Don't Refuse Me, Daddy

Chapter 6 The Graves

Ever since that night when Abel drove me home, Tyrone's attitude had shifted a bit.

As we sat across from each other for breakfast, he casually spread jam on my toast.

His eyes stayed fixed on his plate as he spoke, but I knew his words were meant for me. "Don't let boys you don't know well drive you home," he muttered. "Who knows what their intentions might be."

There was an edge to his tone, a hint of displeasure.

Half-awake and still yawning, I looked at him, not quite following. "What intentions?"

"Just... bad ones," he replied, furrowing his brows as he searched for the right words. "For instance, those people from back then could still be after us. It's always possible..."

I fixed my gaze on him and asked, "What else?"

"What else?" He placed the toast on my plate, finally meeting my eyes. "Could there be anything worse than that? Don't forget why we moved here."

As if I could forget. Even if he didn't remind me, the memories haunted me in dreams that wouldn't let go. This conversation soured my mood, frustration bubbling up. Sure, nothing could be worse, but couldn't it also be... not bad? Why couldn't I catch a little bit of good luck for once? I bit into my toast with a hint of bitterness.

"Besides," I mumbled, "you bring women home all the time. Couldn't they also bring some kind of danger?"

"It's different. I do my research," he said.

"Then you should investigate Abel, too," I said dryly. "Sure, he was my age back then, but who's to say an eleven-year-old couldn't be mixed up in a m******e?"

Finishing my breakfast quickly, I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

"Of course," Tyrone called after me, his tone even, "I'll look into it."

School wasn't far from our house, only about a fifteen-minute bike ride. Even though I'd been riding for years and had the route memorized, Tyrone insisted I wear a helmet every day. I reluctantly grabbed my helmet, only to realize that my back tire was flat. Checking my watch, I decided that since I had a little extra time today, I'd just walk instead.

The morning's tension with Tyrone hung over me all day. By the time school ended, I was so distracted that I nearly forgot I hadn't ridden my bike. It wasn't until I reached my locker and noticed the missing helmet that I remembered.

As Evelyn and I walked out of school, she suddenly gasped, pulling me to a stop. Following her gaze, I saw Tyrone standing outside, leaning against his motorcycle, holding a bouquet of flowers. Even with his helmet on, his build was unmistakable. Evelyn, who'd met him a few times, recognized him instantly.

"Looks like someone came to pick you up," she teased, nudging me with her elbow.

"Guess I'll head home alone."

She waved goodbye, leaving me to walk over to Tyrone.

To my surprise, he didn't say anything as I approached; he just handed me a helmet and the flowers, then gestured for me to get on the back of the bike.

Dressed in a leather jacket, matching gloves, and boots, he looked every bit the part of a biker. I'd always thought this look suited him best; there was something about it that matched his quiet intensity.

Climbing onto the back, I could feel the curious stares from the other students. Gossip was inevitable, especially for teenagers with energy to spare and too much time on their hands. I took a deep breath, trying not to think about the rumors that would no doubt circulate tomorrow.

Among the crowd, I thought I saw Abel watching, and I had the distinct feeling Tyrone glanced in his direction, holding his gaze for a few seconds longer than necessary.

"Hold on tight," he said.

"Oh," I replied, reluctantly wrapping my arms around his waist and clutching the flowers he'd given me. "So why the special pickup?"

"It's been a while since we visited."

The flowers told me everything I needed to know; he didn't need to say the place aloud.

It was the gravesite where Tyrone had laid my family to rest. Hidden away in the local cemetery, the graves were unmarked, a measure of protection. I still didn't know how he'd managed it, but one day, he brought me there and told me my parents and Lily were buried in the three simple, nameless graves. Tyrone explained that the culprit had never been found, so this was all he could do. These nameless gravestones wouldn't give away my whereabouts.

When we arrived, I carefully divided the flowers into three small bouquets, laying one on each grave. There were no names, no photos—only memories that had started to blur over time. Their faces, once vivid, had faded in my mind, like the weathered stones before me, overgrown with weeds and softened by time. The past lingered here, shrouded in mist and shadow.

I often returned to that day in my dreams, desperately trying to save them, only to wake up in tears, helpless and full of regret. Sometimes, I'd even find myself blaming Tyrone, wondering that if he'd only arrived a little earlier, maybe things would have turned out differently.

But then again, how could I blame him? If it weren't for Tyrone, I wouldn't have survived. I looked at him and realized that he probably carried an even heavier burden. It was always the living who were punished by fate, forced to carry the weight of what they had lost.

"I'm sorry," Tyrone whispered. "If I'd only..."

"It's not your fault," I said, surprising him by wrapping my arms around him. "They wouldn't blame you, either. Don't trap yourself in the past, okay?"

"Okay." I heard him say. Then, he pulled me close, holding me tight as though the embrace could somehow mend everything.