Page 143 of By A Thread
We were quiet for a long beat. Lazy snow flurries drifted silently down from that midnight sky.
“Do you have to write up a report about tonight?” I didn’t want to ask the man to not do his job. But I also didn’t think I could face another layer of jeopardy to my father’s residency.
“We’re not writing anything up,” he promised.
I slumped in relief.
“Look, I know that this is a shit situation,” he said. “And I know that you’re doing your very best to keep it all together. But we all want you to know that when you’re not here, we’ve got your dad. We’re his family, yours too. And we’ll do whatever it takes to keep him happy and safe.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Tears blurred my vision and battled the cold for supremacy. My eyelashes were going to freeze shut, and I was going to have to stumble home blindly. But my father had people who had his back and that made any temporarily frozen corneas worth it.
“The rest of the staff want you to know that no matter what Deena the Bad Witch says, we want your dad here. No missed payments or late fees are going to make us treat him less than the best.”
“Aw, crap, Braden,” I said, swiping an errant tear away with my mitten.
“And one more thing,” he said.
“I don’t know if I can take one more thing.”
“Give me the damn laundry.”
“It saves me money to do it myself,” I insisted.
“Do you have a washing machine and dryer at home?” he asked.
I considered lying. But just the thought of it had my neck flushing bright red. “No. But there’s a laundromat with Wi-Fi just a couple blocks away—”
“You have better things to do than sit in a laundromat. We’re taking care of your dad’s laundry from now on. No charge.”
“I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask. And we didn’t offer. We’re telling you. Leave the damn laundry alone.”
I bumped his shoulder with mine. “You’re kind of my hero right now,” I told him.
He glanced down at his pants. “You think a cape would look good with scrubs?”
“Definitely.”
“Cool. Now get in the car so I can drive you home before you freeze to death out here.”
48
Ally
“Ilook like I ran face-first into a bar fight,” I complained to my reflection. My face hurt. Worse. Itlookedlike it hurt.
The movies where the heroine gets backhanded and jumps back up to badassedly wipe the blood off her lips before grinning at the villain were total bullshit.
I’d tried makeup. All of the foundation and concealer I had still couldn’t disguise the swelling and the darker bruises. There was no way Dominic would a) not notice that half my face was bigger and more purple than the other half and b) let me get out of explaining what had happened.
I winced at the thought and then again at the pain the audacity of having facial expressions caused.
As much as I hated to do it, I had to call in sick. There was no way around it.
It was early enough that he wouldn’t be at the office for at least another hour. I wasn’t being a big ol’ chicken, I reminded myself as I dialed his desk extension instead of his cell phone. I just didn’t want to bother him with something as insignificant as my absence today.
