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My father’s eyes flit between Wells and me. Back and forth several times, crinkling slightly at the corners. I wish I knew what that meant. Finally, his gaze plants firmly on Wells, and he hums. The quiet, gurgling noise grows louder until it’s nearly a grunt.
“That noise. He never makes noises. Not like that.” I squat before him, taking his hands in mine as Wells steps aside. “Dad? Are you trying to say something? Can you do it again?”
What did that mean?
His eyes anchor on me, tears filling them.
Happy tears?Christ, I hate this.
My own begin to cascade down my cheeks as I glance up at Wells. “He’s trying to tell us something.”
Wells smooths his palm over my head, my father following the movement before returning to me with a hard swallow. His inquisitive eyes flick back up to Wells again, who speaks in a soothing tone directly to my dad. “I’ll take care of her, Dr. Kingston.”
Another subtle hum follows.
I skim my fingers over my father’s forehead, sweeping some strands of his salt-and-pepper hair to the side. “This is what you wanted, right? For me to get married?”
His chin drops slightly, but I can’t tell if it’s a purposeful nod of approval or an involuntary movement. When his hazels settle on me again, they hold some sort of resolution within them. An expression I am familiar with—his acceptance. So, I guess that’s my answer.
“It’s okay. I’m okay, Dad.” I offer him a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “Wells, can you get Theresa?”
Wells steps out while I stay behind with my father, whose face is tinged with exhaustion now. He’s silent and distant. If he’s upset about the marriage, he’d be trying to tell me something while we’re alone. Right? It’s as though he wanted to tell Wells something, which caught me off guard, but makes sense. It’s probably killing him to be incapable of having a heart-to-heart with the man I introduced as my fiancé.
Theresa ambles into the room with Wells. She takes one look at my father and lets out a small gasp. “Oh my, baby girl. You wore him out fast today, didn’t you? Too much excitement.”
Scanning her, my father, and Wells, I search for the answers that none of them can offer me. “I’m not sure what happened. He was making noises.”
“Is that so?” She pats my father’s shoulder. “Told ya it was a good day, but that explains his exhaustion. Probably best to call it a day.”
“Okay,” I sigh, disappointed the visit ended so quickly. “Hey, I know he wants me to come once a week, but my mom—”
“I spoke to your mom this morning and know all about her schedule.” She walks to my father’s bed, fluffing the pillows toprepare them for him. “But rules are rules. Once a week. You go off and live your life the way he wants. That’s the best thing you can do for that man. Lord knows all he ever talked about was giving you a beautiful life.”
I groan, wishing his dreams for me were enough, but irritated with the stupid rules, so Wells steps forward, addressing her. “I’ll be bringing her by every Wednesday at two. Is that a good time for Dr. Kingston?”
Presumptuous much? Must’ve missed us discussing that.
“Perfect,” she says with a girlish grin, obviously swept up by his charm. “I’ll be sure he’s ready. You kids get going now.”
Wells chuckles. “Thank you, Theresa. Nice meeting you.” He steps out into the hall while I give my father and her one last hug.
She squeezes me tight. “That’s a handsome friend you got there. Enjoy these days, Ivanna. I’m taking good care of your dad.”
“I know you are, Theresa. Thank you.”
I’ve barricaded myself in my room at Wells’s house—myhome now, I suppose—ever since he left me here with my suitcases and boxes. It might be rude to be hiding, but I need a little time to process everything that’s happened. My father’s reaction was strange, much like my mother’s was, and yet my gut tells me that look he flashed me was him assuring me, so I’m going to embrace this odd turn of events. I trust him.
There’s a knock on my door, startling me from my dazed unpacking and hectic thoughts.
“Come in.”
The door swings open, Ty looming in its place, flaunting a buoyant smile. “Hey, Freckles.”
Freckles.These guys like their nicknames, don’t they?
“Hungry?” he asks. “We’re ordering pizza.”
Sliding the last of my tops onto a hanger, I head toward thewalk-in closet. “Yeah, I could eat.” I hook it inside and emerge a bit lighter. “I’m happy to buy tonight.”
