CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Palisade
Two Weeks Later
I arrived at the clinic fifteen minutes early, desperate for some quiet before the day began. Two weeks since the meeting with Principal Davis, where we'd somehow convinced the school to let Casey stay, with conditions. Enhanced security. No media on school property. A private entrance for pickup.
Two weeks of navigating this new normal, where Easton was part of our daily lives, where Casey called him "Dad" without hesitation, where the three of us were figuring out how to be a family despite the media scrutiny.
"Stop overthinking," I muttered to myself while unlocking the clinic door. Today was about work, not dwelling on how complicated everything had become.
I was reviewing patient files when Monique arrived. Her eyebrows rose when she found me already buried in paperwork.
"Early bird gets the… medical charts?" She joked, hanging up her coat.
"Trying to get ahead," I replied, not meeting her eyes. She was too perceptive, and I wasn't ready to discuss the subtle shift in my relationship with Easton.
"Mmmhmm," she hummed. "Nothing to do with a certain hockey player who's been bringing you coffee every morning this week?"
My face flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not," she smirked. "Just like you know nothing about the way he looks at you when you're examining patients, or how you both check your phones at the same time."
"Don't you have reception duties to attend to?" I asked pointedly, though there wasn't any real annoyance in my voice.
Monique laughed, heading to her desk. "Just saying, boss. Whatever's happening between you two, it looks good on you."
Is it that obvious? The thought brought a knot of anxiety to my stomach, yet also a smile I couldn't quite suppress. Despite the complications, there was something undeniably right about how things were developing between us.
The morning passed in a blur of appointments.
I'd arranged for Casey to come directly to the clinic after school instead of going home, where a few persistent paparazzi still occasionally lurked.
She'd been handling the media attention better than I expected, especially since Easton stepped up his involvement in her life.
Their relationship had blossomed remarkably quickly, as if they were making up for lost time with an intensity that sometimes took my breath away.
Right before lunch, my phone buzzed with a text from Easton.
Easton:
Still on for dinner tonight? Casey's been talking about making pasta all day.
Me:
Wouldn't miss it. She's coming to the clinic after school.
Easton:
I'll pick you both up at 5. Looking forward to it.
The warmth in those simple words made my chest tighten. We were building something slowly, carefully, but real.
After lunch, the afternoon brought a steady stream of patients. I was finishing notes on my last appointment when the chime of the front door broke the silence, and Casey's happy greeting to Monique echoed through the room.
I smiled, glancing at the clock. Three-thirty on the dot.
"Mom!" she called, bouncing into the treatment room where I was washing my hands. "I got an A on my science project! Ms. Hayes said my presentation on genetics was the best in class!"
"That's wonderful, sweetheart!" I dried my hands and kneeled down to hug her. "I'm so proud of you."
"Dad helped me practice last night," she said. The word Dad now flowed naturally from her lips after these past few weeks. "He said I was a natural scientist, just like you."
My heart warmed at the thought of Easton encouraging Casey to see herself in me, even as her enthusiasm for hockey and competitive nature clearly came from him.
"Well, you're definitely smart like me," I agreed, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "Why don't you set up at my desk to do your homework? I have a few more patients this afternoon."
Casey nodded, pulling out her books. "Can I check on Toby first? I brought him some blueberries."
I smiled, unable to resist her enthusiasm. "Don't put your fingers in his cage, remember?"
"I know, I know," she said with the exaggerated patience only a six-year-old could muster. "I'm not a baby."
A familiar swell of love and pride rose as she skipped off toward the rehabilitation room, her footsteps echoing in the corridor.
Despite all the complications of the past few months, Casey had remained remarkably resilient.
She'd thrived with Easton in her life, soaking up his attention and affection like a plant turning toward the sun.
An hour later, I was updating charts at the reception desk when a commotion erupted outside. Raised voices, car doors slamming, and then a sudden influx of people pushing through the front door.
"Dr. Honors!" a man called out, camera already raised. "Can we get a statement about your relationship with Easton Henley?"
"Is it true you kept his daughter secret for seven years?" another shouted, stalking toward the desk.
