Blackbird

Alex |Chapter 10

"WHERE DID TATE GO?" I turned to Flock, who shrugged. The room was now on a collision course with Dean Parker. The crowd of reporters surged toward the podium. Dean stood with appeasing hands, battling to control the barrage of questions thrown his way.

I saw the moment he gave up. Dean perched on the table ledge, his gaze panning around the room before picking up a microphone. A sea of hands raised, and he silenced them all with a single finger pressed to his lips. My father became rigid beside me, and he confirmed as much with a tight grip on my hand.

Dean cleared his throat, his eyes locked on a spot in the distance. His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it filled the room with a commanding presence.

"Rafael, my failures as a father were your successes as a friend. I am sorry this cost you as much as it did. I'm also regretful that my teenage son had to be the one to teach me lessons I should have known myself. I see clearly for the first time in a year. As important as this moment is for you, I need to find my son and check he is okay."

Dad nodded once to Dean; his fingers squeezed mine as he did. The crowd murmured, some confused, some angry, but most just looked on with a mix of resignation. This was the first time Dean had pulled something like this. He was always full of grand ideas and promises, but this was the first time he had never delivered.

My father's grip on my hand tightened further, and I knew he was thinking about all the times he had tried to help Dean, only to be met with resistance and denial once Nadine had passed. Yet, I understood now that he hadn't given up on him; he'd watched over Tate instead.

"Shows over. Leave. Now."

As the crowd murmured amongst themselves, Dean stepped down from the table and made his way down the podium steps. Flock, Dad, and I barged through the crowds, not wasting further seconds, looking for Tate. I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Tate's cell, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Have you found him?" Dad asked. The concern etched on his face mirrored my churning stomach.

That was my cue to take control of the situation. "I'm going to find Tate," I declared, turning to face my father and Flock. They both looked at me with surprise and concern.

A firm hand clasped my shoulder, forcing me to turn. "You can't go alone," Dean Parker said, looking solemn, his tone softening for the first time.

"He won't be alone," Dad replied, and a feeling of relief washed over me. "We'll find him and bring him back safe and sound. You need to stay here and focus on your campaign. We'll be fine. I promise." My father stood by my side, his expression a mixture of pride and worry.

Dean stepped forward, and his eyes locked onto mine. "Then I'll come with you too. Is there room for one more?" he asked.

I grinned. "Yeah, there is," I said.

Leaving the Ramada Inn, Flock clicked his keys, and his car flashed in the parking lot. The wind pressed and pulled at my hair as I got in the backseat. We drove beyond the vineyards and roadside pit stops. Flock floored the gas, and the vision blurred as the car roared to life.

He made a sharp right turn, and the desert became visible through the broken flash of palms as we hurtled past. Vibrant oranges morphed into silhouettes as the sky dimmed. A vicious crosswind lashed against the car, causing Flock to veer sideways.

"Easy, son." Dean reached for the steering wheel to help him steady it.

My mouth downturned as I stared at my hands. A sudden pressure built behind my eyes. This—the crushing disappointment that I'd not believed Tate, became all-consuming. On his own, and with no one by his side, he had tried to right wrongs that he had never known existed until recently. None of them being his fault.

"We'll find him," Dad said from beside me. Maybe it was the warmth in his voice or the hand he placed over mine, but I wanted to believe him. The thought of him being hurt or worse tore at my heart, and I knew that we had to find him soon.

Glancing between my father and Dean, nothing could have prepared me for the surreal emotions coming my way. But, when I stopped to think about it, Dean had done nothing wrong to me apart from being an occasional jerk on a billboard. But it was that same 'jerk' attitude that I thought Tate originally shared, and he had hooked me from day one once I gave him a chance, and it made my heart ache to know that he was missing.

I bit my lip and fidgeted in the chair, unable to keep still. Rolling my shoulders, I couldn't shake the tension building in them. To change my narrative, I not only needed to forget but forgive. That's the only way my side of this story ended.

I wanted Tate, and I wanted to give us a chance to see where this spark between us could go.

Dean swiveled in his seat. "I spoke to your father earlier. I owe you an—."

"You're forgiven," I said almost too quickly. The smell of smoke came through the wound-down window—my thoughts jumped to a wildfire. I recalled images of a burning forest on the news the night before. A single match ignited dry land, starting an inferno in the blink of an eye.

The wildfire quickly spread, consuming acres of trees, wildlife and destroying homes. Firefighters raced against the clock to contain the flames, yet the destruction had already been done. Something new gnawed in the pit of my stomach, turbulent and unwavering. It was like a storm brewing in the distance, growing in intensity with no indication of when it would eventually pass.

Ten seconds later, Flock eased off the gas as a river of black formed by the side of the road. We all paused to stare. Then I spotted a beast rising in the distance. The fear of the unknown at this moment was palpable as smoke billowed high into the sky. A plume led to a single point in the desert—Hanging Hills.

"Pull over. Stop the car!" Before it ground to a halt, I flung open the door and began running. I stumbled over something on the ground, barely catching my balance, spotting several strewn rocks. I muttered under my breath and glanced upward. Stars glittered through gaps in the broken cloud. The intimidating billboard that had once caused Tate so much pain now looked ransacked. Multiple puncture holes defamed both their faces.

Tate's here and hurting. It was like a punch to the gut, a sudden and unwelcome surprise that left me reeling.

Disorientated, I couldn't comprehend what was happening. Is this a wildfire? The wind whistled along the slopes of the mountains. Several boots pounded the ground as they approached from behind. We all turned to a central point in the flames.

The windows glowed, and then one shattered, sending us all scrambling for cover. Tinder-dry conditions sparked fear in many drought-devastated communities. The abandoned desert had never been one of them before.

Shit. That's the cabin. Made entirely of wood and built on stilts, a fire would be like setting off a powder keg—highly flammable and quickly engulfing the entire structure. It would spread out of control. Resembling a fireball in the desert, it rose upward with a bright light that illuminated the entire area.

Dean's face turned ashen. "Jesus," he said. "Tate's not in there, is he?"

A jolt of fear passed through me when I heard his voice trembling as I tried to think of what could have possibly gone wrong. I opened my mouth, but no words came because I already knew he would be. My knees buckled beneath me, and I didn't even try to wipe away the stream of tears that now cascaded down my cheeks.