Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
CELESTE
Caleb moves from the doorway just as the paramedic in front of me dabs the nasty cut on my cheek. I hiss at the pain, and she apologizes for the umpteenth time since they started cleaning up my face.
I don’t know what happened.
One minute we were getting ready to go out for the school play, the next, Dad was in a rage, shaking old photos in my face. I’ve seen him get upset and confused before, maybe even a little rough with the household things. But never has he laid a finger on me.
And the sad part is, he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, or who he’s doing it to.
The man I grew up with never would hav—
“Fucking hell, CC,” a low tone growls.
Quin.
Warm arms swallow me up as the paramedic is jostled out of the way. A heavy groan filters past my ear as sandalwood and spice shroud me.
Quin.
Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave.
And it only takes my body a second to register safety. Sagging against him, the first semblance of a sob slips through. Quin tightens around me, and I breathe him in. The total and overwhelming feeling of exhaustion consumes me.
It’s been three weeks, but they have felt like years. Constantly worrying, busy with every task to make my father’s days more comfortable and less confusing.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
It’s not enough.
A large, warm hand rubs over my back, reminding me I’m only wearing a shirt and no sweater. Trembling against him, I raise my head, just a little.
Caleb hovers outside the kitchen doorway, his cap in his hand. If he hadn’t shown up when he did . . .
No. I refuse to believe my father would knowingly hurt me. That’s not who he is.
Was, I guess.
This disease has warped his mind in so many ways.
Pushing the depressing thoughts from my head, I put space between us.
Quinton’s eyes narrow as his jaw feathers. “Are you alright?”
“I’m okay.”
His thumb traces the angle of my cheekbone, just under the nasty cut I received from a flying soup bowl I’d left on the draining rack by the sink. Quin steps out of the room, talking to Caleb. I listen to them speak in low tones. “What happened?”
“I got here, and Hank was yelling and tossing stuff. CC was trying to protect herself in the kitchen. But he tossed that bowl, and . . .”
“Fucking hell. I should’ve been here.”
“Nobody saw this coming, bud. Least of all CC.”
Quin sighs heavily. “Still. That’s the last time I send another man to do my own damn job.”
A strained chuckle spills from Caleb. “I bet.”
Remembering I haven’t cleaned the mess up, I pace in a fluster, opening cupboards and trying to locate the dustpan and broom.
The paramedic tries to intercept, and I ignore her.
“Someone out there loves you,” she says softly. Her face is all mushy from the sentiment.
“It’s not like that.” I try another cupboard.
“Oh, kind of sounds like it.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile.
Lord . . . small towns.
When I’ve opened every cupboard thrice, I’m blocked by an imposing wall of muscle. “CC,” he says softly, hands closing around my arms. “I’ll clean it up. Let the medic finish. Caleb’s here if I need a hand, okay?”
It’s all I can do to nod as he guides me by the shoulders to the counter stool.
“Almost done, hon,” the paramedic says before dabbing the cut with something that burns and applying a dressing. “That should keep you out of trouble.” She smiles, so genuinely.
But I doubt me and trouble will ever part ways.
I have a knack for letting it hunt me down. I just never thought it would take the form of my own father.
Alzheimer’s—one.
CC—zero.
“You need anything, Celeste?” Caleb asks, hat in hand.
“No. Sorry you had to come all the way across town,” I murmur.
He glances to Quinton. “Boss’s orders.”
My gaze swings between the two. “I—”
“It was no trouble, I’m just glad you’re alright. Mostly, that is.” Caleb nods and retreats from the doorway. A minute later his truck fires up and the sound disappears down the street.
Quinton is on his hands and knees, sweeping the porcelain shards into the dustpan.
“Quin—”
“Nope, not yet, baby. I need a minute. Go check on your dad.”
Running my bottom lip through my teeth, I turn on my heel, slowly, and head for the living room.
