Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

28. IVY

28

IVY

Had I killed my father?

The guilt gnawed at me, a vicious monster that tore at my soul. I knew he was down, but at times, I even wondered if it wasn’t actually depression, if it was something else…something I couldn’t put my finger on.

Either way, he’d been suffering with something, so how could I have said something so heartless to him when I saw the pain in his eyes?

If I caused my dad’s suicide, I wouldn’t deserve happiness. I couldn’t look Grams in the eye, knowing I took her son from her. I’d have to wander like a shell of a person until my aching heart ended my suffering.

With shaky hands, I turned to the final entry in my father’s journal, dated the day he died. The words on the page were few, but their power was immeasurable.

It’s only a matter of time before all of this comes crashing down. The truth is a dangerous thing. I’m getting everything in order and pray that I have the time to finish it, before it’s too late.

I stared at the lines, my heart racing as I tried to decipher their cryptic meaning. What was coming crashing down? If that were the only line in the journal, I could convince myself the passage hinted at a profound sadness, a desperation that could have driven him to take his own life. Yet there was something more—a sense of urgency, a looming threat that seemed to overshadow his final moments.

… pray that I have the time to finish it, before it’s too late.

Those words echoed in my mind, twisting through my stomach. If my father planned to end his life, why would he be worried about time running out? It was as if he was racing against an unseen force, desperately trying to accomplish something before it was too late.

I flipped through the journal, searching for any other clues that might shed light on his mysterious words or motive. But there was nothing—no hidden messages, no further explanations.

Closing the book, I began to pace, my heart pounding in my chest. Could my father have been involved in something dangerous? Something that led to his death? The thought was almost too much to bear.

But how could he, of all people, have gotten involved in anything nefarious? He was the most predictable, routine-oriented person I knew. The idea of him being caught up in some kind of trouble seemed impossible.

Maybe I should take this journal to the police, to get their perspective on it. Because maybe, just maybe, there was something they had missed.

Or was I reading too much into that line because my heart needed to believe there was something more to his death? I had spent the last year searching for answers, agonizing over what might have driven him to suicide. This journal was my final shot at an explanation, and now, it was gone. Police didn’t have the answer, our family didn’t have it, and even my dad hadn’t provided it. Was I reading this line, looking for a mystery that wasn’t there?

As I’d admitted to Grayson, so long as I was obsessed over why my dad died, I wasn’t fully accepting that he was gone. And I wasn’t moving on with my life.

Was that what this was? Denial? That’s what everyone had been telling me for a year.

Or was there something more? Something I should dive into?

I sank down onto the edge of my couch, feeling the weight of my grief and the weight of the choice pressing down on me. Should I keep going and dig into this more? Or was it time to stop searching for answers and find a way to move forward without him?