Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
But he was already moving. “I’ve got it.”
I sank into my chair and wrapped my hands around my water glass. Cold bit into my palms. The front door opened. Boots against hardwood. A mutter I felt more than heard.
And then he was there.
Gonzo filled a room without trying. He didn’t touch me; he didn’t even come close enough to pretend to. He took the empty chair at the far end of the table. His eyes met mine for a breath—wind and road and a man who looked carved out of something heavier than the rest of us—and then slid away.
No denial of our situation. No explanation. No apology. No plea. Just presence.
I didn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I was afraid of what would come out.
Mom carried in the chicken and set it down like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Grace?” she asked, because in this house we still pretended that part mattered.
No one took hands. Dad cleared his throat. “Before we eat,” he said, and his voice cracked on the first word. “There are things I need to say.”
Questions plagued my mind. Why now? What did he have to share? What did he know? How was he tied to Gonzo? The room went still in a way I felt in my teeth.
“Conner,” Mom whispered, warning or prayer; I couldn’t tell. “Let’s eat first.”
“IvaLeigh,” Dad started, looking at me. He looked older than he had a month ago. “You deserve the truth. Your mother does too. I should have said it long before the world found ways to say it for me and use it against me.”
Something in him sparked this anger inside of me. I couldn’t explain it, but somehow my gut knew that the heartbreak I was feeling had to be because of his actions. “Say it,” I taunted. My voice didn’t wobble. I was proud of that. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He exhaled, shut his eyes once like a man stepping off a cliff, and opened them again. “I’ve been unfaithful to your mother.”
Glass knocked on wood. Mom’s water sloshed. She reached for a napkin she didn’t need and pressed it flat with both palms. She didn’t look at him.
“I had an affair,” he went on, voice stripped to bone. “With a woman from Ashe County. I’ve been having an affair. It began over two years ago. It should never have started. I wanted to end it. But before I did, someone—Hampton Stanley—made sure he had proof.”
While this was earth shattering, but what did this have to do with Gonzo? What did Hampton Stanley have to do with my dad having an affair?
Dad swallowed. “He used it. He used me. He told me where to sit and how to rule and who to hurt. I let him. I told myself I was protecting this family, protecting both of you, protecting the bench, protecting… everything but really I was denying the truth. I denied motions I should have granted. I signed orders I should have burned. I sent people to prison for crimes they didn’t commit. I handed down the maximum sentences for first-time offenders simply because I was told to. I took the law into my own hands. In the matter of Gabriel Gonzales Jr., also known as GJ—Gonzo’s son—I allowed myself to be guided by Hampton’s will, not the law.”
My ears buzzed like a hive. In the corner of my eye, Gonzo didn’t move. That stillness felt more dangerous than anyone’s anger. This was the tie between my father and Gonzo. And my world crashed around me inside my head. He didn’t love me, treasure me. He used me. I barely kept it together.
“Why?” I asked. The word was small. It had teeth.
Dad looked at his hands like he’d never seen them before. “Because I was weak. Because I was a coward. Because I thought the worst thing that could happen was my reputation burning. I was wrong. The worst thing is a man rotting in prison because I was too afraid to stand up to the bully who owns this town.”
Mom’s chair scraped back. She stood, walked to the sideboard, and put both hands on it to keep from falling through the floor. When she turned around, her face was set in a way I’d never seen—a mask cut out of something that wasn’t going to break today.
“And this dinner,” I said, hearing my own voice from very far away. “What is this? A confession because you got caught? Or because”—I glanced, against my will, to the far end of the table—“because you invited him into our home to finish whatever this game is that you both have played with me?”
Dad’s mouth shook. He steadied it with a breath that looked like it hurt. “He didn’t invite himself. I did.” He looked at Gonzo. “He told me the price of his help was the truth. Laid out plain and real. Truth. In this room. In front of both of you. I owe you that more than anything.”