Chapter Two
Jamie
Another sleepless night had come and gone. That was three in a row of zero rest.
At least I’d managed to shower and throw on clean clothes this morning. That alone felt like an accomplishment.
Not to mention, I was still here.
It had taken a solid ten minutes of bargaining with my reflection, but I was back at my father’s bedside, wondering if the walls were actually closing in or if it was all in my head.
How long could someone go without sleep before they lost their grip on reality?
The urge to look it up was like a reflex. Before I was even aware of the decision, my phone was in my hands, insomnia already typed into the browser search bar.
“Goddammit,” my father growled. “Why do I have all these machines hooked up to me?”
My head snapped up. Mouth open, I froze.
He looked…alert. Not just awake, but aware. More present than he’d been since I’d arrived.
“Mr. Hartley,” the nurse greeted, already reaching for the line he was fumbling with as she rushed into the room. “Please don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Don’t Mr. Hartley me.” His voice rose, sharp and slurred. “I don’t give a shit about this stupid thing or your stupid ideas of what’s good for me.”
There he was. This was the version of him I remembered.
All asshole, all the time. No filter.
As much as I hated it, part of me felt relief. This was familiar territory. I’d had plenty of practice dealing with him like this. It was the confused, quiet, broken version of him that kept knocking the air out of my lungs.
Still, watching him struggle made something ache in my chest. There was no dignity in this. Even with good care, even with the morphine drip, being trapped in a failing body had to be unbearable. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Not even him.
“Dad, stop,” I said. “She’s just doing her job.”
“Ah, fuck you too, James.”
The name hit harder than his cursing.
James. Only he ever called me that.
It used to be our thing. Something he’d say while tugging my hair or poking my ribs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. You find my daughter yet, James? Mom and Trina would laugh, playing along with the old joke. I’d roll my eyes and act annoyed, but inside I’d be glowing.
It had mattered more than I’d ever let on.
Still did.
He hadn’t used the name in so long I’d almost forgotten it belonged to me. Not since Mom and Trina died. Not since the house went quiet and the laughter all stopped.
Hearing it now felt like being handed a piece of who we used to be—a father and daughter who had inside jokes and gentle teasing. Before everything went wrong.
A cracked and fragile souvenir from a childhood I didn’t get to keep.
“You’re useless here,” he went on. “Useless, just like me. You might as well leave like you did before. Eleven years…and now you come back? For what?”
His voice faded toward the end, the anger draining out of him as his body gave up the fight. He’d never cared who heard him rage before. Never softened his words for an audience. But now even his cruelty lacked conviction.
“It’s only been about ten years,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But ten years or ten days doesn’t really matter. I’m here now. And I’m the only one.” I nodded toward the nurse. “Other than her. And she’s trying to help, whether you like it or not.”
Telling him to calm down was pointless, so I didn’t bother.
He didn’t have the strength to keep going.
His hair, once dark and thick, had thinned to wisps of white.
His skin had taken on a grayish hue that made him look more like a ghost than a man.
He’d lost so much weight his face looked hollow, sharp in places it had never been before.
It was nothing like the last time I saw him. Back then, he’d been round and red-faced, screaming at me like he had all the energy in the world.
“Just leave me alone,” he rasped. “Just let me die.”
He meant it.
The truth was there in his eyes. There was no fight left in him. No stubborn refusal to quit. Only exhaustion. Like life had stopped offering him anything worth holding on to.
And that made something ugly twist inside me.
You selfish bastard.
All that time. All of it wasted. Every chance he’d blown, every door he’d slammed shut, every moment he’d chosen pride and anger over love. Ten years of birthdays and Christmas mornings and milestones he’d never asked about.
And still I was here, counting heartbeats instead of packing lunches or helping with homework, for a man who made it clear he didn’t want me.
He resented my presence here almost as much as I did.
“Mr. Hartley.” The nurse shook her head. “Please. Your daughter’s here for you. We all are.”
His glare didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened.
“I don’t want a thing from any of you,” he growled. “And she’s the worst excuse for a daughter that ever existed. So don’t pretend I should care that she’s here.”
Worst excuse for a daughter.
The knot in my stomach spread, taking hold of my chest.
“You hear me, Jamie girl?” His eyes locked on mine, flat and cold. “I don’t want you here. You might as well leave.”
The room was suddenly too small. Too tight.
I’d spent ten years convincing myself I was immune to him. That time and distance had created an impenetrable barrier not even Frank Hartley could break through.
Fuck, was I wrong.
“Fine.” I shot to my feet and stormed out of the room, my messy hair flying around me.
Did it make me look childish? Maybe.
Did I care? Not one bit.
Let him think I was throwing a tantrum. It didn’t matter. His opinion of me couldn’t get any lower.
But the second I hit the hallway, my bravado faded.
Tears blurred my vision, and my chest felt like it was cracking in two. I pressed my lips together, but it didn’t stop the sob that tore out of me, raw and humiliating.
I hated crying. Always had. It made me feel exposed and weak. Proof I wasn’t as strong as I pretended to be.
This was more than simple tears, though. My entire body was shaking, and I couldn’t stop it.
I took the stairs at the end of the hall two at a time, head down, breath ragged, hoping no one would look too closely. I didn’t care where I ended up. I just needed out.
Away from the room. Away from him. Away from the power he still had to tear me apart with a single sentence.
At the bottom, I turned the last corner too fast and slammed straight into someone solid. Strong hands closed around my arms, stopping me before I could get away.
“Easy now,” a low, calm voice said. “I’ve got you.”
I looked up to find bold, blue eyes staring down at me. And they were filled with the exact same concern as the last time I saw them.
“Jamie.” Eric’s brows drew together, his grip tightening protectively. “What’s wrong?”
The sound that came out of me wasn’t dignified. It definitely wasn’t pretty. Hell, I didn’t know I was even capable of making such a horrid noise.
All because this man—this stranger—looked at me like I mattered, like he actually fucking cared, when my own father couldn’t stand the sight of me.
Something inside me gave way. My knees followed.
Eric was there before I could hit the floor, arms firm around my back, holding me upright like gravity was just an inconvenience. He didn’t ask any more questions. Didn’t offer to fix anything. He just held me, his body a solid wall between me and the rest of the world.
“I’ve got you,” he repeated, his voice rough with certainty. “You’re safe.”
Wrapped in his steadiness, I folded into him, pressing my forehead to his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt caught the sounds I’d stopped pretending I could hold back.
He stayed exactly where he was, bearing my weight without complaint, like protecting me was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe it was. Because after ten years of running, I felt tethered. Safe enough to let myself fall apart.