And there it was, the crash back to reality. The reminder that her father was sick. That there was no cure. That even though they could sit here, eat pizza and laugh while they pretended everything was fine, it wasn’t.
“Dad, we don’t need to talk about this right now.”
“We do. I know this is hard for you, but we can’t dance around the fact that I have a neuro-degenerative disorder, and it’s going to get worse.”
Her chest squeezed.
“My properties were always going to go to you anyway. My diagnosis has just…fast-tracked things.” He reached down and lifted a folder he’d walked in with that she intentionally hadn’t asked about. “I asked my lawyer to prepare everything. All you need to do is sign.” When he held it out to her, there was a shake in his hand. Another reminder of the ugly disease.
She didn’t move to take it. It felt like she couldn’t. She didn’twanthis properties to be signed over to her. They were his. They would always be his.
He leaned forward and gently took her hand to place the documents in her palm. “Please, Callie. I love you. I need to make sure everything’s in order before—”
“Dad, stop. Parkinson’s itself isn’t fatal. You could live ten, fifteen, twenty years or more with the disease.”
“Callie—”
A distant knock sounded from the other room, and she blinked away the tears before standing and moving to the studio area to see Lock outside.
She set the folder on the desk while her dad opened the door. “Hi, son.”
Lock dipped his head as he stepped inside, his jaw visibly tight and hair windswept.
Something was wrong.
Lock gave her a once-over before looking back to her father. “It’s good to see you here looking after your daughter, Jude. Thank you.”
“No, it’s Callie who looks after me.” Her dad turned toward her. “I’ll see you next time, sweetheart.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
The second the door closed after him, she sucked in a breath and looked up at Lock. “What’s going on?”
He opened his mouth like he was about to tell her something, only to stop and frown. He studied her face, making her want to turn away and hide.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.
“Nothing.” A lie if she’d ever told one.
Before he could ask anything else, she headed into the back room. Making sure to keep her back toward Lock, she closed the pizza-box lid. “There’s half a pizza left if you want it.”
“Callie—”
“My dad barely ate anything. I, however, ate far too much.”
“Callie, stop.”
She grabbed a cloth from the sink and wiped the table. “We should get out of here before it gets too late. It’s already getting dark and—”
Strong, warm arms wrapped around her waist, halting her, making her drop the cloth to the table. His mouth moved to her ear as he gently whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Her chest moved quickly, grief tugging at her heart. “He was shaking.”
There was a small pause. “Your dad?”
“Yes. He was shaking. And even though I told him he could live twenty years or more, the reality is, the complications from Parkinson’s can be fatal. People fall because of mobility issues. They get infections they can’t fight. And it makes me think that I can’t hold on to people. I can’t save anyone I love. I can’t—”
She was turned and pulled against him.
Five seconds. That’s how long she held it together before the tears began and she let herself fall apart, knowing Lock would save all the pieces. Trusting him to put her back together later. He held her so tightly she felt safe. He was warm and familiar, and right now, he was the only thing keeping her on her feet.
