“I love you,” I whisper, my voice choked. “Even when you make mistakes. Everyone does. PopPop was wise—and you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“We’ll see.” He pats my back awkwardly, unsure what to do with a daughter who hugs him and means it.
Things have been so tense between us for so long. At some point, I forgot how it felt to love without any baggage.
I lean back, wiping my eyes.
Dad does the same and glances over my shoulder.
Holden stands by the table now, pretending not to listen in, even though he must be glued to every word.
“Take good care of my daughter,” Dad warns as he sits up again. “After all this ugly business, I’m not about to let anyone hurt her or fuck with her artistic dreams ever again.”
I bury my head in my hands.
“Dad, calm down. It isn’t like that…”
But Holden just moves to sit by my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“I’ll guard her with my life, Gordon,” he rumbles in his stormcloud voice. I’m so shocked that we’re even going public in front of myfatherthat I don’t react. “Whatever happens, she can count on me.”
“Can we find you a doctor?” I whisper, worn and worried. “You shouldn’t travel like this, Dad. Please get yourself checked out.”
I think he’s about to walk out like usual, stubborn to the end.
But for once, he just hangs his head. “Yeah, girl, we’ll see.”
We’ll see.
Two hopeful words that remind me life can change for the better.
Two words that say this bright, beautiful road ahead with Holden might just be the beginning.
28
WRITTEN IN GOLD (HOLDEN)
Four Months Later
Irun a hand down my suit, flattening every edge for what feels like the millionth time.
The backstage of the art museum feels cluttered. Not because it’s a smaller museum in Portland, but because it’stonight.
I check my reflection in a large, gilded mirror on the walls.
It probably used to belong to the pope or something. I’m just glad it’s here so I can make sure my bow tie isn’t crooked.
Kit perches on a wooden crate, polishing her glasses on her skirt.
“You look fine, Dad. Stop stressing.” I don’t blame her for sounding weary. It’s only the sixth time she’s told me.
The precious cargo is still in my breast pocket.
No one’s gotten violently ill.
All is right with the world.
I drop my hand and turn to face her. “One more check. Do I look okay?”
