He stands up. His presence feels imposing, intimidating. I take another step back as he starts toward me.
"It wasn't me that had her running."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy," I say. "You weren't there. You didn't see it. You didn't live it. I don't care what bullshit excuse you make up… running out on us is unforgivable, and if she thought you explaining it to me would make it any better, she's sorely mistaken."
"Don't act that way," he says. "I deserve to be heard out. I'm your father."
"You're nothing," I say. "John Reed is nobody to me."
I spit the words with as much hostility as I can conjure up, meaning them with everything in me, but instead of flinching, instead of being hurt, he laughs. His laughter is loud and amused, striking me harder than fists.
"John Reed," he says, shaking his head. "You're right—he is nobody. He's nothing. He doesn't even exist. But I'm your father, Johnny Rita, and you're my daughter, and your mother… your mother's my wife. Carmela Rita."
"Her name is Carrie Reed."
He shakes his head, his tone mocking as he says, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, girl."
"I'm not a girl—I'm a woman. And I don't care what you have to say. I'm done talking to you."
I storm outside, slamming the door behind me. I half-expect him to come after me, but he doesn't. Of course. My eyes sting as I walk away from the rundown house, trying to put space between that man and me.
It isn't until I'm a few blocks away with tears streaking my cheeks that I realize the predicament I'm in. Frustrated, exhausted, I sit down on the curb by the street sign on a corner and pull out my phone to call a cab.
It takes them twenty insufferable minutes to get to me. It drops me off at the train station in Newark, and I buy a ticket back home.
It's nearing dark when I make it back to the house in Brooklyn. The sun is setting, everything looking as I left it, the driveway vacant of Naz's car. I'm in a daze, my stomach in knots. I feel like I've been drained, and I'm not sure which way is up.
John Reed. Johnny Rita.
Carrie Reed. Carmela Rita.
Who are they?
Who am I?
I thought I knew, but now I'm not sure. I'm drowning in a river of secrets, living in a world built upon lies. Does Karissa Reed even exist? Or am I Karissa Rita?
Who the fuck is that?
Tears swim in my eyes again as I unlock the door and step inside the dark house. Things make even less sense now. What was real? What was a lie? I shut the door and lock it again, turning to head straight for the stairs, when a sharp voice in the darkness stops me dead in my tracks.
"Where'd you go?"
Jumping, I turn around and come face-to-face with Naz in the living room. I grab my chest, startled. "You scared me. I didn't realize you were home. Your car isn't in the driveway."
"It's in the garage," he says, stepping toward me, his hands in his pockets. "Where'd you go?"
"I, uh... I went to see my mother."
"You found her?"
"More like she found me," I mumble, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the crinkled note. "Melody gave me this yesterday… I called the number, and my mom gave me an address, told me to come see her."
He steps closer, reaching his hand out, silently asking to see the note. I hand it over to him and he reads it, cringing. "You went to this place alone?"
"She told me to. Said it was important."
He folds up the note and hands it back to me as he meets my eyes. He stares hard as he reaches over and cups my cheek. "You've been crying."
"It's been a long day."
"Did you see her?" he asks. "Did you talk to her?"
"No, she wasn't there."
His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Was somebody else?"
I nod. "My father, if you can believe it."
I can hardly believe it myself.
Naz's expression hardens. He's so still I'm not sure he's breathing. "What did he say to you?"
"A lot," I mutter. "But nothing really. All lies, or maybe it's all the truth. I don't know. I figured out who he was and left."
"What did he want?"
"To explain why he left."
"And did he?"
"No, I didn't give him the chance."
Naz's thumb strokes my cheek as he lets out a deep sigh. "Maybe you should."
My brow furrows. "You think so?"
"Yeah," he says. "I'm interested to hear what he has to say."
The trip to Jersey is quicker with Naz driving. I feel better now having him with me, like instead of being on defense maybe I'm on the offense this time. He holds my hand on the center console, his thumb soothingly stroking my skin.
He has no issue finding the house, navigating the streets of Newark like he's well versed on the dilapidated neighborhood. My mother's car is there now, parked out front. Naz pulls the Mercedes to a stop behind it, cutting the engine and getting out without a word.
He opens my door for me and I get out, taking a few steps toward the house when Naz grabs my wrist, pulling me to a stop. I look at him peculiarly, and he shakes his head. "Wait here."
My brow furrows. "Why?"
"Just trust me."
I shrug it off, walking back toward Naz and pausing right in front of him, my eyes on the house. It's completely dark, illuminated only by the streetlight out front. It's nine at night, maybe a little later. "Maybe they're asleep."
"They don't sleep here."
My brow furrows. "How do you know?"
"I just know," he says. "I can tell by looking at it."
Before I can ask him any more, the curtain in the living room moves. The door yanks open, my mother appearing, eyes wide.
She looks frantic.
"Karissa," she shouts, her voice high-pitched, full of panic. "Oh God. Get away from him, sweetie."
I blink a few times, caught off guard, as Naz slips his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. One arm encircles my waist as his other settles along my chest, his hand drifting up, resting at the base of my throat. He's holding me protectively, my armor against the brutal outside world, but my mother sees it differently.
She lets out a panicked noise as she rushes forward, descending the small porch steps and wavering in the yard.
"It's okay," I say. "It's fine, Mom."
"Please let her go," she pleads, ignoring me, her focus on Naz. "I'm begging you. Let her go, Vitale."
My blood runs cold when she says his name... his last name... the name those people use for him. This isn't right. She doesn't know him. They don't know each other. They can't.