Tara Westover Father Burns Novels & Stories

I was taken aback and couldn’t help but notice how aloof she was compared to my own mother who had always been so warm and inviting, even while she suffered depression throughout her life. Once we were in the privacy of Hugo’s bedroom, he said, “I have to apologize about my mom. She may come off as rude but don’t take it personally.” He slumped his shoulders, his whole face downcast. “I never told you this, but a few years back, my dad was a firefighter in Greater Madawaska. A house in town caught fire, and a child was caught inside. They’d pulled the mother out, but she was hysterical, screaming for her son. My father ran in trying to save him, but he never made it out. They say he exhauste

“My father stepped in next. He thought he could stop me. But I was gone—I saw him as just another threat. I put him down too.” The firelight blurred. I could still see it—Tarek bleeding out, my father’s body on the floor. “When the haze broke, they were both lying there. Tarek was rushed to the healers, but he died before they could stop the bleeding. My father lived long enough to smile at me.” My voice cracked. “He said I was finally a worthy Alpha. Then he dragged himself out to the border fight. And he never came back.”

Beneath it, my father was pinned, his face twisted in agony, clutching the family religious text—our pack’s records, our history—to his heaving chest, desperate to save legacy while the flames threatened to consume him. And Tala… Hell, Tala. She was crouched beside him, her skirts charred, her hands raw from trying to lift the beam. The decorative frame was crushing her back as she shielded Grayson with her own body, as the fire grew hotter and higher. My father, crushed under the weight of legacy. Tala, sacrificing herself to save him. Both of them caught in the wreckage of a bed that had once symbolized authority. For a heartbeat, I just stood there, staring at the living nightmare—at ever

“Don Romero's men were never supposed to know that we were home, they were supposed to leave, but when I heard gunshots, I got scared and thought that they had gotten to my father. I ran out of my hiding spot in search of him, I wanted to save him, but I ended up running into the hands of those wicked men. Because of me, they knew that dad was home, so they raided the place, burning everything while holding me captive. I watched our house burn, and I watched my father get dragged out of the house with burns on his body. They shot him right there in front of me.” Another tear slid down Noah's face as the sound of the gun that killed his father echoed in his head once again, making him shudder

“I don’t understand how I went from scum of the earth to whatever this is. Whatever this is, is a mystery to me. There’s no way we could be mates. I don’t know you and I’m sure you don’t know me.” “You really don’t know how mates and mating work, do you? Didn’t your mother explain it to you?” “Kind of hard to explain anything to your pups when you’re missing.” “What about your father?” “Even harder when you’re missing half of your skull. They found him murdered before my mother left.” Cal watched her face. How she thought she could gamble was crazy. Tara’s face showed every emotion she experienced. It seemed rather convenient that both her parents were long gone. He’d have to add that to Jax

“She had her life ripped away while very little changed in his. When a suspicious topic comes up, you bet your ass I’m going to find out why. I’ll do what I can to protect her, however I can.” I smiled across to my father before standing and walking over to him. “Thank you, Daddy,” I said as I kissed his forehead before going to search for Weston. He hadn’t been the same since the conversation about his parents. I found him outside by the pool, a beer in his hand as he gazed out at the city. “Weston?” I called to him, placing my hand on his arm. He turned to me with a pained expression. “Did you ever read the tabloids about starlings having meltdowns and drug problems and how their parents d

Her father lay on the floor bleeding profusely and coughing up blood as he is gasping for air. “Gavin, bring him back to the castle. He will be burned alive.” “Yes, Jefa.” “NO.” “And gag his dumbass I don’t want to hear anymore from him.” “Yes, Jefa.” Hector says. They take her father out for the building. Cleaners come into clean up the blood like nothing happened. Once they are back at the castle, the guards set up a burn site for the barrel in a clearing. “You will no longer hold anything over me. You do not own me. You took my innocence and my son from me. Thankfully for me and him I have found him again no thanks to you.”

Only then did Damon remember that I had called him ninety-nine times on the night North Harbor exploded. That evening, someone set fire to the warehouse at the old Westmore pier. My father, Arthur Westmore, was the last one out. He had gone back for the family bookkeeper and two children trapped inside, and the collapsing steel beam caught him across the chest. Shrapnel tore through him before anyone could pull him free. By the time they carried him into St. Ambrose, his breathing was already thin.

She never expected the fire to get out of control, let alone that she herself would be affected. When the surveillance video was placed in front of my father and brothers, the study fell eerily silent. Then, my father slammed his fist onto the expensive redwood desk with a thud. The back of his hand quickly reddened and swelled. "Impressive! Cynthia truly is impressive! A 'pitiful' child left by her mother on her deathbed!" My father's voice trembled with extreme anger, his eyes bloodshot. The truth about Cynthia's arson was like the final straw that crushed the last shred of compassion and guilt that my father and brothers had for Cynthia and her mother.

“You thought he would take care of me? Is that what you call it? Leaving me with a man who treated me like I was nothing? Who destroyed me bit by bit? That’s what you thought was best for me?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I watched as he struggled, his hands gripping his knees as though he were bracing himself. “I heard… I heard you were in that fire. That you… you were gone. Eva, I...” His voice cracked, and for a brief moment, I saw the pain in his eyes, the agony of a father who had believed he’d lost his daughter. But it wasn’t enough. Not after all the years of suffering. Not after the betrayal.