Monique jumped to her feet, blocking their path. "This is a private medical facility! You need to leave immediately!"
My heart raced as I counted at least five reporters in our small reception area, cameras clicking, voices shouting, creating chaos. Mrs. Johnson, waiting with her elderly poodle, pressed herself against the wall, her eyes wide, clutching her dog like a lifeline.
"Please leave," I snapped, standing beside Monique with my hands fisted at my sides. "There are sick animals here who don't need this stress."
"Just a couple of questions," the reporter kept going, trying to get past Monique. "The public has a right to know about the Shadow Wolves' star Easton Henley's secret family."
"The public has no right to invade a private medical practice," I countered, reaching for the phone to call 911.
The moment I reached for the phone, a small voice called out from the hallway behind me.
"Mom? What's happening?"
My blood ran cold. Casey stood in the doorway, taking in the chaotic scene with the ringing phones, the shouting voices, the flashing cameras. The reporters swiveled toward her as one.
"That's her!"
"Casey! How does it feel to be Easton Henley's secret daughter?"
"Did you know he was your dad before now?"
Casey paled, backing away from the shouted questions. One particularly aggressive journalist followed her, pushing past me despite my attempt to block him.
"Wait! Just one question for Easton Henley's daughter!"
"Stop!" I shouted, fear rising as Casey ran toward the rehabilitation room where Toby was housed.
Everything slowed as if I were watching in slow motion.
Casey, startled by the reporter's advance, bumped hard into Toby's enclosure.
The already-agitated raccoon, disturbed by the commotion, hissed and lunged against the cage bars.
Casey jumped back with a small scream, her fingers narrowly missing Toby's claws as he swiped through the bars.
I lunged forward, seized Casey, and pulled her away from the cage as the clinic's back door flew open.
Easton
The call from Monique came during film review.
"Reporters broke into the clinic. Casey's scared. Palisade needs you."
I was out the door before Coach could ask what was wrong.
By the time I reached the clinic, my heart was pounding, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Through the front windows, chaos: cameras flashing like strobes, Palisade desperately trying to protect patients, and Casey's ashen face.
The rage hit me like a freight train.
These bastards had invaded Palisade's clinic, terrorized sick animals, and frightened my daughter. Every instinct screamed at me to go in there and physically throw them out. To grab cameras and smash them. To make them understand what happens when you threaten my family.
My hand was already on the door handle when Dr. Reyes' voice cut through the red haze: "That moment between stimulus and response—that's where we do our work."
My hand locked onto the door.
Stop.
Count to three.
Casey was inside, watching. Whatever I did next, she would see. She would remember.
Take a breath.
In through my nose, out through my mouth. The rage still clawed at my chest, but I could feel its boundaries, control it rather than letting it take over.
Observe.
These people had frightened my daughter. Invaded a place that should be safe. Shown complete disregard for boundaries and decency. All valid reasons for anger.
But Casey didn't need a father who solved problems with his fists. She needed a father who could stay calm when it mattered most.
Proceed.
I took one more breath, then opened the door and walked in with deliberate calm.
The scene was worse up close. Photographers crowded the small reception area, cameras pointed at the back where Toby chittered in distress.
Mrs. Johnson pressed against the wall with her elderly poodle.
And Palisade stood between the chaos and the treatment rooms, her face showing the strain of trying to protect everyone.
Casey was backed against the wall near Toby's enclosure, eyes wide with fear.
Heat flooded back. My fists clenched.
Not now. Not here. Not in front of her.
"What the hell is going on here?" My voice cut through the chaos. Every eye turned to me, cameras swiveling to capture this new angle.
I forced myself to walk, not charge. To speak, not shout. To use my presence and authority instead of my fists.
"You're trespassing on private property," I continued, moving to stand between the photographers and my family. "You have three seconds to leave before I call the police."
"Just a few questions about your daughter!" one started.
"Not here. Not now. Not ever." I pulled out my phone, hands trembling only slightly. "One."
A photographer moved toward Casey, trying to get a better angle. His camera lens pointed directly at her terrified face.
Stop. Breathe. Observe. Proceed.
But then he reached out to guide her into better lighting.
The techniques shattered.