“I don’t believe you, sonny.” He swings.
I catch his arm and bend it behind his back. He crashes to his knees, crying out. My hold on him almost slips when he fights back. He’s surprisingly strong for an old guy.
“Calm down, Hank. Nobody is here to hurt anyone.”
“Quin,” a small voice quivers from the kitchen doorway. Celeste’s tear-stained cheeks are reddened under watery eyes. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“You know I won’t. Call the paramedics. Tell him he’s had another episode.”
“M-my phone’s upstairs.”
“It’s okay. We’ll wait.” I nod to the stairs.
She takes them two at a time on wobbly legs. When she returns, she’s already speaking to someone, small sobs escapingbetween each answer she gives. By the time she hangs up, Hank’s relaxed in my hold. His eyes flicker up to his daughter, and I witness the moment he realizes what he’s done. Again.
“Celeste . . .” His voice breaks.
“I’m okay, Daddy. The paramedics are going to come and help, okay?” She kneels in front of him, their eyes level. “Maybe they can just adjust your medication, you know. So you don’t get so confused and upset?”
Hank shakes his head, but he’s tense in my hold again.
We wait with bated breath for the ambulance. And when the brakes squeal on the slushy street outside, CC runs for the door to let them in.
I don’t let go until the medics have given him a sedative. And the second the paramedics have Hank safe and taken care of, I haul Celeste into my arms.
An onslaught of sobs crashes into my chest as they place Hank onto a gurney and wheel him out into the ambulance.
“He needs an assessment, Celeste. He’ll be okay. Possibly his condition has outgrown his medication. The docs will have him sorted, I promise.”
Fingers curl around my now-damp shirt.
When the ambulance drives back down the street, I hold CC at arm’s length. “You did so fucking good by him, baby. Please don’t think any of this is your fault.”
Her face breaks, and I just know she is blaming herself for this.
“I got to get back to Maise and then to work. Will you be okay, or do you want to tag along?”
She wipes her face, looking around the trashed house. “I should clean this up.”
“Leave it. I’ll help you when I get home.”
“It’s fine, I can do it. I need to keep busy, anyway. And tagging along will probably just end up with me being in your way. I don’t want to be a hassle.”
I trace a finger over her temple, brushing a damp strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Baby, you are never a hassle. You got that? You need me—hell, even just want to hang out and someone to talk to—I’m right here.”
She nods, rolling her lips together.
I dot a kiss to her forehead and spend a few minutes righting the heavy items back on their feet before telling her I’ll check in later. Pulling the sunroom door to the backyard closed, I make a mental note to fix the broken latch when I get home.
When I push through the front door to our house, I find Maise pacing, arms folded, face pinched with worry. “Is CC okay?”
She flies into my arms.
“Yeah, kiddo. She’s okay.”
“Then it was Hank in the ambulance?”
“It was. Grab your coat. We’re late.”
