That Girl (That Girl, #1)(58)

Chapter 17





The End at 1,014 Miles



Lincoln Wilks



“You better hope to high hell I find her, or you’ll regret ever bringing me into this world,” I say furiously to my mom. Then turning to my dad, I snarl, “Keep your f*cking wife away from me.”

“Calm down, Lincoln. None of this will help find Oakley,” my dad says, wisely positioning himself between me and the bitch.

“Are you sure she’s not at her f*cking apartment?” I ask the police officer again.

“No, we’ve checked,” he responds, treating me like a three-year old.

My mom’s f*cking sniffling catches my attention, and I f*cking blow.

Racing over, I take a knee and get in her face. “Do you know that’s probably the man who raped Oakley when she in high school, and that f*cking lady you so proudly marched in here watched as another man burned Oakley’s palm on a stove top.” My rage grows even more intense as I imagine Oakley enduring these tortures. “Ever notice the f*cking scar running down her neck? Again that would be her f*cking mother. She wasn’t good enough for you, was she? You just had to break her and embarrass her enough to leave your son. Fucking newsflash, you can’t break an already shattered soul, you f*cking piece of trash.”

I feel hands on my shoulders pulling me back, but all I want to do is tear my mom’s face clean from her skull.

“I suggest calling your family doctor and having him sedated,” the officer says to my parents as if I’m not even there.

“Well, I f*cking suggest that you…”

My dad grabs me, wrapping me up in a hug and burying my face in his neck.

“Thank you, officer. We’ll handle it from here,” he replies calmly.

I hear the door shut and know he’s gone.

“I want her gone, too. Tell her to leave,” I whisper.

“Elaine, out now,” Dad commands.

Again, I hear the sound of the door shutting.

“Son, I’m going to let you go, but you have to promise to keep it together. Don’t force me to call the doctor. We’re going to sit at the kitchen table, the three of us, and wait for the call. I know you want to go look for her. Just let the cops do their jobs.”

He slowly lets me go, and I head straight for the table.

“But, Dad, what if she’s trying to call me and my f*cking phone is trashed?”

I pick up the waterlogged piece of shit and throw it across the room. It goes sailing through a window, sending glass flying in every direction.

“Lincoln, that’s strike one,” my dad warns.

The anger loosens and desperation sets in. She’s gone. She’s really gone. I know my Oakley, and she’s gone. The sun begins to rise, and I’m still in the same spot at the dining room table staring at the broken window. My dad sat by me all night and didn’t say a word.

Levi walks into the room with newspapers in hand and two cups of coffee. He slides one of each to me. The huge color picture on the front page makes me smile. It’s me holding Oakley with my head held back screaming, and the title ‘Conference Champs’ above us. There’s a knock at the door. I’m unable to pull my eyes from her smile, but I feel my dad leave the table to go answer the door.

“Us,” I whisper.

My dad comes back to the dining room, grabs me by the shoulders again, and puts me in the same position as he did last night.

“Son, they think they found her.”

I try to pull away, but he keeps me cradled to him.

“They found two girls in the area last night, but, Lincoln, one of them was dead in the road. We are going to the hospital, and you’re going to have to identify both girls, because the other one is unconscious and not expected to make it.”

I fight even harder with every word he speaks to get loose and run. I just want to run.

“Son, you can’t do this. Stop. Put your head on straight and come with your brother and me.”

Each of them grabs one of my hands, and we walk toward the door. Everything is a blur and passing by way too quickly. Dad puts me in the middle of his truck between him and Levi and begins to drive.

“Hey, Dad?”

“What is it, Lincoln?”

“Why do they even think one of these two girls might be her?”

“They found her cell phone at the scene, son.” His voice is weighted with grief and exhaustion.

“By which girl?” I ask.

“Lincoln, it doesn’t matter.”

“By which f*cking girl?” I seethe between gritted teeth.

“The dead one,” Levi finally answers.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Lincoln,” he replies.

“Why do you f*cking hate me?”

He dares take his eyes from the road for a moment to give me a sorrowful look. “I don’t, son. I’ve f*cked up. Blinded by greed and fame. I’ve only wanted the best for you two boys, and you scared me because you were always so hell bent on blazing your own trail. I didn’t know how to deal with you, so I didn’t.”

“Basically, you’re saying that you’re an *.”

“Yes, son, I’m an *.”

“I never want to see her again, Dad,” I admit.