WILLOW
“I’m going out.” That’s the first thing I say the second I step into my dad’s study.
He’s busy riffling through files on his table. There’s a glass of whiskey on the desk. Reading glasses rest on his nose.
The glasses soften his edges, makes him look less dangerous than he really is.
“What?” He acts like he didn’t hear me but I know he’d heard. He looks behind me, to where Vincent is crowding the doorway. “What is this about sweetheart?”
“I’m sorry dad. I know I should be in here, locked up. Recovering. But I can’t. I’ve got something I need to take care of.”
“And what would that be? What’s so important that it can’t wait another week?” He takes off his glasses. He’s trying to keep a calm face; trying not to argue with me. “You heard the doctors Willow. You can’t go anywher
