I stand beside that vending machine for what feels like hours, listening carefully and nodding. The nurses know to call me with any medical updates, but with the late hour, they probably chose to wait. My sisters have them under strict orders to report any big changes to them, regardless of the time, since they can get there quickly.
To sum it up, he is dying. Swiftly now. Serena wants me to come home. Anya will burn the world down if I don’t. She says more than once that my dad wants me there. Again. He asked for me. Again.
I listen, calm her down, and ease her worries without ever saying I will come. She seems to relax. After thirty minutes of sisterhood through a speaker, hugging her and calming her with mere words, we hang up. I stare at the bland, empty hospital wall for minutes, listening to the buzz of the vending machine beside my head.
I’m going to break their hearts if I don’t go home.
I’m going to break my own if I do.
I don’t want to see him. I don’t forgive him. I love him, but only because he’s my father and it’s ingrained in me. I do not like him. The thought of sitting next to his bedside makes me want to throw something. It wasn’t just a petty fight. This isn’t a spoiled daughter being stubborn. He neglected me. He abused me. I know they’ve chosen to make peace with that, but I haven’t, and I’m the only one who has the right to accept what that man didto me.
I cover my face with my hands, a sob exploding through my body. It’s deep and guttural, and again, I call out to my mom.
Be with them, Mom. I can’t be.
When Whitney finds me in that same spot half an hour later, she thinks it's about Carter. When she realizes it’s not, when I explain the real reason that I’m slowly losing my mind, her face goes white. She and Autumn are then urgently making plans and making sure our department knows that we’re going to be short for a few hours. My bag is being pushed into my hands and they’re asking if I can drive.
I can.
I’m fine.
I’m just worried about my sisters. That’s all.
I wave them off when they offer to drive me for the fourth time, plaster on a pained smile, and walk out into the coldDecember air with tears biting my cheeks. I suck in a breath, but it stings. Breathing hurts. Walking hurts. Thinking hurts.
I glance up, recognizing the police cruiser parked next to the curb.
Noah steps out, shutting his door. In full uniform, he raises his hand to wave. He’s the last person I want to see right now, but he’s the first person in my path. He smiles at me, a genuine and big smile—like he’s happy to see me, like I’m not sucking the soul out ofeveryonein my life.
I reach him just as the burning in my eyes becomes unbearable.
His face falls, eyes filling with concern. “Dolly?”
I shake my head, my bottom lip wobbling.
“Hey,” he says quietly, reaching forward to place his hands on my shoulders. “Are you alright?”
I shake my head again, reaching up to bury my face in my hands. I’m engulfed in warm arms within a second, pressed against a hard vest, inhaling his cologne, but it’s not a smell I like and his arms aren’t a weight that is comfortable. These aren’t hands that I want to cry in.
I was already on the brink of losing it and he was in the way. He got to me first.
“What’s going on, Dolly?” he grumbles. “Is it that hockey player?”
I tense up. Yes and no.That hockey playeris a liar, but I’m sick of this narrative. Sick of people presuming that they know what’s best for me. Sick of people judging me for not being the perfect daughter or the most sensitive sister. Sick of people judging Carter for being a brute, careless man, when he’s gentle when it matters, and cares more than anyone I’ve ever met.
He’s a liar.
I pull away, furiously wiping my face. Noah is staring down at me with worry dancing in his eyes, his hand still on my back, his fingers brushing against my coat.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble. “Bad day.”
“With Forkerro?”
“No,” I snap, tear-filled eyes jumping to his. I hope he sees the warning in my stare, because it’s a threat. I have no doubt he has seen the video. He’s here for a reason. “He’s the only good part aboutanyday. I should get going.”
“Woah, woah,” he says, capturing my elbow when I move to walk away. I jerk myself out of his grip, already hyper-sensitive and not wanting to be touched, but he moves his hand back just as quickly and pulls me toward him. “I can’t in good conscience let you drive when you’re this upset, Dolly. I have some paperwork to fill out in there, but when I’m done, you can tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing is going on.” I sniffle, and I’m ashamed to admit that I wipe my nose with my sleeve like a child. “I need to go.”
