It's the only word I speak, but as I do, memories rush back, hard and horrible. Oh, god. Oh, god. I remember now--I remember it all--and I look at Dallas, sure my eyes are full of harsh accusations.
He shakes his head, his face turning gray. "Jane--"
"He's trying, baby," my mother says, and we both turn to stare at her. "Your brother's been trying to get in touch with Colin to let him know what happened and that you're here. That you're okay."
"Has he?" I ask, shifting to look at Dallas again. I hear the edge in my voice. The bitter sarcasm. "I wonder why you haven't been able to find him."
I want to scream and rage and rant, and I know that Dallas can see that on my face.
"He must be traveling," my mother says, unaware of the silent recriminations passing from me to Dallas. "Jane, sweetie, lie back. I don't like your color. We need to get the nurse in to--"
"No." I force myself back against the pillow as my father steps into the room. "No, I'm feeling better. I'm just--I'm just so tired." I don't look at Dallas, but I know he understands me. I'm physically exhausted, yes. But that's not what I mean. I'm tired of the lies. Of the secrets.
I remember all the times I'd justified his secrets to myself because I knew he had stuff to deal with. All the times I'd asked him if he'd learned anything about our kidnapping. But never once had I suspected that he was keeping such a massive secret from me. That he would withhold his suspicion that Colin had been the Jailer. That Dallas would have the sheer audacity to suspect, capture, and incarcerate the man who started out as my birth father but became my friend.
I don't want to even think about the possib
ility that such a horrible thing is true, but Dallas should have told me. After all his promises, all his assurances that there would be no more secrets between us, he held back the one secret that ripped me to shreds and sent me running blindly from him, unable to process the depth of his deception. Unable to bear the weight of his lies.
And though I'd wanted him beside me just moments ago, now I want him to leave. Except I don't, because I want him to hold me. I want to go back in time. I want him to have never lied to me.
I want him.
I want us.
And I'm terrified that we've lost everything that we've built. That we've lost each other.
I draw a breath, then meet his eyes. "Go," I say. "Just, please, go."
Shadows haunt his eyes as he shakes his head. "Jane, no."
I turn to my mother, as if this is a simple argument between siblings and she needs to step in and play arbiter the way she did when we were kids.
But it's not my mother who answers, it's my dad, and I realize that I'd been so lost in the sight of Dallas that I hadn't noticed my dad's entrance. "She wants you to go," he says to Dallas. "Do your sister the courtesy of listening to her." The extra emphasis on the word "sister" makes us both cringe.
"Dad--" Dallas begins.
"This is your fault," my father snaps, his gravelly accusation directed solely at Dallas. "I hope you realize this is all on you. If you hadn't--back then, if you two hadn't--" He broke off, his voice raw, uneven. "If you'd only--"
"Eli." My mother's voice is unusually harsh, and I watch as my father gathers himself, then looks at Dallas again, his expression blank.
"As I said, boy. She wants you to go."
"You, too, Daddy." My words are soft, but firm, because it is not only Dallas who has hurt and disappointed me, who has left the fabric of my world in tatters. "I need you to go, too."
For a moment, my father looks taken aback. Then he stands straighter. "Don't be ridiculous. You're upset and scared. But we need to know what you remember. Whoever did this to you--we have to find them."
Warm tears spill down my face. "I know. But not now. I didn't see anything, anyway. I just--I just want Mom." A hard sob sticks in my throat. "I can't handle anything else right now."
My father looks at me, this man who has been a powerhouse my entire life. He seems smaller now and a little lost. "Jane--baby girl--I love you."
"I believe you. I do. And if it's true, then I need you to do what I say I need, not what you want me to need. Both of you," I add with a glance toward Dallas.
For the first time in my memory, my father seems unsure of his course. Then my mother whispers, "Please, Eli, just for now."
Slowly, he nods. He takes a single step toward me, and I actually flinch. He freezes, his body tightening as if I'd reached out and slapped him. "I'm just--I'm just so damn glad you're okay."
Okay? I think. Is that what I am? Okay?