Page 128 of Torin

“You’ve had an exhausting week. You’re frightened, you’ve barely slept, and you’ve been through a serious accident.”

A cold feeling spreads through me.

“I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I’m trying to take care of you.”

“No, you’re not.”

He glances at me, looking almost hurt.

“Hannah, I think you’re overwhelmed.”

The calm voice. The gentle concern. The quiet certainty that if I disagree with him, it can only be because there’s something wrong with me.

He hasn’t changed at all.

Through the passenger window, the last streets of town are slipping behind us. Torin’s truck is sitting in the sheriff’s department parking lot, and I’m here.

I unclip my seat belt.

“What are you doing?”

“I want you to stop the car.”

“Hannah—”

“Pull over.”

“We’re five minutes from home.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going there.”

He keeps driving.

“Dad, pull over.”

I reach for the door handle.

The SUV surges forward, pressing me back against the seat.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“I told you I’m not going.”

“And I told you you’re not thinking clearly.”

My heart is hammering now. Ahead, a line of cars is waiting at the next set of lights.

They’re red. He’ll have to stop. I keep my hand close to the door handle as we approach the stationary traffic.

My father looks at the cars ahead. Instead of slowing, he swings into the empty turning lane and accelerates past the line.

“Dad!”

He drives straight through the red light.