Matter of Truth, A by Heather Lyons Read Free Book Online Page B

this to you?”
    Yep. Vomit. So gross, it’s all over my legs. Worse yet, it’s
warm and smells bad.
    I close my eyes and let my head sink back against that
thingy at the top of car seats. I swear I’m floating. Floating is so much
better than sinking.
    “Zoe White, you keep your goddamn eyes open right now! You
will not pass out on me in this car, do you hear me?”
    I let myself float away.

 

     
    Will is pissed off. That much is certain, as evidenced by
the door slamming behind us, not to mention the string of curses in addition to
the biting lecture he’d unleashed on me on the way home from the hospital.
Plus, there was the blistering lecture I received from an increasingly
difficult to understand Cameron Dane in the early hours of the morning. I guess
it’s a thing for both him and Will. The more upset they are, the harder they
are to understand with their Glaswegian accents. But, the point is, if I’d ever
doubted Cameron’s fatherly inclinations toward me, they were illuminated in stark
detail this morning. I’d scared him. Hurt myself. Hurt him. Hurt Will. Hadn’t
thought of others. What if something had happened? Most importantly, I wasn’t
allowed to do it again.
    I’ve got to say, disappointing a caring parent is brutal on
the heart. I actually broke down and sobbed for the first time in nearly six
months after he strode out of my little curtained cubby of a room, certain I’d
failed him in every way. And then I had to listen to him yell at Will in the
hallway, and Will yell back, and it amazed me to realize that they weren’t
shouting because they blamed or were mad at one another or were mad, but
because they were worried. And upset. And it was because of me.
    Which made me sob all the more. They care about me.
    Would my parents have done the same? No—my parents didn’t
even come to see me in the hospital after I’d nearly died after an Elders’
attack. They’d been too busy with their careers. If they knew I’d had alcohol
poisoning, and of course were still speaking to me, there’s no doubt I would’ve
only received a lecture via phone. Except, instead of the one in which Cameron
practically grounded me (an adult) until I’m thirty, I would’ve heard something
along the lines of, “Stop embarrassing us.”
    Cameron and Will, though—they’d stayed with me all night.
When the nurses tried to kick them out, Cameron told them I was his daughter
and he had every right to be with me if I wanted him there. He immediately
demanded that a friend of his who worked in the hospital come see me
personally. In my weakened, vomit-y state, I could swear the dude was part-Elf,
but I figured I was just imagining things. Will filled out my admission
paperwork. They took turns holding back my hair as I threw up everything in my
stomach, and then some. Cameron listened to his friend’s diagnosis and
after-care like my very life depended on it, and, shaking with rage and worry,
vowed I would follow each instruction to the letter.
    He’s at work right now. He didn’t want to go, but Will
eventually convinced him to go, insisting my butt wouldn’t leave the couch
longer than to go the bathroom the entire day.
    The moment we’re through the door, Will barks, “Alcohol
poisoning is not funny!”
    I’m not laughing, but as he’s on edge, I decide to wade
carefully into this mess of my own making. “I know, Will.” My smile is weak.
“At least they didn’t have to pump my stomach. Thank goodness for small favors,
right?”
    This was the wrong thing to say, because his eyes go so wide
I fear they’ll pop right out. “Oh yes. Thank goodness! You only had to spend
the night hooked up to IVs whilst vomiting up the contents of your stomach. How
lucky you were.”
    I bite my lip, unsure as what to say. But I do know this: he
deserves an explanation. “Can we sit down?”
    He nods and stalks over to the couch; I perch on the coffee
table so we face one another. “First off, thank you for what you