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“Grace…” His voice was gentle.
She pushed him and somehow he actually did what she asked, hunkering down to his knees and then lying down.
She grabbed a t-shirt and padded over to the door. “Sorry,” she said, pulling it open. “I have a headache. I thought I’d try to sleep it off.”
Her dad was holding her blue sweater, looking confused. “Did you take something for it?”
She could hear Michael breathing. Dammit, he needed to stop.
“Something for what?” She stared cluelessly at her father.
“The headache.” He smiled gently. “Want me to get you some Advil?”
“It’s okay.” She shook her head quickly. “I’ve got some.” She reached out for her sweater, taking it from her dad’s grasp. “I’m just going to head back to bed.”
“Whose shoes are those?” He looked over her shoulder.
“What?” She followed his gaze. Michael’s huge black shoes were in the middle of her bedroom floor. He must have kicked them off there before taking her to bed.
“I don’t know.”
Her dad’s brows tugged together. “What do you mean you don’t know? There’s a pair of man’s shoes in the middle of your bedroom…” His eyes widened as he finally worked it out. “Oh no. I should go. Your mother…”
“Dad, it’s not what you think.”
His face was pale and he wouldn’t catch her gaze. “You’re a grownup, Grace. What you do in your own time is none of my business.” It was his turn to look like he was trapped. He stepped backward, looking like he was about to be sick.
“It’s okay,” he muttered. “I was never here.”
She took a deep breath. She was an adult. She needed to deal with this. “Michael and I…”
“Michael?”
“Yeah?” he called out.
No, no, no. Stay down. She had this.
“Michael Devlin?” her dad said, as Michael slowly rose from behind her bed. “What the hell are you doing in my daughter’s bedroom?” His eyes narrowed as he looked from Michael and back to Grace again.
“No,” he said, his voice shaking. “No, this isn’t happening.”
“Sir,” Michael said, walking toward them. “This isn’t Grace’s fault. It’s all mine.”
“Just shut up for a minute.” Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t even legal. You’re cousins.”
“Step-cousins,” she whispered.
“And that makes it any better?” her dad asked. “Jesus Christ, Grace, you could have anybody you want.”
“I want Michael.”
“No, you don’t.” His voice was louder now. Surer. “He’s too old for you. Too… related. This can’t happen.”
“Dad…” She wanted to explain. To tell him she loved Michael. To make him understand. But the words wouldn’t come. They were locked down tight by the panic and the fear and the feeling that everything she depended on was falling apart.
She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. It was supposed to reassure her, she knew that, but all it did was make her want to shrug it off. Because her dad was staring at Michael’s hand, at her shoulder.
At them both.
