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Zellman was hiding a grin.
Jordan’s head inclined. “Are you kidding me?”
Zellman shrugged.
I added, “It’s my nurse from yesterday.”
“What?”
Zellman laughed under his breath. “She slipped me her number, asked to give it to you. I used it instead. She didn’t seem to mind last night.”
And now I knew how that happened.
“Jesus.”
I was snickering, too.
“Enough!” That came from Cross, and hearing his irritation, the rest of us snapped back to attention.
I sighed.
Yes, I had a concussion, but I’d been the one to call my dad to town. Cross was right. Enough was enough. I started to move down the stairs, but Zellman caught the back of my shirt. He raised his eyebrows. “You can hide today, you know. You’ve earned that. We can handle this.”
That was tempting, but I shook my head. “Concussion or not, I need to deal with my dad and let Chan know that he doesn’t need to literally sleep on my couch to take care of me.”
“You sure, Bren?” Jordan dropped his voice low.
I could hear my brother talking in a muffled voice downstairs. The old memories were starting to swim to the surface. I couldn’t deal with that. They’d be fighting in two seconds, Cross was in the mix.
Yes. I was sure.
Cross was standing in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest as I came down the stairs.
My dad was standing just inside the door, to the right. He was throwing a look my brother’s way, while alternating with a different one toward Cross. His eyebrows were furrowed, and the sides of his mouth were turned down.
I’d been more shocked at seeing him the last time, seeing him out of prison, so I hadn’t really taken him in. This time I did. No one looked up at me. I was still barefoot, so I was silent, and I paused, taking a moment, taking a breath, and really looked at my dad.
He’d always been trim, almost lean, but there was slightly more bulk to his frame now. I was guessing from lifting weights in prison. His hair was kept the same, trimmed, but it always pushed the line between being trimmed down and starting to get a little curl to it. He had it almost military shaved this time. No beard. No mustache that he used to keep. He was tan, but he’d always been tanned. And he liked to wear frayed, yet baggy, jeans along with a white shirt and a jean jacket over it. The shirt was usually stained. The jacket was always tossed on to cover the stain, so the jacket ended up frayed to match the jeans. It’d been his go-to attire, and that was the biggest difference now.
He was still wearing jeans with rider boots, but his jeans were new. They were almost trendy jeans.
I felt a little kick to my sternum because I didn’t know how I felt about that.
New jeans. A belt, for the first time I ever saw one on him, and a buttoned-up shirt. Dark blue to match his jeans. It almost looked denim, but it wasn’t. But that wasn’t it. He had a tie, too. A dark gray tie.
I reached out without thinking, grasping the handrail, and I squeezed.
I didn’t know why I was squeezing.
He looked like someone who was coming from church, and that gave me pause.
I must’ve made a noise.
All three looked up, but those eyes—they were mine.
I sucked in a breath at that.
I knew. I always knew, but in the past few years, I had started to dream that I had Mom’s eyes. I didn’t. Channing did. Me. I had our dad’s eyes. And his hair because I was remembering that he spent so much time outside that his hair had gotten sun streaks from it. Not now. It was dark like mine, though mine was still darkened black from this summer.
I wanted new hair for a new chapter in my life.
Having him here, he was bringing an old chapter back, a lot of old chapters back, actually.
My heart started pounding. My vision started to swim.
I didn’t know how I was feeling about any of this.
“Hey.”
There. I drew in another harsh breath, because that was Cross. Low, gravelly, and smooth at the same time. He was my anchor. That voice, I clung to it, and let it pull me back in. I felt it readying my world again, making everything go back to equilibrium.
I turned my head, finding Cross and only Cross.
His eyes were narrowed slightly, concerned, but also patient. I saw it all, and I felt it all.
He’d let me lead.
I gave him a slight nod, and he returned the motion, moving back a little as I descended the rest of the stairs.
Channing was standing in the small clearing that led past the stairs and in front where the television was. It was the way to the kitchen.
