Page 15 of Take This Heart
I don’t know what I want. I love this place. I love my dad. But I also love my work and my life in Minneapolis. I’m not ready to give that up.
And if Milo Lombardi were a part of it? We’d clash nonstop.
I don’t want to share anything with him, thoughts, or work…or kisses.
He catches up with me while we’re walking back.
“Smart idea back there,” he says.
“You think you’re the only one with good ideas?”
His laugh is low and rough. “You know I’m not the villain here, right?”
“You sure?”
He gets a weird expression on his face and then shakes his head. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
“So I’ve been told. I get it honestly. Grandma Donna and Grandma Nancy gave it to me in double doses.” I glance at him and his amber eyes are dancing in the sunshine. “And you’re arrogant.”
He smirks. “Your grandmothers don’t seem to mind, yet you’re insistent on finding something wrong with me.”
“Guess you’ll have to prove me wrong.”
“Guess I will.”
He walks ahead, leaving me to stare at his perfect backside.
Definitely nothing wrong with him there.
By the time we get back to the house, everyone’s dragging a little. The porch creaks under our boots, the screen doorgroaning from the lack of use. Every time I come here, I ache for my mother, but that also goes for the Summit house. I see her everywhere, but I miss her physical presence with every bone in my body.
I rub my hands together to shake off the chill and sink onto the edge of the couch.
Tully leaves the room, muttering that he needs paper to sketch some things out. He’s a professional hockey player, but he might be the most artistic of all of us. My grandmas busy themselves in the kitchen, while Dad flops into his chair, and Dylan lays back on the couch next to me. Camden scrolls on his phone, kicking his boots off.
“Is it warmer than usual in here?” Noah asks, moving toward the thermostat.
There’s a thud from farther back in the house. We all look at Dad and he frowns.
“I found this in your office, Dad. What the hell is this?” Tully’s voice slices through the air.
I jerk upright. My heart pounds before he even storms into the living room, a thick folder clutched in one hand.
Dad stiffens across the room, his whole body going rigid.
“It’s nothing,” he says, too fast. “Please keep it down. I don’t want them overhearing this.” He tilts his head toward the kitchen where my grandmothers and Grayson are laughing.
Tully flips open the folder. His jaw tightens as he reads, his hand shaking slightly.
“No, it’s not nothing,” he says, his voice low and shaky. “It’s hospital paperwork. Tests. A biopsy. Surgery consults.” He lifts his head, eyes locking on Dad. “You have cancer?”
The room sways a little around me. I push off the couch and step closer to Dad, my legs stiff.
“What is he talking about?” I whisper, looking at Dad.
His face is pale, drawn tight like a seams-about-to-burst suitcase. His hand scrapes over his jaw, a telltale sign that he’s stalling for time.
“It’s early,” he says gruffly. “They caught it early. It’s a tumor on my pancreas. Operable. Treatable.”