Two paramedics sit with him on the sofa. He was given something to calm down after they arrived. Caleb boxed him in so he couldn’t hurt me again.
And my heart aches for my dad.
He’s shaking his head, his face twisted with emotion as he repeats, “I didn’t mean to hurt her, I didn’t.”
He rocks back and forth on the seat, arms hugged around his body.
And in this moment, he looks so small.
Nothing like the father I once knew, full of life. Ever so capable and a fierce defender of his family.
Leaning on the door, I purse my lips together as a hot tear tracks down my face and drips from my jaw. This is hurting him as much as it is me.
This lousy, shitty disease.
The aggression that took hold of him tonight makes the memory loss feel like a walk in the park. That is easily navigated. This? This is layers of emotions that I don’t have the first clue how to deal with.
Finally, one paramedic notices me in the doorway and waves me in.
I pad to the sofa and stop in front of Dad. “Hank?”
His face cracks on a breathy sob. “I’m so sorry, Celeste.”
Clarity.
Fleeting, blissful, damn painful clarity.
“Yeah, Daddy, I know. It’s okay.”
“No, no it’s not. I—” He grinds his jaw shut, hands wringing in his lap.
“We’ve offered Hank a bed tonight to give you a short respite, and he’s agreed.”
“But won’t that, you know, confuse him even more?” I glance at my father who still looks like he’s with us in mind if not in spirit.
“Maybe, but we are responsible for the wellbeing of you both. And our senior medic thinks it’s a good call.”
“No. I feel like I’m sending him away for making a mistake.”
My father doesn’t say anything, but I can see in his eyes that he is already turning in on himself.
“He’ll be fine here. This is his home. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“I am.”
She stands and hands me a card. “If you change your mind, any unit can come at any time for transport to respite.”
She gives me the wide-eyed look people do when they want to make sure you’re paying attention.
“Okay, thank you.”
“Do you have someone who can stay with you two?” She glances behind me.
I look over my shoulder to find Quin leaning on the same frame I just was.
“I live next door. I can be here if she needs me.” He steps into the room.
“Good.” The paramedic’s focus is back on me. “Make sure you take him up on his offer.”
I simply nod, and the paramedics gather their bags and equipment before walking out the front door.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea and get your medication, Hank.”
He stares straight ahead, not responding.
Deciding to just get it ready anyway, I head for the door.
“One sugar, a little milk, please, miss.” His voice has returned to its usual lilt.
A sad smile tugs at my mouth, and Quinton follows me to the kitchen.
“Does he need a snack with his pills?” Quin says, rummaging through the pantry. When he pulls out a small pack of Christmas cookies, he slides them across the counter to me. I put the kettle on to boil and grab a mug.
Best Dad in the World is wrapped around the outside, the handle a bright blue, a hammer and screwdriver painted at the end of the phrase. Tears burn behind my eyes, like I haven’t shed enough of those tonight.
“Hey, come here.” Quinton rounds the counter and has me in his hold before my tears have the chance to fall. “None of this is your fault. You do an incredible job looking after your father, CC. A task most would have palmed off to some respite or old folks’ home by now.”
His hand travels over the back of my hair, and the sorrow that was threatening my undoing gives way to something more intense.
I press closer to him, but pain lances through my face when pressure reaches the cut.
With a hiss, I make space. Quinton’s hands are quick to palm my jawline, tilting my head up.
“A little bruising has started to come out, but otherwise still as beautiful as ever, baby.”
I huff a breath and my eyes flutter shut briefly, before pushing to my toes. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. MacKelvie.” I mess up his hair, and he dips his head forward, making it fall into his eyes. Dark blues look out from behind hooded eyes and light brown messy strands of hair.
I want to positively eat him.
Nothing has ever been surer in this world.
The kettle whistles, bursting our little bubble of intimacy. I turn back to the hot water and pour Dad’s tea. Quin rummages through the drawers until he produces a tray and slides the cookies and mug onto it before stealing it away. “I’ve got it, you get ready for bed.”
