The Celebrity Bodyguard

Chapter 68: Surprise Revelation

Chapter 68: Surprise Revelation

"Your past doesn't define who you are. It's your future that will define you as a human being."

Hannah Charles

Perplex by the strange path our conversation was about to head; I remained in place, contemplating what he just quoted. Could he know something I didn't?

"You resemble your father in many ways." Ricky leaned on the back of his chair. "You've his hazel colored eyes. Why didn't I notice it before?"

Why and how would he notice that?

His words almost froze my heart. A few people knew I resembled daddy and those few people were not in my life anymore.

"How did you know that?" My father had passed away when I was still a kid. So how the dang did mister head of security know him?

"Your dad took a bullet for me when we were stationed in Afghanistan." Ricky stared at me in an odd way. I wished I wasn't alone in this confine office. "His last words were 'There are two kinds of people in this world; one who gives their gifts to others and others who keep their gifts to themselves. I belong to the one who gives.'"

A tear threatened to spill from the corner of my eye. Indeed, daddy was among those who give.

"Who are you?" My doubt began to rise. He declared daddy took a bullet for him.

"I'm a military veteran, former Lieutenant Colonel Rick Devon. Your father, Major Harvey Charles, was my partner, commander and mentor before I became Lieutenant." He glanced at the ceiling while he spoke. "I'm the main reason he died."

My pulse rocketed in my chest, a vein in my head twitched, I was about to explode both in wretchedness and bliss. He was the reason daddy passed away, not me. Mom blamed me for his death. I blamed me. That night still played in my head from time to time.

If I wasn't stubborn, if daddy hadn't bought a chocolate ice-cream for me, if mom hadn't made a fuss about it, if they hadn't quarreled because of me, daddy would have never leave us to go back on duty.

Guilt washed over me as I thought of the 'ifs'. Numerous times I recalculated the situation, and all the time, I ended up as the reason he left that night.

"Sir, you're wrong. You're not to be blamed for his death. Let me tell you a story," I peeked at my suede boots as I began, "A little 10 year-old girl had jumped enthusiastically when her dad had come home on a week before Christmas Eve. She had missed him and wanted to spend her quality time with him. They had gone snowboarding, building some unpleasing snowmen, and three days before Christmas, a snowball war was initiated by her brother. The family of four members had enjoyed the day throwing snowballs at each other until her brother had planted a snowball in her pink sweater. She had been trembling and coughing."

I paused to adjust my voice. "Her mom had prohibited her to go out in the snow. She had told her not to consume anything cold since her throat was swollen. On Christmas Eve, her dad had persuaded her mom to allow her to go on a shopping spree with him. Her mom had been busy baking Christmas cookies while her brother had been installing Christmas decors, she and her dad had strolled to the nearest mall. The little girl's eyes widened at the sight of Amy's ice creams shop."

My butt cheeks felt sore against the seat, I elevated from the chair and paced in the tiny room as I trailed, "She had insisted her dad to get her a scoop of her favorite Belgian Chocolate ice cream. Her dad not-being-too-happy about it, had given in when she had displayed her most adorable smile. He had told her only a tiny scoop. On Christmas morning, she had been coughing non-stop. After breakfast, she had vomited blood. Her parents had been terrified. They had driven her to the local hospital. The doctor who had treated her told her parents her esophagus was badly injured and because of cold, it had bruised her thin wall. Hence, it started to bleed. The doctor had asked if she had eaten anything cold or extremely hot. Her dad had come forward and confessed about the ice-cream scenario. Back home, her mom had been pissed. Atlas, the quarrel had started. Her dad had been upset by the accusation her mom had shot at him, so, he had left two days after Christmas. A month later, they had received the news about his death." My tongue felt thick and heavy when I whispered the last word.