Page 86 of The Best Kind of Bad

Did I mention it’s her birthday?

She glowers at me. “Got a death wish, cowboy?”

“I think it’s sexy. So in control. So mature.”

She groans. “Call me mature again and I push you into moving traffic.”

She points out the coffee roaster she frequents. The chocolatier that makes a killer hot cocoa flight. I’m realizing her life here in Lincoln is far more enriched than what we have back home.

We have gas station hot cocoa and grocery store coffee.

But we also have bees and lavender and skies so wide and so big you feel like you could fly.

Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe it’s not.

Like I said, I’ve got my work cut out for me.

She gets quieter the farther south we drive, and I know it’s because she’s thinking about her dad. We stop outside his care facility, and I glance over at her, squeezing her leg. “You want me to stay in the car or go in with you?”

She stares at the building’s front doors, shoulders tense, face devoid of expression.

“Marnie?” I move my hand to the back of her neck and rub circles with my thumb. “Hey. You still with me?”

“Hm? What?” She shakes herself, looking at me with watery eyes. “Come with. I want you to meet my dad.”

“You got it.” I climb out and hurry around the car so that I can open the door. Helping her out, she feels fragile and light, like she might blow away in the breeze. And yet, there is a courage in her eyes that is fierce and true.

Weaving my fingers through hers, I walk with her into the facility. There’s a small meeting of wheelchairs by an aviary. Four tiny old ladies sit by the glass, arguing about the canaries and finches.

“Oh, my stars.” One of them does a double take when she sees us. “That’s a tall drink of water.”

Her friends turn to look at us, and they hoot and laugh when I wink at them.

Marnie smirks, shaking her head at me. But she’s quiet, growing tenser by the moment.

I put my hand on her back and follow her down a hallway. She hesitates at a door on the right before knocking quietly.

“Come in.” A deep, raspy voice calls out.

Even I feel a nervous thrill in my stomach at the sound of his voice.

Marnie’s dad.

And he’s slipping away from her.

I know what that’s like. God, I know what that’s like.

I’ve been there. Old feelings I thought I’d finally burned away, start reforming, swirling in my chest.

I swallow them down, forcing a carefree expression on my face as we enter his room.

He’s propped up in a hospital bed. Thin and pale.

But his eyes glow like warm honey.

Those are Marnie’s eyes. He smiles at Marnie before turning a curious eye on me.

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