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“Tuck.” Scarlett rests a hand on my arm. “Let’s get her home.”
Instinctively, I want to fix whatever the problem is now, but maybe Scarlett is right. “Yeah. Okay.”
Chloe is silent the entire ride home, and as soon as we pull into the driveway, she darts into the house.
I climb out of the car and, once again, Scarlett stops me.
“Can I offer a piece of advice?”
“Sure, but can you make it quick?”
Scarlett smiles, and I try my hardest not to get sucked into her beautiful web because there’s someone else I need to concentrate on.
“I know that you’re her daddy and you’ve spent the last eleven years protecting her and all you want to do is barge in there and demand to know what happened, but don’t. Please, don’t.”
“To hell with that.”
“Hear me out.” She takes a step forward. “Take it from someone who has been an eleven-year-old girl; the last thing you want to do is make her more upset than she already is. Then she really won’t tell you anything. What Chloe needs right now is for you to listen, even if that means understanding that she’s not ready to talk about whatever happened.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
Scarlett shrugs her shoulder. “You know more about this parenting business than I do. You’re her father, and I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”
“Where are you going?” I ask when Scarlett turns toward her house.
“Home. I figured you wouldn’t want me around for something like this.”
I should let her go. Chloe is already getting attached to Scarlett, and this is my opportunity to draw the line in the sand. But I like having Scarlett around just as much as my daughter does—if not more. I’ve missed Scarlett since the day she left, but I never knew quite how much until she returned.
I don’t know what’s going to happen between us, but I know that this—whatever this is—feels right.
I hold my hand out to her. “Stay.”
Scarlett’s breath catches. She looks at my hand as though she’s not sure if it’ll burn her or be the answer to all of life’s questions, and then something flashes in her eyes, and she slips her palm into mine.
Her skin is soft and warm, and I give her fingers a gentle squeeze, letting her know how much her staying means to me.
“I’ve never had to do this,” I say as we walk into the house.
“Sure, you have. This can’t be the first time Chloe has cried.”
“Smartass.” I nudge her with my elbow. “This is different than a scraped knee or a broken toy. I always knew this day would come. This is big-girl stuff, and I don’t want to screw it up.”
“You won’t.”
Chloe’s bedroom door is open. She’s face-down on the bed, her head buried in a pillow. I let go of Scarlett’s hand and knock softly on the door before I step into the room.
“Can I come in?”
Watching your little girl cry because she’s hurt—not physically, but from life—is every dad’s worst nightmare. I’m a protector. I’m supposed to shield her from all of the bad things in the world, but I couldn’t shield her from this.
Chloe’s shoulders jerk as she sobs into the pillow. I sit on the bed beside her and rest a hand on her back. When she was little, I used to cradle her in my lap. We’d snuggle, she’d talk about whatever was bothering her, and then I’d get her a glass of chocolate milk and a snack and all would be right in the world.
If only it were still that easy. With the attitude she’s been tossing around lately, I half expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No! Go away.”
I can’t. How am I supposed to just leave her here? I look up to find Scarlett leaning against the door jam. She tries to smile, but it ends up being more of a frown.
“I love you, Chloe. So much.” I bend down and kiss her head. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened tonight, I’m here.” Her cries grow louder, and the next thing I know, she’s in my arms.
Chloe presses her face against my chest, and I hold onto her tighter than I think I ever have. “Oh, sweetheart. Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay, I promise you.”
“He laughed at me,” she mumbles against my shirt.
“Who?”
She sits up and wipes the tears from her face. “Jimmy.”
I hate Jimmy. I’ll kill him. “Why did he laugh at you?”
“I don’t know.” She lifts a shoulder and sucks in a breath. “I asked him to dance, and his friends started laughing, and then some other girls who were standing there started laughing, and then he started laughing.”
“Did you knee him in the balls?”
“Tucker,” Scarlett chides.
Chloe half-laughs, half-cries, and shakes her head. “I ran away and texted you.”
