Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,13

beat around the bush, does he?

The weight of four sets of eyes on me is daunting, and I stumble over my words and my thoughts a bit.

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks, not gonna lie about that. I don’t think I would’ve made it through them without Sunday.” My hand reaches for hers. “There’s a question I need an answer to before I go anywhere.” Knowing this is going to rip the wound wide open again, my entire body clenches, but I can’t think of any other way to get the poison out so it can heal cleanly. “Was Callum Torsten my biological father?” There’s silence at our booth as we hold a collective breath, waiting for him to answer.

“It would appear that way, yes.” Mr. Halliday grinds the sentence out between teeth clenched as tightly as his hands now are on the scarred Formica tabletop. “Based on what he said the night of the meeting, that would seem to be the case. However, my suggestion is to get it confirmed through a paternity test.” Sorrow and rage war for control of his features for a few seconds and each darkens his eyes in its own way. It causes me physical pain to see him hurting like that, but it also reminds me that somebody else loves my mother as much as I do.

Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I nod my agreement.

“Is that something you can help me arrange? I’m not sure how to go about getting a sample for comparison now that he’s dead, but maybe Hali will let us grab a toothbrush or hairbrush of his? I mean, what use does she have for them?” The air pressure around me changes instantly, like it does right before a lightning strike, and nobody will meet my eyes. My head starts to pound out a warning, and I squeeze Sunday’s fingers tighter.

I’m not going to like this.

“What? What’s wrong now?” I ask.

“Callum is, well, he’s not exactly dead, Stell,” Sunday says, her face looking appropriately ashamed. “Roxy finally told me last week.” My eyes nearly bug out of my head as the familiar darkness starts to flutter, and panic paints her blackness around my edges. I shake my head and drop her hand like it burned me.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say? Not exactly dead?” My chest heaves. “This isn’t the Princess fucking Bride, Sunday, you’re either dead or you aren’t.”

“Please, don’t be mad,” my traitorous best friend begs. “You were hurting so bad. I was watching your heart break again and again with every bad dream and every sleepless night. If I told you he was still breathing, I was afraid it would make things even worse, and we’d never find a way to make you whole again.” Her tawny eyes fill with tears.

“You knew.”

She nods once.

“You knew for a week, and you didn’t tell me.”

She nods again.

“You all knew.”

Looking around the table at the downcast faces flooded with varying shades of guilt, I stop at the one staring straight back at me.

“You got something to say, Halliday?” I bark.

Poe doesn’t flinch.

“Star, I have a laundry list of things to feel guilty about, but not mentioning Callum Torsten is still alive isn’t one of them. I had no idea whether Sunday knew or not, or if she’d told you because you two haven’t spoken to us in weeks. Remember?” He raises his eyebrows at me accusatorily before shrugging his broad shoulders. “You know now, and you can do with it what you need to. If she kept it from you, you know full well it was out of concern for you, so stop being a spaz.”

Damn it.

Damn his eyebrows.

Damn HIM for making sense.

“Fine.” I huff, the wind of indignation taken out of my sails. Turning to Sunday, I poke my index finger into her forehead. “You and I, we’re going to talk about keeping things from me.” She gives me a sheepish grin, which I, as mad as I am, still find myself returning. Looking back at everybody else, I give each one of them my best single-eyebrow-raise-death-glare. “No more secrets. Agreed?” They all bob their heads yes, even Mr. Halliday, and I lean my elbows on the table in front of me, steepling my fingers a la Mr. Burns. “Okay, so I assume getting a DNA sample won’t be a problem then?” I ask the table in general.

“Not at all.” Poe’s father answers confidently. “A simple blood test, and we should have the results