“Fine.” I force another smile, moving back to my mixing bowl. “Just Dad checking in.”
“Millie.” The way he says my name, it’s not a question, it’s a demand. It’s every unspoken thing between us wrapped into two syllables.
I keep my eyes on the dough. “Will.”
“Look at me.”
I can’t.
If I look at him right now, with my father’s death sentence echoing in my ears, with two years of loving him in silence pressing against my ribs, I’ll shatter.
“I need to finish these cookies,” I say instead. “Victoria’s expecting them in an hour, and you don’t want me to let down a pregnant woman with a sugar craving, do you?” I try to joke.
But the silence stretches between us, thick and loaded.
Then slowly, his hand, broad, calloused, impossibly gentle, covers mine on the wooden spoon.
“When you’re ready to talk,” he says quietly, “I’m here. Always, Millie.”
And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
He’s always here.
Always watching.
Always caring.
Butnevermine.
I watch him walk away, broad shoulders, confident stride, the prospect patch on his back that he’s worn for two years while waiting for his moment.
His patch ceremony is in three weeks.
My father has six months.
And I have no idea how to save either of them or myself.
From across the room, I see Sin talking quietly with a man I don’t recognize. Something about their body language sets off alarm bells. Sin’s hand is on his poker chip, flipping it rapidly, and that movement tells me he is stressed.
“Who’s that?” I ask Ro, who’s appeared at my elbow with a tray of dirty glasses for the dishwasher.
She squints. “No idea. But Sin looks pissed.”
The stranger hands Sin a manila envelope, says something that makes Sin’s jaw clench, then walks out.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see a text from Dad.
Dad:There’s something I need to tell you about the mine. About a deal I made years ago. I’ll tell you tonight, I’ll tell you about all of it. We have a lot to discuss.
My stomach drops.
What kind of deal?
With who?
I’m still staring at my phone when Will reappears in my peripheral vision. He’s watching me again, concern etched in every line of his face.
“Millie?” he says, and there’s something different in his voice. Something that sounds like…
