Page 147 of The Route to You

“Neither do you,” she shot back. “You used to, but you stopped.”

“You’re right,” he said, shame filling his face. “After your incident, my therapist advised I give you space. That you were frail and didn’t need anything or anyone in your life who upset you. And I had a lot to deal with, given that Penny went into treatment then.”

Incident.

A nice way of saying when you tried to off yourself .

“Well, your therapist sucks then.” Her throat thickened with tears she hadn’t expected. I’d needed him then. I’d needed his hugs, his comfort, his love. And he gave me nothing. I hadn’t needed space at all. “I needed my dad.”

The words shouldn’t have meant so much, not after all the hurt between them.

But perhaps it also hurt that he wouldn’t have had time for her anyway, as he’d been caring for his other daughter . . . who’d had cancer. Fuck. This was just so fucked.

She closed her eyes, shoulders shaking as her tears slipped free. Dad came closer still, then bent and slipped his arms around her. After so many years, it was no longer as natural—for either of them—but he still smelled like the aftershave she remembered from falling asleep in the crook of his neck. And that gave her something to hold on to.

When he pulled back, his eyes were rimmed red, glassy with tears. He took another tissue, then wiped his eyes. “Sloan,” he said, straightening. “I love you.” He paused, his voice raw. “And I loved your mother—more than my own life. If I could have traded which one of us died early, it would have been me.” A tear slipped onto his cheek as he said, “I prayed for God to take me instead.”

Sloan breathed slowly, staring at him, her heartbeat so soft it felt numb. Her father looked smaller, somehow.

More human.

Frail.

She’d been so angry with him for years. So unable to forgive him.

Had she been wrong?

You were wrong about Kyle, weren’t you?

What else? What else was she wrong about?

“Penny—” she managed, her voice breaking. And her heart shattered all over again. She was wrong about Dad. She was wrong about Penny. Her sick sister, who’d been too weak to even talk to her.

“Is Penny going to be all right?” she asked Dad, her voice shaking.

Dad gripped her hand. “We’ll get her with the best specialists. We have doors open to us now that didn’t exist when Mom was sick. And you’re saving her, Sloan. You’re here right now, saving her life.”

Sloan pressed a hand to her heart. “We haven’t been very close lately.”

Dad’s fingers squeezed hers. “Penny knows you’ve been through a lot, sweetheart. She loves you, and she always talks about you. But she’s got a little shell of protection around her heart, too. You scared her badly a few years ago. I’m not sure she’s ever quite recovered from that.”

Sloan closed her eyes. Dad probably meant well, but his words bruised.

“But,” Dad went on in true Henry Carrington fashion, not registering her distress, “I’d say this might be the wake-up lesson we all need, don’t you think?”

She didn’t get a chance to respond. The nurse returned, pushing back the curtain abruptly. “Sloan. You did it, girl. I think we’re all set here today. I’ll just get your discharge papers, and we can wrap everything up, and you can go home, okay?”

Wrap up this wake-up lesson? Sounds great.

Still, she hesitated, staring at the nurse, her thoughts feeling sluggish under the weight of her pounding headache. She didn’t have to stand to know she was still a bit woozy, which was why Dad was driving her today.

But she wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

Sloan gripped Dad’s fingers tighter and then said, “Actually . . . if you don’t mind, I’d like to go see my sister.”

38

KYLE