Page 75

I nodded as my eyes skated over the house. The stack of unopened mail was gone. Jimmy’s reading glasses rested beside the recliner. A vase of fresh daisies sat beside the television. The same wild daisies I’d once left for her dozens of times, wrapped in twine, at the end of the pier.

“Good.”

“What are you doing here?”

The bruising had changed overnight, spreading across her cheekbone in shades of purple and green. My stomach turned. I wasn’t angry at her grandfather but at the situation. At the impossible weight she’d decided was hers to carry. At the stubborn certainty that she had to carry it alone. I dropped the duffel bag on the floor.

“I’m staying.”

Her mouth fell open. She blinked once.

“Not a chance.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t just move into my house.”

“I’m not moving in.” I pointed toward the worn couch that I was already slightly dreading sleeping on. “I’m temporarily occupying a small section of your living room.”

Her hands planted on her hips. She looked one glare away from grabbing a frying pan. I wanted to kiss the stubbornness right out of her.

“Lane, leave.”

I shook my head slowly, like it couldn’t be helped.

“No.”

“You do not live here.”

“Nope.”

“You were not invited.”

“Also true.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I am serious.”

“So am I. Buckle up, buttercup. I’m here to stay.”

The humor faded from her expression.

“Lane.”

I forced myself to stay focused because the exhaustion in her eyes was exactly why I couldn’t back down.

“You take care of everyone but yourself. He put both of you in the emergency room. Today he came home from the hospital, and I am staying for a few days just to make sure things are better.”

Her features set. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I agree.”

“Then leave.”

“Not happening.”