“Because you missed breakfast,” he said. “By this age, I would think you’d know how to feed yourself before a big event.”
“Feed my—Dad, I had a panic attack onstage,” she blurted out.
She glanced toward the hallway, but the pipes were still creaking. Wes was still in the shower.
Her father frowned like she’d spoken a language he didn’t understand. “A panic attack? You speak in front of people all the time. You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake.”
“I talk about law. About cases. About divorce,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It’s not the same. I can’t get up there and talk about Long Acre like that. You, of all people, should get why that’s so hard for me. You need to stop scheduling me for these types of events.”
“Rebecca.”
“It’s bullshit for me to go up there and talk about it as if I’m the heroine in this horror story. I wasn’t. If it had been a movie, people would’ve cheered when I got shot. You know that. I feel like a hypocrite giving some inspirational speech. I wasn’t the heroine. I was a villain.”
Her father’s expression turned thunderous at that. He crossed the room and sat in the chair across from her. He pointed a finger at her, his stare nailing her to the spot. “Rebecca Anne, don’t you give me that line of crap. You almost died that day. My only child almost bled out in the place where she was supposed to be safe.” His expression tightened, a rare flicker of emotion surfacing, but he quickly covered it.
“You have overcome so much. I saw you all those months after. I watched you fight all those dark emotions that tried to take you down. You are here because you’re a fighter. You have become a strong, successful woman despite all those challenges. If that isn’t heroic, I don’t know what is.”
Rebecca blinked, her chest constricting and her eyes burning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her dad say something so complimentary and with such conviction. “Dad…”
“I haven’t forgotten what you told me all those years ago, but you holding on to any blame is ludicrous. Those two boys were disgusting, demented human beings. I don’t care what happened between you and that kid. The only ones responsible for those deaths were the two people pulling the triggers and their parents for not seeing what was in front of them.” His tone was grave and resolute. “You have zero responsibility for what happened.”
She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. She heard his words, but she couldn’t accept them. Categorizing people wasn’t that easy. Trevor hadn’t always been a monster. He’d been on the edge. But you didn’t fall over the edge without being pushed.
She’d pushed.
She shook her head. “It’s not that cut-and-dried.”
“Of course it is. Those kids were ticking time bombs. Why do you think the cornerstone of my campaign is being tough on early criminal offenses? If those boys had been handled differently when they’d committed those first petty crimes the year
before—shoplifting, underage drinking, graffiti—that shooting would’ve never happened. They would’ve already been locked up or in some juvenile program.” He reached out and put his hand over hers, his tone fervent. “If I get elected, we can changes things, Rebecca. I know I’m putting a lot of extra work on you with the campaign, but that’s because there’s so much riding on it. And I need your voice behind it, reminding people why all of this is so important. Don’t you want to make a difference?”
“Of course I do,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. “But…”
“Good. Then you’ll talk long and loud and proud. I have another event Saturday after next and have put you down as a speaker. You will show people what you’ve been through, what you’ve overcome, and why you’re still fighting. All those friends and teachers you lost at Long Acre, they can’t speak for themselves. They can’t fight anymore. But you can. You can be their voice. And then I can make changes happen.”
The words were digging into her like painful pinpricks, drawing blood. She could hear the silent message in his words. You owe them.
God, did she.
She swallowed past the bile trying to rise in her throat. “Okay,” she said quietly.
“Okay?” he asked, catching her gaze.
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded. “Good, now—”
“I’m not sure if it’s manly to smell like vanilla cupcakes, but that shampoo of yours—” Wes’s words cut off, and Rebecca cringed.
She could see her dad’s face when he caught sight of Wes somewhere behind her, saw the souring of his expression.
Rebecca turned around, bracing herself, but it was worse than she’d thought. Wes was standing in the doorway with just a towel around his waist.
“Uh, I’m sorry,” Wes said, jutting his thumb to some unknown place behind him. “I was just…”
Her father stood, his jaw clenched. “Rebecca, I didn’t realize you had company.”
Rebecca took a breath. She was a grown woman. This was awkward, but there was no way she was going to apologize for it. Her father was the one who’d shown up unannounced. “Dad, this is Wesley Garrett. Wes, this is my father, William.”