Page 124 of Threaded Lies

I rise from my seat and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Dad,” I murmur. “I love you because that’s the only thing I know how to do right when it comes to you.”

I give him one last look as a tear slips down my cheek.

He’s going to be okay.

He has to be okay.

And then I walk out of the ICU. Each step down the clinically white hallway has memories flashing back.

Squeaky shoes on linoleum as Cassie’s code was called.

Harsh commands being ordered in a rush of urgency.

A constant sound instead of the steady beep of machines.

The devastation on the doctor’s face as he walked toward us.

My mom’s screams.

Each step is an assault on my memory. Memories that were blocked out by the fear of losing my dad, but now that I’ve seen him, now that I know he’s going to be okay, they come back with a vengeance.

To the point that when I walk out to the waiting room, it must be written all over my face. Chad is up and by my side in seconds.

“Row? Is everything okay? Talk to me.”

“Yes. He’s … he’s okay. I have to get out of this place. I can’t breathe. I need—”

“Let’s get you outside.” He wraps an arm around me and helps me the short distance to the outdoor sitting area.

I welcome the cooler morning air as I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky. I don’t even realize it but I’m humming a Clayton Seaburn piece as a means to calm myself down.

“What do you need from me?” Chad asks as he runs a hand up and down the length of my spine. “Where do you want me to take you?”

I meet his eyes but don’t put a voice to the thoughts I’m sure he sees in mine. “Nowhere in particular. I think I’m just going to take a drive to clear my head.”

“I can take you. I can drive.”

I reach out and put my hand on his arm and squeeze. “Thank you, but I just want to be alone.”

“Fine. Sure.” He takes a step back and studies me. “Drive safe.”

“Of course.”

And as I walk to the parking lot, with the weight of his stare on my back, I hope he believes me.

I hope he doesn’t know I’m going to the only place I can think to go.

FIFTY-TWO

Holden

The pounding on my front door surprises me. My eyes are bleary and I’m tired as fuck. Apparently sleep came—somewhat—if my ass nodding off in my office chair behind my computer monitors is any indication.

I scrub a hand over my face and shake my head, closing the door to my office behind me out of habit. “Just a minute,” I call out and look around for my phone.

Where did I leave it?

Knock. Knock. Knock.