My stomach lurched uncomfortably, and I pressed my hand against it.
If he’d called the county fire marshal, it had to be serious. Normally, Beckett could perform the basic investigations on his own.
“Why…why did you have to call Ron?”
His throat bobbed. I’d spent two decades learning everything there was to know about Beckett Romero, including all his tells, and now I knew he was nervous, holding back.
“I just want to make sure all the T’s are crossed and I’s are dotted so you don’t have an issue with the insurance claim.”
His reasons were solid, but I didn’t feel the relief I should have at his words, because I knew Beckett was holding back.
“If he even had insurance,” I said, rubbing my forehead in frustration.
“What?” Beckett’s voice dropped in surprise.
Dad let out a moan in his sleep, and I turned back to him, adjusting the IV line. In his agitation earlier, he’d tried to tear it out. He’d even threatened the staff, so we’d decided the benefits of a sedative had outweighed the possible complications after his recent stroke. It would take a few hours for it to wear off, but hopefully, when it did, he’d be back to the calmer father I’d always known.
I straightened his blankets and then turned and tilted my head toward the hallway. I didn’t want to talk about my father where he could hear it, even in his subconscious.
Moving toward the door required stepping around Beckett, and when I did, my arm brushed against his. As always, the simple touch of skin on skin curled through me. Longing and desire. What would I give to lose myself in those feelings, if only for a few hours? To forget for a few moments the way my life was crumbling around the edges once more?
But I wouldn’t. I’d figure this out. I’d stand on my own and take care of my family.
As we left the room, Tina glanced up from the nurse’s station. I didn’t want her to hear this conversation any more than I wanted my dad to in his subconscious, so I kept moving in the direction of the exit, and Beckett followed.
The trees on the hills behind us cast long shadows over the staff parking lot as we stepped out the rear entrance. The hours had slipped away while I’d been waiting for Dad’s test results, for him to recover his sanity, and forme to find answers to problems that had no easy solutions.
“What’s going on, Maisey?” Beckett asked.
I debated how much to tell him, but if Carter knew about the bank foreclosing, it would be all over Swift Rivers soon enough. So, I explained what I’d learned this morning about the mortgage and Dad’s stack of bills while I paced the pebbled pathway from the hospital door to the parking lot and back. Beckett watched, hands in his pockets, eyes penetrating and watchful.
“If, by some miracle, he paid the insurance, there’s a slim chance I can right the ship. I’ll talk to the bank, figure out a way to get him caught up on the mortgage. It’ll mean giving up my apartment and moving in with him so I can use my rent money to help with the bills.”
Beckett made a frustrated sound. Fury? Disgust?
They were all emotions I was feeling too. But they were coated with a healthy dose of guilt and a bucket of resignation.
Chelsea’s words this morning now felt like they’d been a premonition, because I would be moving back home. I’d be everything my sister had said—the dutiful daughter taking care of a father who might just take her down with him.
But I wouldn’t walk away from our dad.
Mom had sacrificed everything, even her relationship with Dad at times, to make sure I had whatever I needed. She’d hate that he’d been left to struggle on his own as much as she’d hate that the house had fallen down around him. Maybe it did make me a ridiculously dutiful daughter, or maybe I was simply showing loyalty to a dead parent and what she would have wanted. Or maybe I was just doing the right thing for the person I loved, regardless of his flaws. I wasn’t sure which of those things was true. Maybe all of them were.
Chapter Eight
Beckett
LETTER TO A FRIEND
Performed by Bon Jovi
TEN YEARS AGO
HIM: I bought a Stephen King book today. Bring the popcorn, and we’ll see if this one can actually scare us silly.
HER: No can do. I’m spending the night with Fallon. We’re working on our routines for the Fourth of July show.
HIM: We haven’t read anything together in a long time. Are you avoiding me?