had. But the self-hatred was such a loud drumbeat in the back of my skull.

“You have to let yourself feel both. Don’t run away from it.” He leaned back in his chair. “I haven’t been great with talking to you kids about that kind of thing. It wasn’t what I was taught growing up. But running from it just ends up hurting us all.”

“Like running from the fact that you were pissed as hell at me.”

The corners of his mouth tipped up. “That might’ve been building for some years.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“No. I needed to let myself feel that anger and then tell you about it. Tell you that I was hurt you didn’t find a way to spend more time with us. With me. Instead, I let it build. When I had my heart attack, it scared the hell out of me. All I could think about was all the wasted time. How I had this grown son that I barely knew.”