Inevitable - Kristen Granata Page 0,45

to the moment of his death. And I weep for myself, for the gaping hole in my heart that will never heal without my brother.

Time passes, and eventually my tears stop. All I hear is the rhythm of Graham’s heartbeat, his steady breaths a calming melody. I allow myself several more minutes of this false tranquility, knowing that soon, I’ll lose him forever.

How can I trust him when everything we had was based on a lie?

I sit up and wipe my face with the backs of my hands. I need to read the second letter, the one Eric left for my parents. There’s another secret about to unfold. I feel it in my gut.

“This one’s going to be difficult for you to read,” Graham says quietly.

I nod.

Graham stays silent while I read over the letter. This time, anger trickles through my veins, pulsing against my skin, wrapping its fingers around my lungs.

“Dad knew about this?”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“Eric went to him, begging for help, and my father turned him away?”

Graham’s eyes meet mine, where I find my answer.

I fly toward my bedroom door and rip it open. I race into the hallway and burst into my father’s office.

But it’s empty.

“Of course he’s not here,” I shout, a humorless laugh escaping me. “He’s never here! Not when I need him!”

Fresh tears stream down my face, and I’m so sick of crying.

Sick of hurting.

Sick of the lies.

Sick of this twisted world I live in.

I turn to face Dad’s desk. It’s made out of old cherrywood, large and outdated. Stacks of papers sit on top beside a computer. Pens, paper clips, and envelopes are all in their respective places.

Leaning over, I swipe my arms over the top of his desk, sending everything scattering onto the floor. When his laptop lands at my feet, I ram the heel of my boot into it several times for good measure.

Then, mustering all my strength, I lift the corner of the desk and flip it onto its side. It crashes with a loud bang and drawers crack open, files filled with important documents spilling onto the floor around it.

I spin around and begin pulling everything off his wall-to-wall shelves, flinging books, hurling glass figurines against the walls and watching them explode into a million pieces.

My blind rage takes over, and I succumb to it.

Graham stands in the doorway, watching. He doesn’t try to stop me. He doesn’t tell me to calm down. He knows what I need. Graham always knows what I need.

And that fuels my fire even more.

I obliterate my father’s office. I destroy everything in it so it’s broken, like me. Like my heart.

When I’ve exhausted all my energy, when my arms go limp and my lungs squeeze, I crouch down in the middle of my mess and hug my knees to my chest. My lips tremble as the next words I need to say fight their way into my throat.

I lift my eyes to lock on Graham. “Get out.”

Chapter Thirteen

Graham

It ripped me apart to witness Eva in that much agony.

To watch her suffering and not be able to do a damn thing about it. To know that I’m partly to blame.

I’m giving her space, like she asked, but I’m not going far. Her father should be home soon, and I have to be here when he finds out the truth about who I am. To say he’ll be angry is an understatement, and I need to know what he plans on doing to me.

It’s time to face the music.

I only hope I can convince him that I’m not working for my father anymore.

It’s just after eight o’clock when the elevator dings and Montalbano strolls out into the hallway. He smiles. “Good Evening, Graham.”

I step in front of him. “Sir, I need to speak with you before you go inside.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What’s wrong? Is Evangeline all right?”

“Physically, yes. But she’s upset and I’d like to have the chance to explain everything to you first.”

“Upset? What happened? Did someone try to hurt her?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing like that. This has to do with you.” I swallow. “And me.”

His head jerks back. “Step aside. I’d like to see my daughter.”

I figured he might say that. I do as he asks with a sigh as he pushes past me, and follow behind him toward Eva’s bedroom.

“Evangeline,” he calls throughout the house. “Where are you?”

“In your office.” Her voice sounds so small.

Montalbano stops in the doorway of his office and his mouth hangs open. “What