Page 46 of Direct Action

Then the delusions hit in full force and the lies became more grandiose—he’d get better, and when he did, the memories would return. Even now knowing the truth, knowing this was how he’d end his days, the habit was hard to break. Stopping would mean admitting there was no hope. I’d done it so much I was good at it. When I went in search of Ryan, I told myself I was only looking for him because he was one of the many concerns I had preying on my mind.

The truth was, my mind had wandered to a scary place, a dangerous place, a forbidden place—wondering, if Ryan were standing next to me, if his big hand held mine, if I had his tall, strong frame to lean into, if I could borrow some of his strength, would it be easier? A tad bit, a minuscule amount, a shade or degree. Something. Anything to help ease the pain.

More honesty . . . I felt my stomach clench when I couldn’t find him. But worse, there was a twinge in the left side of my chest. I wasn’t ready to go so far as to admit that feeling was my heart racing, but it was there, nonetheless. And the longer I scanned the room with no sign of Ryan, the faster it pounded. The thumping didn’t recede when I caught sight of him coming around the corner—it intensified.

I wasn’t sure which was more unnerving—the panic when I’d thought Ryan had left or the relief I felt when I’d realized he was still here. What I was sure about was, the way his gaze held mine from across the lobby scared the hell out of me. I didn’t have to think too hard to know I’d never been on the receiving end of such scrutiny.

The intensity of it both terrifying and magnificent.

A collision of sensations.

Before I could come to terms with all that made me feel, Ryan was prowling across the room with his eyes locked onto mine—assessing, searching, knowing.

He reached my side, and wordlessly his hand slipped into mine.

And that’s when I knew there was nothing in this world that would make coming to terms with my father’s illness easier—yet standing there holding Ryan’s hand, he somehow gave me the strength to keep my feet while my mother’s sadness soaked into my skin.

Which meant having Ryan at my side didn’t make it easier—but still it made it easier.

Chapter Sixteen

I glanced over at Chloe, confirming what I already knew—the woman was out. Dead to the world, with her lips parted, head lolled to the side in an unnatural position that only a child would wake up from without a crick for the rest of the day.

Frustrating, but not surprising.

After she said goodbye to the doctor and her mother, she locked herself behind a fortress. By the time she hauled her ass into the truck, she’d not only retreated into the bowels of that fortress—she’d built a moat. I figured my best play was to give her time. Unfortunately I gave her too much.

Now she was asleep and had been since I got on the freeway thirty minutes ago.

Again, not surprising.

My eyes went back to the road, but all I could see was Chloe’s desperation. Hell, I’d felt it from across the room. The feel of it only intensified the closer I got. By the time I’d wrapped my hand around hers, I’d been drenched in it—pain so deep it looked like she was being swallowed up by it. Pain that I didn’t understand but I needed to. With one call I could have Fallon digging into Leisure Village’s records and get the answers I wanted directly from Chloe.

I’d give her until morning.

Then I’d set Fallon on it.

Decision made, I spent the rest of the drive preparing for the battle I knew was coming when Chloe woke up and saw where we were.

“Chloe.”

“Hm.”

“Baby, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered before they opened.

Christ, she had pretty eyes.

“Hm,” she mumbled again.

“We’re home. Let’s get inside.”

She blinked away some of the sleep, slid her gaze to the windshield, and did the opposite of what I thought she’d do.

Instead of handing me my ass because we were at my place, her shoulders slumped and she sighed.

Without argument she undid her seat belt, grabbed her purse off the floorboard, and opened her door.