"Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you." John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
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Chapter XX – Daddy
"Sara!" Mom said emotionally, as she tried to close the gap between us.
But I jumped up. "No, I need some time to think," I sniffed, before running for the front door and grabbing my purse as I did.
I heard voices behind me, but I focused on trying to find my keys. I cried, and could barely see through my tears, as I fished through my bag to find them. But I couldn't find them amongst the junk that I hoarded.
I cried in frustration as a wave of sobs hit me. I honestly didn't know what I was feeling. All I knew was that I was feeling. It was overwhelming and overstimulating, and I just wanted to cry and scream, and throw things.
Shea's arms were around me then. Their sturdiness was comforting, and I tried to control my breathing as I leaned into him. I tried to match my breaths with his, which I found nearly impossible. I sobbed and hiccoughed and let out these uncontrollable wails as every pathetic emotion escaped out of me.
"My dad is dead," I whispered, after standing in my driveway with Shea for I don't know how long.
I honestly didn't think I'd ever said those words out loud. And I had certainly never felt them. Before today, my dad was honestly no more to me than a sperm donor. I knew nothing about the man. He had died and I didn't remember him. Mom hadn't let me remember anything about him.
But I suddenly felt like I had lost him today. A father who loved me, who wanted me, and proudly showed me off to all his friends. A father who loved my mother, and he would only ever love her. Would I have called him Dad or Daddy? Mom called him my daddy, and that freaking hurt my gut.
"Did you know?" I asked Shea, already knowing the answer.
I felt him nod. "Not the whole story, but the gist, yeah," he confirmed quietly. "You couldn't hear that from me, though, Sara," he added softly. "That had to come from your mom."
I knew he was right, but it didn't change how I felt. I didn't want to ask, but I knew that I needed to know. "Do you know how it happened? How he died?"
"The conflict your mom was talking about, with the Alpha named Kurt?" he reminded me. "His name was Kurt Hale. His scouts attacked a member of our pack. They might have been drunk, or just plain stupid, but it started an all-out war. It was violent, my dad told me, and messy, and plain dangerous. He told me your dad wanted to settle things, just him and Kurt. They were alone, and they killed each other."
I flinched at his words, and Shea's grip on me tightened.
"It didn't end there. It hasn't ended. Kurt's son, well, you've met him."
Lex, I realised.
"That is why he is so dangerous. He's out for blood. Cold-blooded revenge. Lex knows who you are, and I'm afraid he's ... that's why I wanted to keep you away from it all. I thought if you were completely oblivious, and Lex could see that, then he would keep taking his fury out of me, and not you."
My father and Lex's father killed each other. It just didn't seem like a real thing that could happen. Like a goddamn duel that happened in the Old West where everybody just watched on the street. That was not justice. That wasn't okay. They couldn't be a law unto themselves. Deaths went unanswered for. Deaths happened unnecessarily.
My dad was dead, and he didn't have to be.
"Why would your pack let that happen?" I asked Shea, my voice still uncontrollably emotional from crying. "That's just barbaric. It's still barbaric. Where is the law in this?"
What if Shea and Lex did the same thing? Oh my God. What if Shea and Lex did the same thing?
Before Shea could even answer me, I latched onto the front of his shirt, holding the fabric in my fists. "Don't you dare fight him alone like that," I ordered. "Maybe some humans are fickle, I don't know," I cried. The jury was still out on my mom. "But I know I'm not. If you died, Shea ..." my voice cracked.
"Hey," Shea said soothingly. "I've got no plans to go anywhere, okay?" he assured me, pressing his lips to my forehead. "I've waited a long time to love you, Sara. God knows I'm not going anywhere."
I cried. I cried because I didn't know what else to do. Maybe my body was shutting down. Maybe I didn't know how to process complex emotions. Maybe I just couldn't handle finding out my boyfriend, and my father, were of a different species, and that my mom knew, and my dad died, and Shea loved me, all in one day.
"Come on. I want to show you something." Shea took my hand. We walked together past my Jeep, and towards his truck. I wiped my face with my sleeve. Shea fished his keys out of his pocket and he unlocked it, opening my door for me.
I climbed inside and tried to breathe calmly, inhaling the comforting scent of Shea's cologne. The driver's side door opened, and Shea climbed inside, before firing up the engine.
I quickly realised that he was taking me towards his house, as we were headed out of town. Shea tried to distract me as we drove. He tried to keep the conversation light-hearted, answering my curious questions, rather than letting me dwell on the painful ones.