“What about Maise?”
“Oh, she’s going to be so excited to see you.”
My brows drop. “What do you mean?”
“You are sleeping at my house tonight, no arguments. I’ll keep an eye on Hank.”
“Qui—”
“Uh-uh, not negotiable, baby.”
I round the counter and follow him through the door into the hallway. When he turns right heading for the living room, I go left. He makes it almost to the arch that leads into the living room when I say, “If you say so, Quinnie.”
I sway my hips, taking the steps slowly and one at a time.
His eyes burn into me as I ascend the stairs. And I half imagine him dropping the tray and ravishing me over the steps. At least that way, one good thing would have come out of tonight.
But he gives me the most incredible smile before stepping into the living room and out of sight.
And my body is on fire.
From that one look, that one handsome-as-hell smile.
It’s going to be a long night.
Maise is, as predicted, beside herself with excitement. She’s jumping on her bed like a literal monkey, her chocolate curls flying around her shoulders as she squeals with delight.
“This is the best day ever!”
I chuckle. “I’m glad you’re happy, sweetheart.”
She slows, moving to the edge where I stand as she cuddles me tight. “Thank you for coming to my house,” she whispers.
“Any time, snuggle bug.”
She giggles again. But the tinkly sound peters out when her small hand touches my jaw. “Does it hurt where you fell and hit your head?”
“A little, but I feel much better here with you.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty good company,” she says with an exaggerated sigh that could win a stinking Oscar.
When she settles down and we slide into her bed, she snuggles up so close I’m afraid I’ll roll over and smother her in her sleep.
“You comfy, snuggle bug?”
“Uh-huh, are you?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I spoon her, and she laces her small fingers with mine.
“I love you, CC.”
The prickle behind my nose steals my words. I take a beat to recover before saying, “I love you, too, Maise.”
“But there’s just one thing . . .”
“What is it?”
“I get scared in this old house when Daddy’s not here.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What can we do to fix that?”
“Well, there is one thing . . .”
“What’s that?”
“When I’m scared, I sleep in Daddy’s bed.”
Oh.
Shit.
“Can we sleep in Daddy’s bed, please, please . . . please.”
She turns in my hold, and her hands are on my face. “He won’t even know,” she whispers.
“Hmmm, maybe just this once. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Deal. But . . . I have my side, and you have to sleep on the stinky boy side.”
“Um . . .”
“It’s okay, you won’t catch anything. My friend back in the city had a sleepover in Daddy’s bed with me once and they woke up just fine.”
I cackle out loud and Maisey giggles.
Okay, so we’re doing this. I’m sleeping in Quinton’s bed. Maise drags me from her bed by the hand, and we pad through the hall and into his room.
The second I cross the threshold, I’m hit with his sandalwood and spice. And hell, I’ve never missed a person more than I do right now.
Maisey climbs into her side, and I slip into the other. When my head hits the pillow, I’m shrouded by his scent more so. The huge bed is soft and warm. And way too heady. My body has come alive just from the physical proximity to all things Quinton.
I ignore the tug of need, rolling over to focus on the brown eyes that are staring back at me. Maisey yawns, pulling the blankets up.
“Night, Maise,” I whisper.
Her eyes stay closed. She really must be tired.
“Night, CC.”
My eyes drift shut as sleep lulls me into its abyss . . .
Iwake with a start. The dim light outlines a room that’s vaguely familiar as it slowly comes into focus.
Quinton’s room.
I turn to my right to find Maisey sound asleep.
Thank god.
I slip out of the bed and pad downstairs to check on things and grab a drink. I flip the light on and find a glass. Standing by the sink, I watch as the glass fills with cold water from outside. The glass cools as the waterline rises.
Shutting off the tap, I take a sip and lean on the counter. A moment later, the front door unlocks, and a disheveled man appears in the doorway.