Read Online Snowflakes & Fire Escapes by J. M. Darhower - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. M. Darhower
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him before it was too late.
My breath caught as I look down. Busted .
Cormac Moran stood on the sidewalk near his town car. Cody was beside his father, shivering his ass off in the cold evening air. He wasn’t wearing his hoodie. My gaze darted behind me, toward the couch in the apartment. His hoodie was still on the floor along with some other discarded clothes.
Oh God.
Oh no.
My knees went weak.
I had to grip onto the railing.
I watched down below as my father burst outside, his voice booming like thunder as he lunged right for Cody. “You little son of a bitch! You think you can come into my house? You think you can violate my daughter? You think you can do that and get away with it ?”
Cormac intervened before my father could throw any punches, stepping between the two of them. I couldn’t hear what the man said, but whatever it was silenced my father … at least temporarily. The men talked heatedly for a minute before my father turned away from them and stormed back inside. I watched, frozen, as Cormac roughly grabbed Cody by his shirt, throwing him against the passenger side of the town car, so hard it left a dent. Cody raised his hands in a sign of surrender as Cormac verbally laid into him. After shoving him back against it again, Cormac finally let go to walk around to the driver’s side.
Cody paused briefly, glancing up at me on the fire escape, before getting in the car.
They hadn’t even yet pulled away from the curb when my father returned to the apartment. I heard the front door close and heard his footsteps along the wooden floor. I braced myself for his rage. I was prepared for disgust, even ready to feel the man’s hatred.
What I got was far, far worse.
“I’m disappointed in you, Grace Callaghan,” he said, his voice laced with dejection. “I thought you were better than this.”
***
“Grace.” My father’s voice is always gruff, like he’s constantly fighting to keep his emotions in check, but I know that’s just his natural tone. “It’s great to hear your voice again.”
Closing my eyes, I swallow thickly. “Dad.”
I love my father.
I do.
But he made this bed that I’m forced to lie in, day in and day out, all alone in this ironic little town, so it’s hard not to feel some resentment. He gave me life, sure, but I also blame him for taking my life away. I always knew he did bad things, always knew he hung around bad people, but I never knew the scope of it until the day Holden let me read the thirty-page indictment against him.
My father was linked to a body count higher than Ted Bundy’s.
It’s hard to reconcile that fact with the man who raised me.
My father was Dr. Jekyll.
The man on the phone is the evil Mr. Hyde.
Connor Callaghan.
He got to keep his last name.
“How are you?” he asks. “You staying safe? How’s school?”
He fires questions at me, innocently enough, but I have to think through every answer before saying anything at all. Something as simple as conversation about the weather could lead the wrong person right to my front door.
I say I’m fine, people are nice, school’s great, but the truth is I stopped going months ago and I haven’t made a single friend in this place. Holden leans against the counter and listens in on the conversation, knowing I’m lying my ass off.
Maybe I’m better at being dishonest than I think.
I absently scribble in the margins of the manual as my father babbles on and on, doing what I always do—signing my name.
My fake name.
Over and over, practicing until it practically bleeds from my fingertips.
Ten minutes isn’t that long, not when you haven’t spoken to someone in over a year, but there’s a lot of awkward silence when you have nothing to say. I’m ashamed by the relief I feel when Holden pushes away from the counter, tapping two fingers against the face of his watch, telling me time is up.
“I have to go,” I say, interrupting my father as he’s talking about something. I don’t
My breath caught as I look down. Busted .
Cormac Moran stood on the sidewalk near his town car. Cody was beside his father, shivering his ass off in the cold evening air. He wasn’t wearing his hoodie. My gaze darted behind me, toward the couch in the apartment. His hoodie was still on the floor along with some other discarded clothes.
Oh God.
Oh no.
My knees went weak.
I had to grip onto the railing.
I watched down below as my father burst outside, his voice booming like thunder as he lunged right for Cody. “You little son of a bitch! You think you can come into my house? You think you can violate my daughter? You think you can do that and get away with it ?”
Cormac intervened before my father could throw any punches, stepping between the two of them. I couldn’t hear what the man said, but whatever it was silenced my father … at least temporarily. The men talked heatedly for a minute before my father turned away from them and stormed back inside. I watched, frozen, as Cormac roughly grabbed Cody by his shirt, throwing him against the passenger side of the town car, so hard it left a dent. Cody raised his hands in a sign of surrender as Cormac verbally laid into him. After shoving him back against it again, Cormac finally let go to walk around to the driver’s side.
Cody paused briefly, glancing up at me on the fire escape, before getting in the car.
They hadn’t even yet pulled away from the curb when my father returned to the apartment. I heard the front door close and heard his footsteps along the wooden floor. I braced myself for his rage. I was prepared for disgust, even ready to feel the man’s hatred.
What I got was far, far worse.
“I’m disappointed in you, Grace Callaghan,” he said, his voice laced with dejection. “I thought you were better than this.”
***
“Grace.” My father’s voice is always gruff, like he’s constantly fighting to keep his emotions in check, but I know that’s just his natural tone. “It’s great to hear your voice again.”
Closing my eyes, I swallow thickly. “Dad.”
I love my father.
I do.
But he made this bed that I’m forced to lie in, day in and day out, all alone in this ironic little town, so it’s hard not to feel some resentment. He gave me life, sure, but I also blame him for taking my life away. I always knew he did bad things, always knew he hung around bad people, but I never knew the scope of it until the day Holden let me read the thirty-page indictment against him.
My father was linked to a body count higher than Ted Bundy’s.
It’s hard to reconcile that fact with the man who raised me.
My father was Dr. Jekyll.
The man on the phone is the evil Mr. Hyde.
Connor Callaghan.
He got to keep his last name.
“How are you?” he asks. “You staying safe? How’s school?”
He fires questions at me, innocently enough, but I have to think through every answer before saying anything at all. Something as simple as conversation about the weather could lead the wrong person right to my front door.
I say I’m fine, people are nice, school’s great, but the truth is I stopped going months ago and I haven’t made a single friend in this place. Holden leans against the counter and listens in on the conversation, knowing I’m lying my ass off.
Maybe I’m better at being dishonest than I think.
I absently scribble in the margins of the manual as my father babbles on and on, doing what I always do—signing my name.
My fake name.
Over and over, practicing until it practically bleeds from my fingertips.
Ten minutes isn’t that long, not when you haven’t spoken to someone in over a year, but there’s a lot of awkward silence when you have nothing to say. I’m ashamed by the relief I feel when Holden pushes away from the counter, tapping two fingers against the face of his watch, telling me time is up.
“I have to go,” I say, interrupting my father as he’s talking about something. I don’t
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