Page 207 of Three Reckless Words

I feel the way he exhales slowly, the fear draining out of him.

“She’ll be okay, Colt,” I say. “She was dehydrated and delirious, but she’s awake now. She’s getting plenty of fluids. Do you want to visit later? I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Sure,” he says, his voice muffled. He doesn’t let go, and neither do I. “Is it true you found her in the woods?”

“Yeah. She was hanging out by some bees. I picked her up and carried her back to the rescue team.”

He laughs loudly.

“Bees? Damn, that’s Winnie, all right. Cool, Dad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He pulls back and looks up at me with the biggest smile I’ve seen him wearing in ages.

He doesn’t have to look too far to meet my eyes anymore.

He’s been growing like a thistle all summer, and though he’s awkward and gangly, I know he’ll grow into his own tall body soon enough.

I couldn’t be happier he’s my flesh and blood.

Later, we’re on our way out to the hospital when I notice another vehicle following us. I’m scowling before Colt says a word, annoyed how I know it’ll cut in front of us.

By the time we’re in the parking lot, Rina’s standing next to her Jeep, waiting.

The way she’s standing makes me wary. She’s all tucked in, looking at us with both her hands clasped in front of her.

“Wait in the car a sec,” I tell Colt before striding over.

We haven’t spoken since our meeting at that little coffee shop where she told me all about her reasons for coming back, and how she was almost angry enough to destroy the bees before Holden beat her to it.

I don’t know what else she has to say.

This certainly isn’t the time or place.

“Not a good time, Ri,” I tell her as I approach.

A strand of chestnut hair falls over her face and she brushes it back. I think I spy a new tattoo on her wrist, an intricate mesh of fine lines I can’t decipher.

“Colt told me about Winnie,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about,” I clip.

“Oh, I’m glad. I know Colt was pretty scared.”

I glance back at our son, who’s still strapped in the passenger seat, staring at his phone and pretending he’s not watching us every chance he gets.

Another reason to try to keep this civil.

“What did he tell you?”

“Not much. He didn’t know a ton when he called last night.”

Damn, that’s a first, calling his mom because he was worried?

I know I was too busy to take his calls or help his anxiety much beyond sending the occasional update, but shame still creeps through me.

He’s my son. I should’ve done better.

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