I hear him move closer, his boots heavy on the tile, the creak of leather as he shifts. He stops right behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of his body, smell his cologne mixed with motor oil and something that’s just…him.
“Need help?” His voice is lower now, intimate in a way that makes my stomach flip.
Yes.
No.
Always.
Never.
“I’ve got it,” I lie.
My phone suddenly buzzes in my pocket, and I wipe flour-dusted hands on my apron before checking the screen.
Dad.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” I say to Will, stepping away before he can respond. Before I have to see the concern that constantly flashes in his eyes when I mention my father.
I slip out the back door into the Nevada heat, which somehow feels cooler than the inferno of the heat that was brewing in the kitchen between Will and me.
“Dad? Everything okay?”
Silence.Too long. Too heavy.
“Millie, s-sweetheart…” His voice cracks, and my father never cracks. Jonas McClane is granite and steel, the man who negotiates with motorcycle clubs and runs a mining empire. “I need you to sit down.”
“I’m standing in the parking lot of the clubhouse. Dad, you’re scaring me.”
“The tests came back.” My world tilts, and I press the palm of my flour-dusted hand against the brick wall. “It’s stage four. Pancreatic. Dr. Handcock says…” and there is a pause, too long, too painful, “… baby girl, he says I’ve got about six months. Maybe eight if we’re lucky.”
The phone nearly slips from my hand. “What?No. No, that can’t… we’ll get a second opinion. We’ll go to specialists. We’ll—”
“Millie.” His voice is firm, more like the father I know. “I need you to listen to me. I don’t want anyone to know. Not the club. Not your friends. Nobody.”
“Dad—”
“I mean it! I need time to arrange things. To make sure you’re protected. To make sure the business transitions smoothly. Can you do that for me? Can you keep this between us… just for a little while?”
Tears burn my throat, my head spinning as I continue to lean against the side of the clubhouse. “How long is a little while?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a month. Just… let me handle this my way.Please, sweetheart.”
And because I’m my father’s daughter, because I’ve spent my whole life trying to make him proud, trying to be strong enough to deserve his love, I whisper, “Okay… okay, Dad… I promise.”
“You’re the light of my life, Millie girl. I love you. I’ll see you at home later?”
Sniffing, I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, Dad… I’ll see you at home.”
Then, as if he didn’t just completely shatter my world, he ends the call, leaving me reeling. I take in a few deep breaths, wipe my eyes, and shake it off. Because I promised him I wouldn’t let the guys know.
And a McClanealwayskeeps their word.
So, I straighten my shoulders, put on the brightest of fake smiles, and walk back into the clubhouse.
When I make my way into the kitchen, Will is exactly where I left him, leaning against the counter like he’s been standing guard over my cookies.
His eyes lock on me immediately, and I watch them narrow, that sharp assessment he does when something’s off. “Everything okay?”
