In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
REAGAN
EXHAUSTION WEIGHS DOWN MY every move as I push open the doors of my father's house that's more of a mansion than anything else. I'm still trying to recover from the emotional rollercoaster of Paris's accident and then seeing him in that condition at the hospital. I see my father as soon as I walk into the living room, sitting on an armchair with his eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. He doesn't know I'm here yet, and the room feels suffocatingly silent, even with the noise of the television.
Typically, I'd head straight to Moms, but the conversation I need to have with my father is long overdue. Especially if I'm going to take this healing thing seriously. I take a deep breath that feels like it reaches my soul before crossing the room, my footsteps echoing off the tiled floor.
“Hi Dad,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. He turns to look at me, and I can see the lines of worry around his eyes soften as he takes in my appearance. But apart from that, his expression remains unreadable.
“How was your flight?” he asks, his voice gruff and familiar. There's a moment of hesitation between us, and emotion is welling up in my chest and threatening to overflow.
“Long,” I whisper, and my voice breaks on the one word. My exhaustion isn't just physical, it's seeping into the cracks of my soul. I feel flayed open. I look into my father's sturdy brown eyes and his gaze is steady on me, and then I muster up the courage to voice the question that stains our relationship.
“Do you hate me, dad?” No one says anything for a moment as the question hangs in the air, heavy and weighed down by my pain. I watch as his eyes widen in shock and then soften in a split second. He gets up from his seat and comes to stand in front of me, firmly taking my shoulders in his hands. He towers above me, tall and muscular and smelling like cigar smoke and that minty aftershave, he hasn't changed in years. The man who played catch with me and Robin in the backyard, taught us how to swim, dragged us on fishing adventures even though we complained every second. And probably scared away more boys than I know about. And now there's this thing between us that feels insurmountable.
“I don't hate you, Reagan. I never have and I never will. You're my daughter, the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you,”
“But you blame me, don't you?” I whisper, the words fragile on my lips. “For what happened to, Robin. Because I didn't tell anyone about their relationship. I didn't tell anyone I knew where she was until it was too late. I'm sorry, Dad. I was just trying to protect her,” my legs wobble, and he pulls me towards his chest, wrapping his arms around me. I bury my face in the fabric of his shirt, with the tears burning as they leave my eyes.
“Ray,"
“I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry. I didn't want her to get in trouble. I just wanted to be a good sister. Please don't hate me, anymore,”
