Jack stands, pacing to the window. His tailored pants fit perfectly across his tight ass. "First, we separate the professional from the personal. The school board investigation is about conduct at work. Kyle's lawsuit is about harassment. They're trying to conflate the two."
"Divide and conquer," Noah says. "Classic strategy. But if we address each issue individually, we control the narrative."
Jack turns back to face us, his hazel eyes sharp with focus. "The harassment claim is their weakest point. Kyle initiated contact with Mia multiple times, we just have to prove they were inappropriate on his end and that Mia acted professionally and respectfully."
We talk about different strategies we can use and try to come up with a plan, or plans, to prove Kyle is lying. It's not going to be easy. The law favors students and the burden of proof is on us. Plus, his parents are filthy rich with a lot of influence, so going against them will be difficult.
I feel better, though, now that we have something in the works. It's better than sitting around worrying about everything. We've got a hard road to travel, but I'm looking forward to taking the offense instead of waiting for whatever happens next. We still have the other issues to deal with, but Jack was right that we need to divide and conquer. Handle one issue at a time.
Blake's phone rings and he frowns at the caller ID before he answers. His face pales slightly at whatever the person on the other end is saying.
"It's the hospital," he says after hanging up. "Lily is there and refuses any treatment without me with her."
46
BLAKE
The hospital corridor stretches ahead of me like the final yards before the end zone, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as my shoes squeak against the polished floor. My heart pounds against my ribs with the same intensity I used to feel before championship games, except this time the stakes are infinitely higher. This isn't about winning or losing a game. This is about my daughter.
A nurse meets me at the pediatric ward entrance, her expression professionally calm in a way that does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach. "Mr. Morgan? Lily's in room 312. The doctor will be with you shortly to discuss the test results."
"Is she okay?" The question comes out rougher than I intend.
"All her tests came back normal. No physical issues we can detect." The nurse's tone carries something I can't quite identify. Sympathy, maybe. Or understanding.
I push through the door to room 312 and find Lily sitting up in the hospital bed. She's wearing a hospital gown that's too big for her small frame, and her blonde hair is tangled around herface. When she sees me, her brown eyes widen with what looks distinctly like guilt.
"Daddy!" She reaches for me, and I cross the room in three strides, pulling her into my arms.
"Hey, baby girl. What happened? The school said you collapsed." I pull back to examine her face, searching for signs of illness or injury. Her cheeks are flushed, but she doesn't look sick. She looks scared.
Lily's lower lip trembles. "I'm sorry."
The apology sends warning bells through my coaching instincts. Kids don't apologize for being sick. "Sorry for what, sweetheart?"
She won't meet my eyes. "I didn't really collapse. I mean, I fell down, but I did it on purpose. I faked being sick."
The confession hits me like a blindside tackle I never saw coming. "You faked it? Lily, why would you do that?"
Tears spill down her cheeks now, her small body shaking with sobs. "Because I was scared! Everyone at school was talking about their moms and dads, and I don't have a mom anymore, and what if something happens to you, too? What if you leave like Mommy did?"
The fear in her voice cracks something open in my chest. I pull her close again, holding her tight while she cries into my shoulder. This is what I've been missing. Not the dramatic collapse or the hospital visit, but the underlying terror my six-year-old daughter has been carrying around like a weight too heavy for her small shoulders.
"Lily, look at me." I wait until her tear-filled eyes meet mine. "I'm not going anywhere. You hear me? I'm your dad, and you're stuck with me now. Forever."
"But Mommy said she'd always be there too, and then she wasn't." Her voice is so small, so broken.
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs wiping away her tears. "I know, baby. I know you're scared. But I promise you, I'm not leaving. Not ever. You can fake sick a hundred times and I'll come running every single time, but you don't have to fake it. If you're scared or worried or just need to see me, you tell me. Okay?"
She nods, her arms wrapping around my neck with desperate strength. "I love you, Daddy."
"I love you too, Lily. So much." I hold her until her breathing evens out, until the tension drains from her small body and she relaxes against me.
A doctor enters, a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a gentle smile. "Mr. Morgan? Can we talk outside for a moment?"
I tuck Lily back into bed, kissing her forehead. "I'll be right back, okay?"
In the hallway, the doctor's expression turns more serious. "Lily's physical tests all came back normal. But given what she told the nurses about faking her symptoms, I'd recommend she see a child psychologist. She's processing significant trauma from losing her mother, and she needs professional support to work through those feelings."
