The March air hits me like a wall when I step outside. I sit on the bench with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, and I let it come.
It's the adrenaline, that's all. The headache that's been building since Poppy's call, now crashing out in waves. Perfectly normal. Perfectly explainable.
My hands tremble against my temples, and my breath comes short and uneven.
Underneath it all, the thing I never say out loud. The fear that's lived in me since I was eighteen. The terror of leaving my father and not finding him alive. Of losing him too. It sits so close to the surface that a broken leg is enough to crack me wide open.
I'm a man pushing thirty, a firefighter, supposed to be built for emergencies, and I'm not handling a broken leg very well.
And then there's her. What the fuck is going on with me? I don't do this. I don't think like this. This is what Ramsey does. Pining and overthinking and overfeeling. That's his territory, not mine.
I've avoided her for weeks. Done a good job of it, too. And yet one meeting, one moment of being that close to her, and I crumble.
Maybe I should get out of town for a few days, visit my aunt a couple towns over. Find someone else to fuck. Maybe that's the problem, that it's been too long.
Except I can't even remember the last time I was with someone. I only know it was before I met her, which is another level of pathetic.
I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. Dad is okay. Dad is okay. I focus on that, focus on what matters.
I buy two water bottles from the vending machine and walk back down the hallway. When I walk back in, Dad is propped higher against the pillows, color back in his cheeks, telling Lily about the time he tried to build a canoe that sank in the harbor within forty-five seconds.
She's still in the chair, but her shoulders have dropped from near her ears. The tears have slowed.
"Forty-five seconds," Dad says, laughing to himself. "I timed it. Anna stood on the dock with her arms crossed and said, 'Will, I told you to double the sealant,' and I said, 'Anna, the sealant was fine,' and she said, 'The sealant is at the bottom of the harbor, Will.'"
He even does the different voices. I lean against the doorframe and let myself smile. It had been exactly as dramatic as described.
Lily laughs, small and watery and broken, but happy. Dad watches her like she's given him something worth more than a working leg. He's going to end up adopting her like a lost puppy, which is the last thing I need.
I come in, set one water bottle on her side and one on Dad's, then sit in the chair on the other side of the bed across from her, Dad between us like a referee.
Her gaze finally reaches mine.
"Thank you."
Then she leans toward me, hand cupped at her mouth, glances at Dad, and whispers very loudly: "I love your dad."
I snort a laugh before I can stop myself and shake my head at her. She's funny. A natural flirt, to my great dismay.
Dad laughs out loud, delighted, and squeezes her hand. "See?" He grins at me with the smuggest expression. "Still got it."
Lily presses her free hand against his arm like she's trying to physically push the smugness out of him. "Shush. You're injured. Be humble."
"Met her barely an hour ago and she's already telling mewhat to do." Dad's delight deepens into the look he gets when he's decided something. "I like this one, Cal."
"Yeah, Dad," I say flatly. "I can see that."
Lily's eyes find mine across the bed. The corner of her mouth tips up like she knows I'm pretending and won't make it easy for me.
I lean back in my chair, trying hard not to return that little smirk. I like her too much when she's like this. Watching me like she's waiting to see how long I can keep lying to myself.
I look away first. Like I always do.
The doctor comes and explains the procedure in that calm, precise way. Clean fracture of the tibia, surgical pin required, surgery in an hour, standard stuff, good prognosis, walking with a cane within weeks.
Lily asks questions about recovery time and aftercare, and the doctor answers her like she's family because she told them she was, because she's been acting like she is. When the doctor leaves, Lily finally lets go of Dad's hand.
"You should go home," Dad says, settling back against the pillow. "Get some rest. I'm not going anywhere."
