Give Me a Reason (Redemption Hills 1)

Dropping his head, he ran a flustered, shaky hand through his hair.

How did I tell him I was working at Absolution?

The club wasn’t the real problem, though, was it? The real problem was the path it had taken me down. A dark, dark path with Trent Lawson waiting at the end.

I was flying in a dangerous direction, destined for a collision, and didn’t know how or if I even wanted to stop.

He’d get one look at the man and he’d wrap me up and hide me away.

Daddy raised his attention back to me. “There was three-thousand dollars made against the debt, Eden.”

“Dad—”

“Money you deposited.” The words were thick when he pushed them out, and he started shaking his head. “How? Did you…sell something? Sweetheart, you can’t go without for the sake of—”

“I picked up some shifts at a restaurant.” I cut him off before he started singing my praises the way he always did. Hell, he’d probably imagined I’d sold a kidney. “I’ve been working there for a while now.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Absolution did serve food.

Questions twisted his brow. “And made three-thousand dollars? It sounds like I’m in the wrong business.” It was almost a tease.

Affection pulsed through my being, my daddy always expecting the best of me. I clutched the arms of my chair, sincerity in my voice. “I don’t think it quite makes the same impact, Daddy. This…” I waved a hand in the air. “This place? It’s important. Really important. And I’m doing everything I can to make sure we don’t lose it.”

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. “I know you’re worried about me, Eden…and God…”

His voice hitched on the emotion.

“I appreciate it more than you can know. I am so thankful I have you. Your support, your belief.” His head shook almost as fiercely as his voice. “It means so much to me. Means so much to this school. But this isn’t a debt you owe.”

“It isn’t yours, either.” Anger and hurt came out with the defense.

“Eden,” he whispered.

“Harmony stole from you, Daddy. From us. From the children here. The families.”

Agony spun through my being.

We’d had dreams of going to New York together. Of getting accepted into some prestigious dance school where we’d join a famous ballet.

We’d live our lives dancing and touring the world together.

But then our momma died when she was sixteen and I was fourteen. In a way, I’d lost my mother and my sister the same day.

I’d watched her plummet into darkness. Lose herself. I’d tried…tried so hard to be strong enough for all of us.

To let my daddy have his grief without the worry of my sister, praying I would be enough to see her through.

I wasn’t.

She’d left at eighteen. Had gone to Las Vegas to dance. Left me behind.

We hadn’t seen her once in all that time. Nothing but a few sparse calls and letters over the years.

Not until she’d shown one day out of the blue three months ago, all smiles and false promises and telling us she was never going to leave again. She’d convinced us she’d made a mistake, casting us aside the way she had, and she was home for good.

We’d believed her. Welcomed her with open arms. The prodigal child who’d been so desperately missed.

My best friend.

My greatest confidant.

The one I’d looked up to my whole life.

A week later, she’d been gone, her things packed, along with every last cent in the school’s and my father’s bank accounts, not to mention our mama’s jewelry she’d heisted like a common, vicious thief.

My spirit shivered with the pain because I’d hoped so desperately that she’d changed.

That my sister was home for good.

My daddy had been devastated when she’d disappeared.

Destroyed.

Ruined on top of it because he’d refused to call the police and turn her in.

And God, I loved her, too, but I refused to stand by and let him lose everything because of her.

It hadn’t been the first time money had gone missing from the treasury, either. Maybe I’d lost faith, become cynical, because I’d always secretly believed Harmony had been responsible even when there’d been no proof.

I inched off the chair, never quite rising to standing as I moved around his desk and knelt in front of him. I gripped his hand. “Daddy, your pain is mine, too. Your hurt. Your worry. Your debt. It’s mine, too.”

He reached out and brushed his thumb across the tear I’d leaked. “That’s the whole problem, Eden…I don’t want you to hurt or worry. I want you to live the best life you can. Fully and without restraint.”

“I am living,” I promised, the words choppy. “Let me live a little for you.”

“I’m afraid that’s all you’ve been living for, Eden, all this time. For me. For this school.”

I wondered how transparent I really was. If he saw so clearly the way I ached. If he knew I tossed at night. Consumed by loneliness.