Sins of the Father (19 page)

Epilogue

~Ophelia~

*8 Months Later*

“I can’t believe my roomie is a celebrity.”

“I’m not a celebrity.” I folded the shirt I was holding and tucked it into the suitcase sitting open on my dorm bed.

“You are famous, though. The whole freaking country knows who you are, and they either love you or they really, really hate you. I read an article online today that called you a cold-blooded, back-stabbing, money-grubbing—”

“I get it.” I’d heard it all before. I didn’t need the recap.

“I’m just saying, it’s obviously not true. I mean you can’t even afford to pay for next semester now that your parents have cut you off. Maybe turning your dad in wasn’t the best choice?”

There hadn’t been any
choice
involved. My father was a murderer. What else could I do? I went to the cyber department of the police force, gave them his computer and all the passwords. They printed up hard copies of the incriminating emails right along with the arrest warrants for him and several of his high ranking employees. Apparently Reed Tanzen wasn’t the only one to put profit before people.

“It was the right thing to do,” I mumbled to myself as I flipped the lid shut and leaned on it to zip the case.

I glanced around the bare dorm room and sighed. All of the posters had been removed, the papers and clothes packed away. It was the end of the spring semester. Time to move on. Start over. I had enough saved up to rent a cheap apartment downtown while I job hunted. It probably wouldn’t be the coming fall, but sooner or later I’d save up enough to finish my education.

They say money can’t buy time. My father proved them wrong. Seven months later and he was still free on bail, going to work and ruling his empire while his lawyers stalled and negotiated on his behalf. I honestly wasn’t convinced he’d ever see the inside of a jail cell, but he’d washed his hands of me the moment he discovered who had turned him in. My trust drained, tuition disappeared. They wouldn’t even answer my calls. I was on my own, but really that was nothing new. The hollow place in my chest hadn’t been carved out by my parents. It was someone else who was missing.

“Hey, before you go . . .” Lisa sat cross-legged on her stripped mattress, waiting for her boyfriend of the week to give her a ride home. “There’s something I want you to listen to.”

I hefted the last suitcase onto the floor with a solid
thud
and groaned. “I really need to get going, Lis.”

“Just a second,” she pleaded. “I promise you won’t regret it. This guy is dreeeamy.”

My eyes rolled, but there was no denying her. “Alright, fine. One song.”

She bounced on the bed as she scrolled through titles on her iPod and then handed me the earbuds. I popped one in my ear and waited. The solo guitar intro was a nice change of pace from her usual ear splitting bass.

“He’s played the bar scene for years, but he’s starting to go mainstream now. Can’t really blame him. With a voice like that . . .”

Whatever else she said was lost because that’s when I heard it. The voice.
His
voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. I grabbed the other earbud and stuck it in my ear, focused solely on the song until the very last note faded away.

“Good, huh?” Lisa smirked up at me, completely unaware of the way my heart was slamming inside my chest.

“What’s his name?” My voice shook, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Not sure.” She frowned. “Not a whole lot is known about the guy. It’s part of the allure, I guess. He goes by Emerald.”

I choked and she gave me a strange look.

“The song is called Sparrow. He’s playing at Northern Lights downtown tonight. I don’t know—Hey, are you alright?”

Tears streamed down my cheeks. Was I alright? No, I most definitely was
not
alright. “I have to go.”

Neon lights reflected in the hazy night. People milled around on the darkened sidewalk, smoking, hailing cabs as they sped by. The show was over, but I hadn’t planned to attend. Seeing him, hearing him sing again . . . in front of all those people . . . it would have been too much. But now my window of opportunity was closing fast, and the amount of time I had before my nerves expired was even less.

Thank god he hadn’t achieved bodyguard level fame. The club bouncer was hard enough to get past. It took a fight over a taxi involving three drunken idiots to distract him long enough for me to slip inside. All the overhead lights were on, a solitary stool casting a long shadow across the stage. Colorful wristbands, flyers, napkins, and beer bottles littered the scuffed wood flooring. My shoes stuck, making a squelching sound as I tried to walk.

I thought I was toast when a woman with blue black hair polishing the bar looked my way, but she tipped her head toward a hallway beside the stage with a knowing smile and went back to her work. Maybe I wasn’t the only after-hours visitor? I couldn’t think about that now. I couldn’t think about anything other than what I’d come here to do if I was going to have any hope of going through with it.

The hall was illuminated solely by the orange running lights lining the floorboards. Two doors were set in the grimy walls. One marked ‘restroom’, making my life infinitely easier.  Paper crumpled in my hand as I stood outside of the other.

I could do this. I
had
to do this. I owed it to myself and it was now or never. Before I could decide on the latter, I lifted my fist and knocked.

“One second.” His voice was muffled through the thick wood, but it still hit me like a kick to the gut.

