I'm not in a hurry.
For the first time in my life, I'm not thinking about what's next, not planning my exit strategy, not calculating the risk.
I'm just here.
With her.
And it's enough.
More than enough.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Erica
I scrub my hands at the sink outside my dad’s room until they’re raw, then dry them on a paper towel that immediately sticks to my fingers.
I stand there for a second with my hand on the handle, staring at the little window in the door like I’m bracing for bad news to jump out at me.
Then I push it open and step inside.
Dad is exactly where I left him.
He’s in the bed, pale against the sheets, the blanket pulled up to his waist. There are wires on his chest, a monitor to my left with steady green lines, and an IV pole beside him that towers over him.
There’s a tube in his nose. Tape on his cheek. A faint crease between his brows like he’s annoyed with the whole arrangement, even in his sleep.
His eyes are closed.
He doesn’t move.
I swallow hard and go to the chair next to the bed. It squeaks when I pull it in.
“Hey,” I whisper anyway, like he might answer.
He doesn’t.
My throat tightens, and I have to breathe through it.
I slide my hand over the rail and find his hand where it’s resting on top of the blanket. I don’t grip too tightly. I just hold it, my thumb rubbing over his knuckles.
His skin is warm.
Thank God.
“I’m here,” I tell him, because I need to say it out loud. “I’m right here.”
The guilt is already waiting in my chest, heavy and sharp.
Because I wasn’t here all night.
Because I went home.
Because I slept in my bed while he was in here.
Because something happened last night that was… amazing, and I don’t know how to be a daughter and a person at the same time without feeling like one of them is betraying the other.
I look at his face and my eyes burn.
