“You’ve been shot.”
“Grazed. Barely.”
I can tell she isn’t buying it even though it’s pretty close to the truth.
“You’re the only nurse I need.” I cup her face with my good hand. “I want to go home. I want to hold you. I want to see April and tell her that she doesn’t have to worry about Steven anymore. That’s all I care about right now.”
Her eyes search mine, and whatever she sees there makes her soften.
“Okay.” She nods. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 47
Heather
It’s a Sunday morning, and Grant is at his usual station, flipping pancakes at the stove while April chatters away.
Even though he protested, I eventually convinced him to go to the hospital after the incident with Steven. The doctors cleaned and properly stitched the bullet graze on his shoulder, and now he’s wearing a proper bandage. He’s been moving a little stiffly when he reaches for things, but he insists he’s fine.
Stubborn man.
“And then Cory said his dog can do backflips, but I don’t believe him,” April says, taking a huge bite of her pancake. “Dogs can’t do backflips. Can they, Grant?”
“Some can,” Grant says, sliding another pancake onto her plate. “I’ve seen videos of dogs doing all kinds of tricks.”
“But backflips?”
“Maybe. Depends on the breed, I guess.”
April considers this seriously. “I think Cory is lying. He lies about everything. Last week he said his dad met the president.”
“Well, that’s possible too,” I say, sipping my orange juice. “Some people do meet the president.”
“But Cory’s dad works at the grocery store. When would he meet the president?”
Grant catches my eye across the table, and I can see him fighting back a smile.
“You know what?” he says, sitting down with his own plate. “It doesn’t matter if Cory is telling the truth or not. You can only control your own actions, and that means you should always try to tell the truth. It also means you should have fun at recess, even if one of your buddies is telling wild stories on the playground.”
“Oh, I did have fun! Sophie and I played on the swings the whole time.”
“Sounds like you already have things under control, then.”
I watch them together, the way Grant leans in when April talks, giving her his complete attention. The way he asks follow-up questions and treats her opinions like they matter. The way April lights up whenever he’s around, seeking his approval and basking in his praise.
This is what a father should be. Not like Steven, who only ever saw April as a nuisance or a bargaining chip, but like this—present, engaged, and gentle.
April reaches for the syrup, and Grant automatically moves it closer to her before she even has to stretch. She doesn’t seem to notice, just pours it over her pancakes and keeps talking. But I notice everything. The way he cut her pancakes into smaller pieces without being asked. The way he made sure she had the chocolate chips she loves. The way he sits at an angle so he can see both of us at once, like he’s keeping watch over his family.
His family.
The thought hits me so suddenly that it almost takes my breath away.
It honestly does feel like we’re a family now. Not just April and me anymore, but the three of us. This kitchen, this table, these Sunday morning pancakes. Grant’s quiet presenceand steady hands. April’s endless chatter and bright smile. Me, finally feeling safe and settled and home.
This is what I want forever.
My stomach twists suddenly with a flutter of nerves or the recurring nausea I’ve been having, and I press my hand against my abdomen, willing it to settle.
