“No, Mum. That’s not necessary,” I say quickly, my voice gentle but firm. “I’m okay now. I just had a moment. And I really want time with Colt. We haven’t been alone in weeks. I need that. I hope you understand.”
She nods, seeing the truth in my eyes. “All right. But if you need anything, you know we’re right down the road.”
“Thank you. We do,” I say, giving her hand a grateful squeeze.
She turns to Colt. “And Colter, I know you and Ford don’t always agree, but he’s grateful for what you’re doing, for looking after my darling daughter like this.”
“I’ve got her,” Colt says simply. No bravado. Just fact.
He helps me up the stairs and into the house, where Dad’s still lounging with the newspaper, blissfully unaware. “What was all that noise?” he mutters, not even glancing up.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” I reply, moving past him.
But he looks up and frowns. “Jesus, Colt, what’d you do this time?”
I stop cold. “Nothing,” I say, sharper than intended. “Colt didn’t do anything. He helped me. Like he always does. You don’t get to assume he’s at fault every time I’m upset. He’sthe one constant in my chaos, and I’m sick of you making him feel like he has to prove himself. We’re past this. Or at least, I thought we were.”
Silence hangs in the room like a blade—one wrong move and everything shatters.
Colt’s still.
Mum’s quiet.
Everyone waits.
Dad folds the paper slowly and sets it aside. He removes his glasses with a sigh. “Okay.”
I blink. “Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. Sorry, Colter. That was out of line…” He pauses. “Thank you for being there for Deliah.” Then, he clears his throat. “On a less serious note, I don’t like this whole ‘Dad’ thing. I’m used to being called ‘Daddy,’ and frankly, ‘Dad’ doesn’t suit me.”
I blink at him, stunned, while Mum silently walks over to the table and starts clearing the dishes like this is just another Tuesday.
“Well, stiff,” I tease. “If I’m going to start working and being more independent, I can’t keep calling you Daddy. Plus, I’ll be thirty soon, it’s about time I retired the name.”
Dad shakes his head, already lifting his paper. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he mutters, smoothing the creases as he folds it open again.
I roll my eyes and hobble back to the table, sitting beside Colt.
We spent the rest of the afternoon with my parents. I hold it together, keep my smile in place, pushing down the tension in my chest. There’s no mention of the panic attack—not to Dad, anyway. He’d overreact, worry too much, and I can’t deal with that on top of everything else.
The house still presses on me. A weight. A reminder. But when they finally leave, I manage to breathe a little easier.
Colt shuts the door behind them and turns to me. “How are you really doing?” he asks, eyes locked on mine.
“I’m okay.” I shift my crutches. “I just want to be with you.”
Without hesitation, he bends and scoops me into his arms.
Strong. Solid. Safe.
He carries me to our bedroom and lays me gently on the bed, setting my crutches aside. “I’m proud of you,” he says, watching me closely.
I furrow my brows. “Why?”
He sits beside me, taking my hands. “Because even through everything… the pain, the disappointment, you still defended me. You stood up to your dad, even when you were barely holding yourself together.” His voice lowers. “You always protect me, Dee. I hope I’m strong enough to do the same for you.”
My heart twists because he has. Over and over again.
