I finish my shopping, my cart filled with the staples of a life I’m trying to build. Cocoa, chips, soda, frozen pizza. All the things a “cool dad” would have.
I’m at the checkout, the conveyor belt moving my items toward the cashier, when I see them. A display of heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. A cheap, tacky reminder of a holiday I’d completely forgotten. Valentine’s Day. And all I can think about is Millie. What would she think of these? Would she find them cheesy? Or would she smile that small, secret smile of hers?
I shove the thought away, violently. I pay for my groceries, my jaw tight, and haul the bags out to my truck. The rain has finally started to let up, a soft, misty drizzle replacing the earlier deluge. The air smells clean, washed.
I load the groceries into the passenger seat, the box from Cora’s bakery sitting on top like a crown. I’m a father today. I’m going to go home, make my daughter a ridiculously unhealthy dinner, and watch a stupid movie with her. I’m going to be present. I’m going to be the dad she deserves.
But as I start the engine and pull out onto the road, I know it’s just a temporary fix. The problem is still out there. She’sstill out there. And I’m a man haunted by a librarian who has somehow, in the space of a few weeks, managed to unravel me completely.
Liam
The rain is a cold, relentless enemy, soaking through my jeans and turning the ditch into a muddy, sucking pit. Angela and Rhys are already here, the flashing red and white lights of their fire truck painting the scene in a nightmare.
They work with a quiet efficiency, a well-oiled machine of rescue, their voices low and calm as they assess the crumpled front end of the truck. But I’m not really seeing them. I’m seeing the empty space in the passenger seat of their truck.
The space where Maddox should be.
“Doesn’t it seem weird that Maddox didn’t come?” I ask Millie, low enough that only she can hear over the drumming rain and the hiss of hydraulics. He’s on the engine crew. He should have been the first one here.
She just makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, a soft “mmh” that tells me absolutely nothing. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her face pale and still. She looks shaken, and the sight of it sends a fresh wave of guilt and fury through me. This is my fault. I should’ve been more careful.
I can’t stand the distance between us. I reach out, my hand closing around her arm, and pull her to me. She comes withoutresistance, her body trembling against my side. She fits like she was made to be there, and the feeling is so right it’s painful.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, the words feeling inadequate and useless. “About everything. About being a jerk. About this.”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, but it’s not. It’s the furthest thing from fine. Her voice is thin, reedy. She’s just saying it to end the conversation.
“No, it’s not,” I counter. “And I’m going to get your car fixed. I promise. And I was thinking… we should go to the hospital. Just to get checked out. Make sure you’re really okay.”
She pulls back slightly to look at me, her brow furrowed. “I’m fine. Angela already gave us the all clear. A few bumps and bruises, that’s all.”
“I know,” I say, cupping her cheek, my thumb stroking over her skin. It’s cold. “Please, just indulge me. We’ll be in and out. I just need to know for sure. For my own peace of mind.”
I hold her gaze, letting her see the naked worry in my eyes. I’m not just asking; I’m telling her. This is happening. She searches my face for a long moment, then her shoulders slump in resignation.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay,” I confirm, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Angela walks over then, pulling out her phone. “I’ll communicate with the tow truck, let them know our exact location,” she says, all business. “They’ll get it to the garage. Don’t you two worry about a thing.”
The hospital is a zoo. The waiting room is a sea of miserable, damp people, all coughing and sniffling. I keep Millie close tomy side, my arm a protective bar around her as we navigate the crowd.
I see a nurse behind the reception desk, a woman with exhausted eyes and a tight bun. “Excuse me,” I say, my voice cutting through the din. “What’s going on? It’s like a war zone in here.”
She doesn’t even look up from her computer screen. “Rainy season,” she says, her voice flat and tired. “Brings out everyone. Colds, flu, broken bones from slipping on wet pavement. I can’t wait for the new clinic so at least they can help with all of this.”
I nod, my gaze sweeping over the room. A small child with a barking cough, an old man holding a bloodied rag to his head, a pregnant woman breathing through what looks like a contraction. It’s a microcosm of the town’s struggle, a constant battle against the elements and their own failing infrastructure.
“We were in a car accident,” I say, my voice lowering. “A skid. We need to get checked out. Blood tests, general tests. The whole nine yards.”
She finally looks up, her eyes assessing us. “Fine,” she says, typing rapidly. “Take a seat. We’ll call you. But I’m warning you, the lab is backed up. Even if we get your tests done, you might not get the results anytime soon. The power’s been on and off all day. It’s a mess.”
“That’s fine,” I say, though it’s not. The thought of a delay, of not knowing for sure if she’s okay, sits like a stone in my gut. But what choice do I have? This is the reality of Driftwood Cove right now. We’re all just making do.
I find us two empty seats in a corner, and we sit. Millie is quiet, leaning her head against my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close. I’m going to take care of her.
The minutes stretch into an hour, then two. The fluorescent lights above hum a monotonous, brain-numbing tune, and theair grows thicker with each new person who walks in, shaking off their wet coats and coughing.
