Beautifully Destroyed (Beautifully Broken)

At least, that’s how I feel about everything that’s happened. The town will take Chelsea’s side.

“What’s your problem?” Dad asks her.

Chelsea’s eyes fly from Dad to me, to Barb, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I-I want a new trainer.”

“I offered Sydney’s services,” Barb jumps in. “But Mrs. Chapel wants a male trainer, and we have no one available.”

Dad shakes his head. “So, what’s the problem?”

“Ah… nothing… I’ll take Sydney,” Chelsea stammers, looking as awkward as a sinner in church.

Dad locks eyes with her, and it makes Chelsea squirm.

“While we’re talking,” Dad starts, a look of warning directed at Chelsea. “You’re aware there are cameras up for the members' protection?”

Chelsea nods, looking like she swallowed her tongue.

“Keep your hands off my son.”

She nods again.

Dad gestures at Barb. “B will schedule a training session with Sydney for you.”

Chelsea’s eyes stay glued to Dad while he turns his attention to me. “Don’t forget Sunday.”

I almost roll my eyes because how can I forget Christmas. “I won’t.”

With a nod at the women, he turns and leaves the gym. I dart up and head to my office while leaving Barb to deal with Chelsea.

Hopefully, that will put Chelsea in her place.

Damn, can this day get any better?

Chapter 12

FINLAY

Curled up on a deck chair and baking in the sun with a stomach full of pizza, I start to doze off.

Dad finished the John Grisham book and started a Lee Child novel. For a blessed moment, everything feels perfect.

The sound of footsteps has me peeling my heavy lids open, and seeing Uncle Josh, I grin lazily.

“How about a beer?” he says to Dad.

“You know where the fridge is,” Dad mumbles, his eyes flying over the sentences. “Bring me one as well.”

Uncle Josh lets out a chuckle as he heads into the house. When he comes out with two bud lights, he asks, “Good book?”

“Hmm.” Dad blindly takes the beer. “Just finished The Judges List. It’s on the coffee table if you want to read it.”

“Can’t. I’m heading out on Monday,” Uncle Josh says while he takes a seat.

Dad finally lifts his eyes from the novel. “So soon? Didn’t you just get back?”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“Oh… right.”

Dad’s not the only one who’s lost track of time.

“When are you flying out?” Uncle Josh asks.

The question makes my stomach tighten, and my eyes snap to Dad.

“I have another two weeks. God only knows what the new guy’s doing to the rig. There wasn’t any time to train him.”

Two weeks.

I only have two weeks, then I’ll be alone.

A tight first grips my heart. “How long will you be gone for?” I ask, even though I know it’s always six weeks or longer.

“Should be the normal six weeks,” Dad confirms. He glances at Uncle Josh. “How long will you be on the road?”

Uncle Josh shrugs. “Depending on the weather and road conditions, probably three weeks.”

Worry starts to tighten the lines around Dad’s eyes. “You’ll check in on Finlay for me?”

“Of course.” Uncle Josh gestures at nothing specific. “Ethan’s just up the beach, and Quinn will also be around.”

With all the training sessions, I’ve grown comfortable with Ethan, but he doesn’t make me feel nearly as safe as Dad does.

Dad’s my safe haven, the one person who can keep the demons at bay.

The words are on the tip of my tongue to beg him to stay, but I know I can’t do that. He’s responsible for our income until I manage to figure out a way of making my own money.

Dad’s eyes lock on me. “Will you be okay?”

No. Not at all.

Don’t go.

Slowly, I nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

The reminder of Dad having to return to work makes me feel uneasy. Getting up, I head inside the house, and grabbing my guitar from my room, I walk back out.

“Where are you going?” Dad asks.

I point to the pier.

When Dad nods, I swing the guitar’s strap over my right shoulder and take the stairs down to the beach. There’s a chilly breeze in the air, and it has me flipping the hoodie of my sweater over my head.

With it being a quiet Saturday afternoon and everyone getting ready for Christmas day tomorrow, there aren’t many people on the beach. Stepping onto the pier, I walk to the edge, and sitting down, with my legs hanging over the side, I bring my guitar to my front. My torso curls around the instrument, and I lightly strum the strings.

Staring down at the water lapping at the pillars of the pier, a heavy weight rests on my shoulders.

I’m scared when Dad leaves my safety bubble will pop, and the nightmare will return full force.

I’ve been able to live in denial, mostly pretending the attack never happened. I didn’t even want to know what progress was being made with the case. Dad’s been dealing with it.