Gabriel was strong. The punch had to have caused some kind of neurological injury. That was the only reasonable explanation.
Daddy Asher’s rules?
Laminated.
Laminated meant permanence.
I placed it beside me on the bed and stared up at the soft blue canopy of the four poster bed.
My head went back to the laminated sheet.
It was all the same colour.
Either I was crazy, or the Kersey men were trying to drive me crazy. But the third option was the most likely—they were simply both crazy.
I lifted the rules again.
They were all basic healthcare and recovery guidelines. Sensible. Achievable. Nothing that wasn't common sense.
Except for the last one.
Ask Daddy for help at any time, day or night.
My lips began to tremble.
That was really—genuinely—kind of sweet.
I frowned.
It was also weird. He was my father-in-law.
Daddy.
He hadn’t pushed me away when I’d turned to him. He’d fed me my food with a steady hand and hadn’t made me feel small for needing it.
And I’d let him.
I’d just let him.
What was this?
What was I doing?
More importantly—what was he doing?
???
Neither of us mentioned the rules.
One day went by. Then another.
I followed the rules.
He was always there. In his office, the kitchen, the dining room, the garden—and every night at five-to-nine he came into my room to tuck me in. That hadn’t happened since I was ten years old. My parents would have continued but I’d wanted to be a grown up. Told them so very firmly.
I sighed at my younger self’s priorities.
“What’s wrong, lovey?” Mrs Davis asked without looking up from her pastry.