I was grateful for the change of topic.
"The tattoos," I asked. "Is that a lycan thing?" There were just too many people with tattoos, the same kind of tattoos, for it just to be a coincidence. "I know you don't have one, but a lot of people do."
"Uh, yeah," Shea laughed awkwardly. "The tattoos are a lycan thing," he confirmed.
"Why don't you have one?" I asked curiously.
"Um," he trailed off.
Shea seemed a little embarrassed. It amused me a bit. It felt good to be amused and not overwhelmed.
"We don't really understand the tattoos. They just happen. Although with us being able to manipulate our DNA, I suppose we are able to manipulate our skin as well. I don't know. We don't exactly have a pack geneticist to explain these things to us. We don't really call them tattoos, anyway. We call them marks."
"Marks?" I repeated.
"Yes. To humans, they look like tattoos, which is a good cover, but to other lycans, they basically just say, back off, this one is taken."
I thought of how many tattoos I had seen at Zoey's party that night. All of them were taken, they had mates. I glanced sideways at Shea and wondered why he didn't have one. I mean ... I was his mate, right?
I had to admit, seeing my name on his chest would be a little bit romantic.
"I can see you looking at me. Enhanced senses, remember?" Shea reminded me.
"Well, why don't you have one yet?" I bit the bullet, asking him. "Does it not work if I'm not a lycan?"
Shea chuckled. "No, it works either way. I'll get one. You won't. Though, I am a little bit disappointed at that fact, I have to admit."
That didn't answer my question. "Do you have to go to a special tattoo artist or something?" I pressed.
"No, like I said, they're naturally occurring," he replied. He kept his eyes firmly on the road, and I noticed him tense a little. What wasn't he telling me?
"Yeah, but howdo they naturally occur?"
"Hey, look at that, we're here," Shea remarked, sounding relieved as his house came into view.
I huffed. I would get it out of him eventually.
Shea and I climbed down from his truck and walked up to the front door of his house. I wondered if his mom was home. I hoped I would be able to find a mirror before I met her. I probably looked like a complete mess. I was still hungover from last night, and I had been crying like crazy.
Shea used a key on his keyring to let us into his house. We were immediately met by a mirror in their small entryway. It hung above a buffet table that housed a collection of family photographs. I smiled when I saw pictures of Shea and Cece when they were younger. They were pictured with who I could only assume were their parents. Shea's mom looked young, and cheerful. And his dad looked strong, noble and protective. Shea looked exactly like his dad. Same olive toned skin. Same russet brown hair. Same dark eyes. He would still be handsome even when he was older.
Then I caught sight of the frightful face his handsome son had brought into the house. I looked worse than I thought. My skin was red, blotchy, and completely broken out. Maybe that was the alcohol ... or the stress. My eyes were still bloodshot and puffy, and my nose was red from it running. My hair was a mess, and even though I was dressed, I looked like I had just fallen out of bed.
Standing next to Shea, I rolled my eyes. "Is looking like a demigod a lycan thing, too? Because I think you make me look uglier than I am. Or maybe I am just constantly having a bad face day."
Shea laughed. "Hey, if that's your theory, then you're part demigod, too," he countered. He was still holding my hand, and he brought it up to his lips, kissing it. "I think you need glasses."
"I have acne," I murmured.
"So does everyone," Shea retorted. "You should see Cece's mess in our bathroom. She has this electronic brush thing that like scrubs all the skin off her face. I don't know exactly, but long story short is that we all have things we're insecure about."
"What are you insecure about?" I asked him. I would honestly be shocked if he could point out a flaw in himself.
Shea's face softened. "I don't know if it's an insecurity, but I do feel insecure about you and me," he admitted. "It's just not the same for humans. It isn't and that's not your fault. But that's what I'm scared of. You have the power to completely destroy me and you don't even know it."
Why did I just whine about a couple of zits? My mouth opened, but I didn't know what to say.
"I love you andyour zits," he told me, though he couldn't hide his smile when he said the latter. "You are very beautiful, and if you don't believe me, just ask the two hundred guys I had to threaten on your first day of school." He winked at me, before leading me away from the mirror.
I followed, dumbfounded. Shea led me into his living room, which was quaintly decorated with eclectic furnishings, nothing matching. The far wall was lined with sturdy timber bookcases, littered with what looked like volumes of thick texts, combined with popular books, and photographs.
