The call I've been afraid of for years comes at two in the morning. I fumble for my phone, heart already racing before I'm even fully awake. The screen glows harsh in the darkness showing an unknown number with a Port Townsend area code.
My stomach drops immediately. This can't be good.
"Hello?" My voice comes out rough with sleep and rising panic.
"Is this Scout Nash?" A woman's voice sounds professional but tired.
My breath catches. "Yes, this is she."
"I'm calling from Jefferson Healthcare. Your father was brought in about an hour ago with a possible concussion and some broken ribs. He's stable, but he's confused. You're listed as next of kin."
Me? I know I'm the daughter he tends to lean on in times of need, but my older sister Sable is a psychologist. She's not a medical doctor, but she would be my first choice in this scenario. Not that I have a lot of options when it comes tonext of kin. It's just her, my dad, and a distant aunt who lives in Canada.
The nurse is still talking, saying something about a neighbor finding Dad, his shed collapsing, a possible broken arm, and bruised ribs. All I hear is the roar of blood in my ears and the rushing sound of my world tilting sideways.
"Tell Dad I'm on my way." I rush her off the line. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Beside me, Silas sits up, shirtless with sleep-mussed hair, rubbing at his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"My dad is in the hospital. I have to get to Port Townsend."
Climbing out of bed, I scurry out of Silas's bedroom, flipping the light on in mine. I'm too worried to pick out clothes, so I grab the first things I find, yanking on jeans and a t-shirt. My hands tremble so badly I can barely tie my shoes.
In my head, I'm spiraling. The shed has been my nightmare for three years. The same goddamn shed I've been telling him to fix since the last big windstorm. It's been leaning dangerously, but Dad kept saying he'd get to eventually.
I should've known better. It was impossible for Dad to fix by himself. I should've insisted on hiring help.
"Ready?" Silas appears in jeans and a black Seattle Havoc hoodie, keys in his hand. "I'm driving."
"Silas, you don't have to do that. It's two hours away. You need sleep and your shoulder needs rest..."
"We're not arguing about this right now." He's already moving, grabbing his wallet from the bowl by the door. Then he stops, looking at me. "You're not dressed warmly enough."
"Oh. I should go get a sweater."
Si is already unzipping and peeling off his hoodie, wrapping it around my shoulders and forcing my arms through thesleeves. I feel like a doll he's playing dress-up with. It's odd to be taken care of like this, but I don't try to fight it. Not when the hoodie smells so strongly of his vetiver and cedar scent. It's still warm from being on his body.
I give him a wobbly smile, pulling him close, pushing up to kiss his lips. He zips up the front of the hoodie as he kisses me back. "This looks good on you. You should always wear my clothes, Pretty Girl."
"Talk to me again in that gruff voice and I'll think about it." I bite my lip.
His eyes flare with interest. "As much as I want to take you up on that right now, I need to grab another jacket. Give me a sec and then we can go."
"So bossy," I chide him. Si doesn't respond because he's jogging down the hallway to grab another hoodie. He reappears, jerking his head to the door. "You ready, baby?"
God, the way he calls me baby makes my insides turn to mush.
"Ready," I whisper. "Thank you."
He pulls me against his chest, hugging me tightly for a few seconds. "Of course, Scout. You're my girl."
Closing my eyes, I want nothing more than to bury my head against his chest and hide from the world. When he pulls away and takes my hand, I have to swipe at my eyes with my sleeve. It's nice to be supported, for however much longer this lasts.
The drive blurs past in dark highways and scattered streetlights. Silas doesn't try to fill the silence with platitudes or ask questions I can't answer. He just drives with one hand steady on the wheel. When I start picking at my thumbnail hard enough to draw blood, his free hand finds mine and he laces our fingers together.
I stare out the window, watching Seattle give way tosmaller towns, then trees, then darkness broken only by occasional house lights. We have to go an unusual route around the land because the ferry isn't working at this time of night.
More time for me to be lost in nightmarish thoughts. My mind spins with worst-case scenarios about the shed that's been leaning for years. Every time I visit, I mention it and offer to hire someone to fix it. Dad always waves me off, says he'll get to it and he doesn't like me fussing about it.
