Page 61 of Scars of Silk

Abi nods, her lips in a straight line. Then she reaches for her phone and texts a number I never got the luxury of receiving.

“And tell her I wish her the best with her pregnancy. Her and Elijah both.”

“Sure.”

Her phone pings and my heart all but leaps out of my chest. So not cool. But then nothing about me is cool right now.

“Here, I’ll forward it over. Although I can take it just as easy.”

“It’s fine. Send it over.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket and it takes all my self-control not to get it out.

“Are you really going tomorrow, Dan?” Abi’s eyes fill with tears again.

“Yeah. It’s for the best, right?”

She nods, but I don’t miss the way she reaches for Adam’s hand and squeezes it tight. “Just be us left soon, Adam.”

“You guys have to be here.” That solid lump builds in my throat again. “You are my home. All I have left.”

A tear slips down her cheek and I get up from my chair and pull her into a tight hug. Long, long ago, there would have been a time when Faith, Abi, and I would have hugged. First as kids; then in our school uniform, our blazers scrunching as we pulled each other into the 'circle of truth' as the girls named it.

“Love you, Abs.” My words choke. “But I have to see what else is out there.”

“I know.” She wipes at her cheeks. “I know.”

I push away and give Charlotte a hug, then shake Adam’s hand. I can’t stay now. I need to keep moving. I can’t look back. Dropping my dad’s old set of keys onto the table, I manage to say. “Will you check on the house and shop for me?”

Then I’m at the door, turning one last time as I watch the fractured remnant of my past spread out behind me.

Then I’m one step at a time walking to whatever comes next.

The house is in darkness, no lights, no laughter to greet me. No shouts of “Son, put a brew on.”

And that’s okay.

My dad died. I can accept it now.

My dad died, and it hurt like nothing I’d ever known and every single bad decision I’ve made has stemmed from that one truth I haven’t been able to admit to myself.

As I near the house, I notice the broken glass first, and then the front door hanging open. Walking in, I take in the sight of my childhood home trashed. Shelves pulled over, the cushions of the chair ripped with a sharp blade.

On the door to the kitchen is a note held in place with one of my kitchen knives.

Snitches Pay

Vinny.

Upstairs, I grab the holdall I packed before I went to Abi’s, ignoring the mess that’s been made of the rooms.

There is no better time to leave.

Ibiza here I come.

Sixteen

Sienna