Pierce and Scarlett are two unique fragments who cross pathways in a low-end motel. He is running away from his haunted past, while she is trying to build a future from broken pieces. As the pair collides in a series of trying events, they must figu...
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22 | The Chat
There's a soft knock on my bedroom door which captures my attention. Looking over my shoulder, I expect to see Scarlett's face peeking through the small crack. Instead, my father's tall figure is leaning against the dark wooden frame.
"Your mother wanted me to give you this." He holds up a cherry red tie. "I think it's supposed to match Scarlett's dress. She sort of threw it at me."
"That sounds about right, thanks."
I discard my black tie on the bed, then walk towards Dad to grab the new one. Maybe I'll have better luck at tying it?
He walks deeper into the room and takes a seat on the end of the bed. I return to my spot in front of the mirror and attempt to perfect my outfit. If I can't, there's nothing worse than having my mother do it for me in front of Scarlett. I'll be as red as this tie.
"I know I haven't said this yet, but I'm glad you are home, son." His gaze drops to the ground. In that fleeting moment, I'd never seen him look that broken.
"I'm happy to be back," I reply.
"The thought of losing you . . . Don't do it again." Just as he was vulnerable, he solidifies back into his rough exterior.
"I promise," I meekly say.
"Now." His back straightens. "We need to talk."
"About your greying hair?" I chuckle.
"Actually, it's silver," he corrects.
Dad moves away from the bed and wonders towards me. My heart thuds inside my chest at the thought of his talk – what does he want to know? His somber mood doesn't give clues.
"What is on your mind?"
"I want to know more about Scarlett," he admits. "Is there something I should know?"
My mind instantly jumps to Ricky and the motel, then to Scarlett's incident with the gang. Should I tell him about those crimes we committed? Would he tell my mother? I can't afford for their opinions to change, especially when they're just starting to like her.
We all make bad choices . . . but that doesn't mean it won't change the way people view us.
"Scarlett is here because I want her to be."
"Or is she pregnant with your child?"
His blunt attitude makes me sigh with relief. At least he doesn't suspect we killed and tried to cover the body.
"Of course not." I shake my head. "We're not . . . it's not. Just no."
"Then?"
Does there need to be a reason? Of course not, but it doesn't stop the guilt from seeping into my stomach. We have secrets, dirty secrets.
