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I turn enough to see a small silver car park beside his truck.

The driver’s door opens.

Baylor gets out.

For a second, I stay exactly where I am.

She’s wearing leggings and my hoodie, her hair pulled back, one hand holding her phone while she looks toward the office.

Then she sees me through the window.

I get up too quickly.

"Easy," Dad says.

But I’m already heading for the door.

She’s halfway across the lot when I step outside.

"What are you doing here?"

Her eyes move over my face, then down to the sling.

"I had a few days free. I thought I could use an impromptu trip to Boston."

"You’re lying. You don’t have any days free."

"Well… maybe I just wanted to check on you."

"How did you know where—"

"Your dad."

I turn.

Pops stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Slade gave her my number."

"You could’ve mentioned that."

"She asked me not to."

"And you just agreed?"

"She said please. You should try it occasionally."

Baylor steps closer. I look back at her, and whatever else I was going to say disappears.

There’s a faint crease on her cheek from where she must’ve slept on the plane. She looks tired. Beautiful. Worried enough that I want to apologize before she’s even said anything.

"Can I hug you?" she asks.

I reach for her with my good arm.

She comes carefully against me, keeping to that side, and I close my eyes when her arms go around my waist.

Fuck.