He walked in front of me, clearing a few discarded cups and things lying around. “No, I’m not leaving. I’m taking a few days off. How about you take that shower, and I’ll make us some soup. You pick the movie.”
“Thanks, Dad. For everything.”
He paused, his eyes meeting mine. “You don’t have to thank me, Josie. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there.” His voice grew rough.
“There is no way you could have possibly known.” I berated myself for not being more careful and guessing something was wrong. I’d just been off-balance since Carter messed with Ainsley.
“Well, when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here. In the meantime, I think you might still have some old clothes in your room.” He gestured down the hall.
Was there anything better than old, comfy clothes? Not in my world, particularly when I didn’t want anything pressing or rubbing against the raw parts of my skin. The wrappings and bandages kept some of them protected. Dad helped me cover them with plastic wrap and keep them from getting wet.
Alone in the shower, my mind went to all those dark places I didn’t want to relive. Yet, I couldn’t stop the memories. Ava’s, Izzy’s, and Emily’s faces flashed behind my eyes. Their laughs echoed in my ears. The thud and whack of the shoes hitting my flesh, inciting quick bursts of pain that brought fresh tears to my eyes.
I was fucking angry. And angry tears were the worst.
I didn’t like to cry. And crying because of Ava only fed that force of hot rage. The tears made me angry. The anger made me cry. It spun in a vicious cycle until I had no more tears left to fall.
Shivering despite the water turned up to hot and the steam billowing around my face, I turned off the water before my skin could wrinkle any more.
When I emerged from the bathroom in a pair of pink sweats and a baggy T-shirt out of my old closet, Dad was waiting with a glass of water and two pain pills. My hero.
He got me all settled on the couch, propping me up on a pillow from my bed and draping a plush throw over me. It reminded me of when I was little and sick. He always made a bed out of the couch for me to lounge in so I wouldn’t be alone in my room. I was one of those people who didn’t like to be isolated when they felt like shit.
“I called your mother while you were in the shower.” He set a bowl of steaming cream of chicken rice soup in front of me. My favorite. “She isn’t thrilled that you are here, but we both agreed it was for the best. At least for a few days.” He took a seat on the love seat. “She’s worried about you, Josie.”
A ridiculous snort escaped me. That was the joke of the century. If she were truly worried about me, she would take my claims about Carter seriously instead of brushing me off and caring more about the Patterson reputation.
My sarcastic skepticism wasn’t lost on Dad. “And so am I,” he added. “Your mom might not be affectionate or motherly, but she does care about you, Josie.”
“I’m sorry. I just have a hard time believing that right now.” This might have been the opportune moment to tell my dad about me not being his biological daughter, that Angie had taken me from the hospital. But staring into his rugged face, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not yet. His reaction scared me. Right now, I needed to be here. I needed him.
My time with my father was limited. I didn’t want to ruin what little we had or hurt him, because if he didn’t know what Angie had done, I couldn’t imagine what kind of blow it would be to learn your daughter wasn’t biologically yours and that in fact, your daughter died at birth.
If he did know, he wasn’t the man I thought he was.
But between my two parents, I chose him.
“You don’t have to be worried,” I said, lying through my teeth. “I’ll be okay.”
“Worrying about you is my job,” Dad replied, ripping a hunk of bread off for me before dipping his own into his soup.
I managed to spoon down a small bowl, nothing impressive, and sipped on hot tea during the movie. Somewhere between “Yer a wizard, Harry” and “Five points to Gryffindor,” I dozed. The movie was more than half over when the doorbell rang.
Yawning, I went to stretch, forgetting for a split second that my body felt like it got hit by a wrecking ball. It was quick to remind me. I winced and swore under my breath as my dad stood up to get the door.
“Expecting company?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Uh, I don’t think so.” But as soon as the words left my mouth, I had a sneaking suspicion who was at the door.
That inkling was confirmed when I heard a familiar voice ask, “Is Josie here?”
Brock. If I’d been able, my head would have whipped around over the back of the couch. This house was a fraction of the size of the one Brock lived in. With slow movements, I could glance in the direction of the front door and catch a glimpse of my dad.
He stood so he blocked the opening. “Now isn’t a good time.”
“Dad, it’s okay,” I said from the couch. “He’s a friend.” Why did that sound so strange coming off my tongue? Friend? Brock wasn’t just a friend, but I couldn’t define what he was to me. Whatever was going on between us couldn’t be defined.
It was better to get this over with before Brock did something stupid and reckless.