Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
“That didn’t happen overnight, Ben. I didn’t meet your mom and magically fall in love. I thought I was incapable of certain emotions. Believing I could love—that was work. That was therapy and investment in myself.”
I say nothing. I’m not sure what to say, to be honest. A current of panic and agitation move through my bloodstream, and I’m having trouble even sitting still. He can’t find out I’m broke. My knee tries to jostle.
I want to lean back, then forward.
It’s taking everything in me to remain rigid.
His expensive sole drops off his knee and lands on the stone. He cups his hands, and his soul-burrowing gaze never leaves mine.
He might be this godly Zeus-like figure, but right now, I’m not intimidated by him. At the end of the day, he’s my dad.
He continues, “You hurt someone, and the Ben that I know wouldn’t care if the other guy deserved it or not, it’d affect him. It’d crush him.”
It is crushing me, but not in the way he thinks. I’m not crying like Tate is that dead caterpillar. I’m not devastated. I don’t even regret it.
But I am terrified of retribution. Of the universe course-correcting pain that I caused. It feels inevitable that my family will get hurt. How can I even explain that to him? He won’t understand.
“Do I look crushed?” I ask.
“No, and that’s what scares me,” he says. “You’re hiding your feelings, burying them, or avoiding them—”
“And this is your expert opinion, seeing as how you’re a master of emotions since you have a total of five of them.” I immediately regret my words for how callous they are, but I shove that guilt so far down.
He slowly blinks, but he’s not looking at me like I’m a stranger he doesn’t know. He stares at me with deep, unbridled worry. If I was determined to cast his concern into the ether today, I’m doing a fucking awful job at it.
“I’m not a therapist, you’re right,” he says. “But I think you should see someone other than Dr. Wheeler. I don’t think he’s a good fit for you.”
The truth is, I don’t believe any therapist would be good for me. If my brilliant dad doesn’t understand me, then how the fuck would a professional? I already know I’m being irrational—they don’t need to tell me that.
I fit my ballcap on and rise to my feet. “He’s my choice. You’re going to have to live with it.”
He follows me to my feet. “Something has to change.” He holds out a hand for me to wait because I’m facing the house. “I know you’re hurting—”
“Something did change,” I combat. “I moved to fucking New York.” My voice rises with my frustration. “Is that not enough?!”
“Ben—”
“You want to reminisce?” I ask him, my chest rising and falling with heavy, uncontrolled breaths. “You remember when I was really little? Remember how Mom said she was going to cut out your lungs in your sleep and you told her she can have them—but it’d be a mistake because she’d miss breathing your air? I wept in my fucking bed that night for hours thinking my parents were going to murder each other. I called Uncle Ryke so distraught I could barely form words. I was seven.” Tears try to burn my eyes. “It took me too many years to even understand what my brothers and sisters understood from day one—the exaggerations, the banter, the wit—I am not like all of you. I don’t think like you.”
“You can always talk to Ryke. Just because Winona—”
“Dad, I can’t do this.” My pulse is out of control. A knot is contracting painfully in my ribs. I am crawling out of my skin, and I wish Harriet were here. I wish I could divert whatever’s rattling me for a second. I want the panic to just fade. “I just need you and everyone else to just stop.” Please.
Let me go.
We both aren’t blinking.
“Tu nous repousses,” he says in a gentle whisper. You’re pushing us away. “Pourquoi?” Why?
I shake my head, about to lie and say I’m not.
I have been distancing myself from everyone, and their biggest triumph in bringing me closer has been me moving in with my brothers. Even that, though, I am one foot out the door.
“Tu n'es pas obligé,” he whispers. You don’t have to. “Nous pouvons t’aider.” We can help you. He reaches out, and partly to pacify him, partly because I crave my dad’s embrace more than even conceivable—I let him draw me into his chest. I grip his shoulder like I’m hanging on to a jagged cliffside, not wanting to let go. Scared to fall. Scared to meet what’s below.
But for their sake, I feel like I eventually have to. Courage. I’ve never lacked the courage to race after the dangerous, terrifying thing. Especially when I know it’ll save someone else.