Shea went directly to the bookcases, kneeling down on the floor and he began sifting through what looked to be large scrapbooks, or maybe photo albums. When he found the one he wanted, he pulled it from the shelf, and stood back up.
He brought it over to one of the couches and we sat down together. He laid the large scrapbook across both of our laps. When he opened the first page, I was immediately amazed.
Mom had tried scrapbooking for a minute when I was in elementary school, but after she'd dropped beads all over the floor, and gotten glue all over her clothes ... and spent two hundred dollars on supplies, she gave up.
This, though, looked professional.
The first page was Shea. I knew because beautiful, baby blue letters were glued at the top of the page, spelling out "Shea Robert Braverman". There was a picture of him on his mom's chest, all bloody and new, as well as a cleaned up one in his cradle. His tiny hospital bracelet was attached to the page, as well as his mom's.
"Let's just skip the pictures of me looking like a potato," he joked.
He flipped the page, and his mom had made a similar one, only this time on pink paper for baby Cecelia Marie Braverman.
The next few pages were filled with cradle pictures of Shea and Cece, combined with firsts, like their first baths, their first smiles, them crawling, and walking.
Then Shea reached another page, another birth page. It took me a second to register what I was looking at.
"My mom saves things," Shea uttered quietly.
Pasted onto the page, surrounded by decorative beads and ribbons, was a yellow birth announcement card, complete with little duckies.
My heart lurched in my chest as I read the words.
Ronan and Amanda Bryant
are thrilled to announce
the safe arrival of their beautiful baby girl.
SARAPHINE JO BRYANT
Born September 21, 2001.
6lbs 11oz
20 inches.
Just seeing my parents' names written like that filled my eyes with tears. I had never even seen my dad's name written before, let alone seen it combined with my mom's, like any other ordinary married couple.
I started to cry again. Because I read the word "their". Their baby girl. Belonging to twoparents. A mom and a dad. A daddy who was thrilled to announce that his daughter, Saraphine Jo Bryant, had arrived safely.
Glued down underneath the birth announcement was a picture. A candid. It was a picture of two parents, filled with love, as they held their baby.
Mom ... she looked so young, so tired, but so pretty. She was lying in a hospital bed cradling me.
And next to her ...
I had to wipe my eyes.
Next to her, sitting beside her on the bed, was my dad. His hand was cradling my head, and he was looking down at me with such wonder. His other arm was wrapped around Mom.
This was the very first time that I had ever seen what he had looked like. And he looked nothing like I had imagined.
Like Mom, he was so young. His face was youthful. He would have only been in his early twenties. His hair was dark, though it wasn't as dark as Mom's, and his eyes, from what I could see, were light. He was smiling so widely, and I could see he had dimples in his cheeks. I loved them. He looked broad, and strong, a protector, even in his youth. I could see that by the way he was holding us both.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
"I thought you might've wanted to see him," murmured Shea. "My dad was your dad's Beta. His second. Mom made these pages for him after he died, to help him remember his best friend. We looked at them together sometimes. I remember asking him where you went. There was something about your name, it always stuck in my mind. Maybe, subconsciously, I knew you would be important one day."
Shea flipped the page, and sure enough, there was another picture. One of my dad and Shea's dad. They stood together, smiling at the camera. The picture was taken down at the beach, and I wondered if that was the same beach that we lived by, and if we have ever walked the same path.
They were both only wearing swim shorts, and their tattoos were proudly on show. "Karen" was across Shea's dad's chest, and there it was, Mom's name, "Amanda", was on Dad's chest.
They both looked so young, young enough that they looked as though they could be seniors in our school. It was so strange to see him this way. I had always pictured him older, wiser-looking.
But to see him this young just broke my heart even more. That was no age to die. His life, his whole life, was ahead of him. A life with Mom and me, if only she hadn't been so scared.
He seemed so familiar to me. My heart, it felt, longed to know him.
"Ronan loved fishing but couldn't catch a darn thing. Pickles and peanut butter on toast were his go-to snack. And he was loyal to a tee. There wasn't anything that he wouldn't do for his girls, his pack, and the community," Shea told me, as though he was recalling a conversation that he'd had with his own father.
I honestly didn't know how to feel. I felt a combination of anger, subsequent guilt, and painful longing.
But I mainly felt grief. I finally had a dad I could see, that I knew things about, and I had lost him senselessly.
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Hope you enjoyed it!!
Can't say much now as I've got a hungry cat scratching at my door waiting for his breakfast hahaha.
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