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She wants to kill Leighton. Look at her. She’d do it in a heartbeat. Leighton and maybe the beginning of what would be my second child.
“You can’t threaten me with the corpses in our garden.” Rylan scans the house behind me, and I take a step forward to block her view. “Dad.”
“Can’t I?”
I’m aware I can’t. It’ll make me an accomplice. I only use this approach to throw her off her game and crack her confidence. She’ll be more open to discussion this way. More open to accepting Leighton and me.
Then again, this is Rylan.
“Uh, duh.” She rolls her eyes, then fixes them on me. “Miss Alexa and Miss Sylvia have been there for way too long. I’ll say your precious Leighton knew they were there. That I told her and she helped me cover up the murders.”
“She couldn’t have known about Dr. Hatchett, though,” I spit back at Rylan. “I have a photo proving it was all you.”
She’s cornered. The understanding dawns on her face and her chin wobbles.
Here comes the waterworks.
Three…two…one…
“Do I mean absolutely nothing to you?” Rylan throws herself at me, her hands interlacing around my neck. “You won’t even invite me in. Why do you hate me, Dad?”
Her tears stain my T-shirt. Her sobs tear my heart into pieces.
I don’t budge.
“I don’t hate you, Rylan.” I’m not sure I believe her sobs. I hope at least some of her pain is real, though. There’s hope in case it’s there.
“Then why won’t you”—sniff, sniff—“let me in?”
Sneaky, sneaky girl. She’s my daughter, after all.
“Come, sit.” I disentangle myself from her grasp, pulling up the second chair I had set up for her. “Please.”
Behind the tears brimming in her eyes, something sinister flashes. “She’s here. That’s why you won’t let me in.”
“Sit. Down.” My tone broaches no argument. “Sweetheart.”
She groans, but she does as I say. “What?”
“You accused me of underestimating you.” I take the seat next to her, lacing my fingers on my lap. “I don’t, nor have I ever, underestimated you. Which is why I’m going to give it to you straight. Leighton and I are together. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I’d marry her. Whether she likes it or not, I will.”
Rylan snorts, her fingers leaving red marks on her thighs where she’s scratched them.
“Listen to me carefully, Ry.” Anger gets the better of me, and I grip her chin. “I’m aware this isn’t easy for you to hear. You’re going to hear me out, nonetheless. Leighton will be my wife. She’ll have my children—your half-brothers and sisters.”
Rylan’s face contorts as if I set a flame to her entire nervous system. She’s part smiling, part frowning, her laugh mixing with a cry.
Jesus Christ, what kind of a crap father am I to have missed this?
She’s worked hard to keep this side of her hidden. Still, I’m a goddamn psychiatrist. An esteemed one at that.
At least I’ve considered myself as one.
The scene unfurling in front of me makes me question everything.
“Hey.” I soften my voice and my grip alike. “We’ll get through this together. I’ll get you the help you need, okay?”
“Can we go inside?”
