A teenage boy about to be on summer break.
A handsome one, and everyone knows you can't trust them.
His promise was obviously meant to appease some need he had to assuage his guilt.
I'd probably never see him again.
For some reason, even in my sleep, the thought depressed me.
CHAPTER THREE
"You have a visitor."
When I looked up, Dad’s expression didn’t match his voice. He was trying to sound disapproving. But something about the situation obviously amused him if the twinkle in his eyes meant anything.
"What?" I said belatedly, thinking I must've misheard.
"I said, you have a visitor," he repeated.
My paperback still open in my lap, I glanced at the clock on my wall. It was nearly 10:00 PM. Who would be here at this hour?
I shrugged then held up my book, a historical romance I was already loving even though I was only a few chapters in. It was the second I'd read today. "Tell them I'm busy."
"Tried that," he replied.
"Well, did you say that I'm concussed?"
"Didn't have to. He knew that already."
He?
Hold up.
I sat back in my chair. "Dad, it's late. Just tell him to go away."
Dad sighed but the twinkle remained. "Tried that too. But if you look outside, you'll see a boy-shaped shadow, alternating between staring at the door and up at your window."
"You're kidding," I said.
"Check it out if you don't believe me."
I did. Standing up, I walked to the window, pulled my curtains aside, and glanced down. Sure enough, there he was. A figure that looked very much like Tolliver stood on the path to our house, staring at the door. I hated to admit it, but he was just as stunning from afar.
"I told him to go home," Dad said next to me, "but the kid refused. Said he wasn't leaving until he checked on the patient. I told him you were fine. But well, he's still out there."
I forced the fluttering in my chest to stop.
But I couldn't resist asking…
"How long ago was that?" I said.
"About 20 minutes."
"And you’re just telling me now?"
"It was a test. I thought he'd go after five. Ten tops," he replied, then added under his breath, “persistent little creep.”
I rolled my eyes. "He's not a creep, Dad."