If I thought that was bad, I was in no way prepared for what the sight of him would do to me when that door swung open. Same shorn hair, same magnetic eyes, but he must have made good use of the prison gym while he was there. His muscles looked like they’d grown muscles. And . . . Jesus Christ, did he have to be shirtless?

His gaze initially went over my head, but quickly dipped to my level and his jaw dropped. “Fi?”

I tried to answer, but my mouth had gone inexplicably dry.

“What . . .?” He blinked as though he could shake me off like some kind of bad dream. “What are you doing here?”

I swallowed hard and licked my lips.
Just do it
. “Delivering your mail. Apparently the postal service in prison sucks.”

The half dozen letters I’d written before finally giving up bounced off his bare chest and scattered across the floor.

“Ophelia . . .”

No. It was
my
turn to talk. He hadn’t wanted to hear what I had to say in those letters? He was sure as hell going to hear it now. “You sent them back.”

“Fi . . .”

“You didn’t even read them, Sawyer.”

He reached up to clasp the doorframe on either side of his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” The long dormant burning behind my eyes made an unexpected and unwelcome return. I thought I’d cried all the tears I had for him. Evidently, I was wrong. “What was so terrible about me that you couldn’t even read a few letters?”

His throat worked while his knuckles went from deeply tanned, to red, to white.

“I walked away. I let you go, knowing I’d never see you again. I
couldn’t
keep saying goodbye to you.” He eased his death grip on the groaning wood frame and his shoulders drooped on a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t do it.”

“I . . .” I was prepared for bullshit apologies, blatant lies, even cruelty. But his raw honesty left me speechless. “You said you wanted me.”

“Want you? Yes.
Deserve
you? Not even close, Sparrow.”

I was floored. “You were willing to sacrifice what you wanted? Just throw away any chance that it could work?”

“If it meant you’d be happy.” He gave a rough nod and took a deep breath through the nose.

“And what about what
I
want?”

His gaze scorched me, burning a fiery trail through my veins. “What
do
you want, Fi?”

Painful pressure built in the back of my throat. The past eight months had been a series of endless questions. From my parents, the police, reporters, head shrinks . . . but he was the
only
one to ask me that very important question. And it had a very simple answer. “You.”

Sawyer’s eyes slammed shut, freeing me from their hypnotic pull, allowing me to look elsewhere. The room behind him wasn’t what came to mind when you thought of a musician’s dressing room. There were no empty beer bottles or pizza boxes lying around. No groupies. Just a leather sofa with that same old guitar leaning against the arm, a glass of water, and a TV muted in the corner.

A shaky breath drew my attention back to the solid body in front of me. I was momentarily distracted by a set of eight-pack abs, but there were other, less obvious, differences. Deeper shadows under his eyes, a slight hollowing to his cheeks, a new scar on his chin.

His skin was warm and smooth beneath my fingers as I delicately traced the curves of his tattoo across his chest. Every loop and coil had been permanently ingrained in my memory. Except for one thing . . . “This is new.”

From a distance it looked like an ink blot, but upon closer inspection I saw a small bird perched on the wire directly above his heart.

His muscles quivered under my touch until he couldn’t take anymore. Covering my hand with his own, I felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm.

“It’s a sparrow.” His chest pressed against my hand on a deep breath. “Just because I couldn’t be with you didn’t mean I didn’t need you with me.”

Butterflies took flight in my belly and my lips parted. I tugged on my hand until he let me go, a wary look overtaking his face.

“I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t think you’d ever see—”

“It’s not that.” I yanked the sleeve of my sweater up to bare my wrist and flipped it over for him to see. The simple black design of a birdcage was inked into my skin. Open and empty. “You told me to free myself. To find my happiness.” Sawyer’s eyes brewed an emerald storm. “Looks like I found
you
.”

Sawyer cradled my hand in his. Eyes transfixed on the image, his thumb swiped over the tattoo before coming to rest on my pulse point. “Sparrow . . .”

“Sawyer, I—”

“No.” He straightened, but rather than let go of my hand his grip only tightened. “You can’t.”

“I can. Because I
do
.” I was done letting other people make my decisions for me. I was done being afraid. “I love you, Sawyer. And I don’t care how, or why, or who knows it. I don’t care what anyone thinks. If you don’t—”

A sudden tug on my arm sent me crashing into him. I looked up and before I could even reclaim my balance, his lips crashed down on mine. Then all of the balance in the world wouldn’t have done me any good. Hot and hungry, he tasted exactly like I remembered. Minty sweet. I couldn’t get enough.

I heard the door shut and somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that we’d moved inside his room. The cool feel of leather pressed against the backs of my legs and I went down with Sawyer right beside me.

Soft lips brushed over my eyelids and across my forehead. His nose swiped along the side of mine. Tongue and teeth played along the slope of my neck, eliciting a quiet moan. My body felt like it was in an oven. Sparks skated across my skin, following the path of his charmed mouth. Twisting in his lap, I grabbed his face and dragged his lips to mine.