Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I nod. “Yes, I understand that.”
Even though I don’t.
Even though what he did lacks all understanding. All compassion. All goodness.
I look around my father’s home office in our sprawling house on Bellamy ranch. His massive mahogany desk, his leather reclining chair, his four giant computer monitors. Bookshelves are lined with tomes I’m sure he’s never read but look good. They smell good too. I inhale the crisp scent of parchment and leather.
It does nothing to soothe me.
What happened wasn’t right.
I don’t like when things aren’t right.
My brother Falcon tells me I need to be more realistic and less idealistic. The world is a complicated, messy place.
But why should I sacrifice my own standards? Why should I just accept injustice in the world?
My father drones on. “It was necessary to protect your mother. She could’ve been violated. Or even killed. Same for your sisters.”
I gulp down the lump in my throat. If that’s truly the case—though I don’t believe it is—then I do understand. My twin sisters are only thirteen, a year older than I am. And my mother…
She and I have a complicated relationship. I love her, and I certainly wouldn’t want to see her raped or murdered. The thought of it makes me want to puke.
Suffice it to say I’m pretty sure I’m her least favorite child of the five of us. Her favorite is my younger brother Eagle, the baby. Followed by Raven, my sister who is the most like her. The other, Robin, prefers to hang out with my brothers and me, doing boy stuff.
“It was necessary to keep you and your brothers from being killed in your sleep,” Dad says.
I nod for the third time. And I repeat myself. “Yes, Dad, I understand.”
My father threads his fingers through his blond hair. It’s beginning to gray, just a touch of silver around his temples. Then he looks at me with those blue eyes that are so like my own. I’m the only one of five who inherited them. My brothers and sisters all have dark-brown eyes, like our mother. We all share her darker skin from her Mexican heritage.
So as I stand, looking at my fair-skinned father, I focus on his eyes. The eyes he gave me.
Only me.
And I try to find something in common with him other than the one feature we share.
Something.
Anything.
But I can’t.
How could he do what he did?
Though I’ve repeated the mantra—Yes, Dad, I understand—I don’t understand. No rational person could.
“I’m sorry, Hawk,” he finally says.
My eyes go wide.
Did I truly hear the words?
I’m sorry, Hawk.
I didn’t know Austin Bellamy was ever sorry about anything.
Of course, when you shoot one of your own children, you probably should be fucking sorry.
There’s a dull hum in the air between us, like the world itself is holding its breath.
My father says it again, quieter this time. “I’m sorry, Hawk.”
The words sound strange coming from him. Fragile. Out of place in a mouth built for command, not remorse.
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. He stares past me, at the oil painting of our ranch hanging above the fireplace. The golden fields, the sprawling fences. A portrait of his father’s legacy.
I shift in the chair, my head hurting. The smell of antiseptic still clings to me. It burns when I breathe.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He glances at me, those clear blue eyes flicking sharp and defensive. “I told you. He was going to hurt us. Hurt your mother.”
I don’t answer. I could tell him I don’t believe him. That Ted was a great guy. That he taught me things—things I never learned from him, my own father. That he was my friend. That I miss him.
But I don’t say any of those things. My father wouldn’t care, anyway.
For a moment, the air between us goes tight. Until—
“Ted made choices,” he says finally. “He betrayed this family. And betrayal—” He pauses, as if he’s weighing his next word. “Betrayal deserves consequence.”
Betrayal?
Ted wouldn’t betray this family. This was a job.
“You didn’t let him explain,” I say.
He exhales through his nose. “Some men don’t need to explain. Their actions speak loud enough.”
I look down at my hands.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” he says, his voice soft again, as if that’s supposed to make it better. “Family first, Hawk. Always.”
I swallow hard. “Even when family’s wrong?”
He looks at me for a long time. Then he smiles—the kind of smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “Family isn’t wrong. It’s blood. And blood keeps us alive.”
He turns back to his desk, dismissing me with the same motion.
I walk out of that office, twelve years old and damned lucky to be alive, and I make myself a silent promise.
If the truth has a cost, I’ll pay it.
If justice hurts, I’ll take the pain.
And I will never be like my father.