Silas's hand settles on my shoulder, warm and grounding. I lean back into him without thinking, needing his steadiness to keep me upright.
"We'll find you something," I say, wiping my face withthe back of my hand. "A fresh start. But you have to meet us halfway, Dad. We can't do this for you."
Dad's eyes drift to Silas, then back to me, and something shifts in his expression. "He's a good one."
My cheeks heat despite everything. "Dad, this isn't the time..."
"Don't let this one go." His voice is firmer now, more like the father I remember from before. "A man who drives you two hours in the middle of the night doesn't do that unless you matter to him."
I can't look at Silas, can't see his reaction to my father's words. But his hand tightens on my shoulder with fingers pressing in just slightly. He's still here, and that's answer enough for now.
We leave after Dad falls asleep, with the nurse promising to call if anything changes. They want to keep him overnight for observation to make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications. I'm wrung out and exhausted with emotions scraped so raw I feel like I'm walking without skin.
In the truck, Silas doesn't start the engine right away. He sits there with his hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead at the dark parking lot.
"You were right," he says finally. "Your dad probably won't tell you, but you made the right call. He should be living in Seattle where he's close by so that you can reach him without such a long commute. Living out here is only making him isolated."
I let out a deep sigh. "I shouldn't have yelled at him in a hospital bed."
"He needed to hear it." Silas turns to face me, his expression intense in the dim light from the parking lot lamps. "You've been carrying him for years. That's not sustainable, Scout. That's not healthy. And it's not fair to you."
I know he's right the same way I know my mother gave everything until there was nothing left, until the MS took what remained. But the guilt sits heavy anyway, a familiar weight I don't know how to put down.
"What if he doesn't follow through?" My voice comes out small and uncertain. "What if he agrees now but changes his mind once we get him settled? What if I just made everything worse?"
"Then that's on him, not you." Silas reaches over and cups my face in his big, warm hand. "My mom was a terrible person, but she did teach me one thing. You can't save people who don't want to be saved. You can only save yourself."
The words hit something deep, something I've been trying to ignore. I think about Enzo and all the years I spent trying to be enough, trying to make him love me the way I needed. Trying to fix his moods, manage his temper, smooth over his rough edges until I was nothing but a tool for his comfort. I think about my mother, pouring herself out for Dad and for us until the disease took what little was left. I've been repeating this pattern without realizing it, living inside this wound.
"I don't want to be like my mom," I whisper. "She disappeared into taking care of him and taking care of us. And then she got sick and before I knew it she was just gone. It was as though she never existed as her own person, only as what she could do for everyone else. I feel like I'm failing my dad by not being as giving as my mom was."
"You're not your mom." Silas's thumb brushes my cheek, gentle and certain. "You have other things going on. You're kind and wonderful, but you're also focused on Mobility Mondays and teaching yoga."
I close my eyes and let myself lean into his touch. When I open them again, he's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. There's something intense there, somethinghungry and tender at the same time that makes my breath catch in my throat.
"Thank you," I say. "For being here. And for driving me." I pause. "I guess thank you for everything, really."
He cuts me off with a kiss that's gentle and fierce all at once. His mouth tastes like coffee and something uniquely him. I melt into it without thinking. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine with our breath mingling in the small space between us.
"You don't have to thank me," he murmurs. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
The words settle in my chest, warm and sure. We drive home as the sun rises, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that feel too beautiful for how exhausted I am. I pull his hoodie tighter around myself, the one he gave me weeks ago that I never gave back. It smells like him, with notes of cedar and clean soap and something indefinable that's just Silas. Wearing it feels like being held.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sable.
Sable
Just heard about Dad. Is he okay? Are you okay?
I stare at the message, then type with shaking fingers.
Me
He's going to be fine. I may have yelled at him.
The response is immediate.
Sable
