CHAPTER TWENTY
Palisade
Iknew something was wrong the moment I pulled into the Lakeview Elementary parking lot.
There were twice as many cars as usual. Parents who normally used the bus line were here for pickup. And they were all staring.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
A black sedan with tinted windows was parked across from the school entrance. As I watched, a man with a camera emerged, aiming his lens at the building.
Paparazzi. At my daughter's elementary school.
I was out of my car and heading toward the building before I could think better of it. The man with the camera swung toward me, lens clicking rapid-fire.
"Dr. Honors! How does it feel having your secret exposed?"
"Is Easton planning to file for custody?"
"Have you asked him for child support?"
I kept walking, head down, ignoring them. The school's front door had never seemed so far away.
Inside, the hallways were crowded with parents who would normally never show up for pickup. Emma's mom stood near the office, whispering to two other women. They went silent when they saw me.
I headed to Casey's classroom, my face hot with humiliation.
Ms. Hayes intercepted me at the door. "Dr. Honors, can we talk?"
My heart sank. "Is Casey okay?"
"She's fine. But we need to discuss the situation.
" Ms. Hayes led me a few feet down the hall, lowering her voice.
"There were photographers outside the school this morning.
Principal Davis has already called the police to have them removed from school property, but they're camping out across the street. "
"I know. I saw them."
"Several parents have expressed concern." Ms. Hayes’ expression was sympathetic but firm. "They're worried about their own children being photographed. About the disruption. One parent even threatened to pull her child from class if 'the circus continues.'"
Shame burned through me. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to affect the school."
"I know you didn't. But Dr. Honors…" She hesitated. "Principal Davis wants to meet with you tomorrow to discuss options. For Casey's safety and the school's security."
Options.
That meant they were considering asking Casey to leave.
"She loves this school," I said, hating how my voice shook. "Her friends are here. Her teacher. This is her safe place."
"I understand. And we're not deciding today. But the situation needs to be addressed." Ms. Hayes squeezed my arm. "For what it's worth, Casey's been very brave today. Some children asked her questions, and she handled it beautifully."
When she led me into the classroom, Casey was sitting at her desk, head down, working on a drawing. She looked up when she heard my voice, and the relief on her face broke my heart.
"Mom!" She gathered her backpack and ran to me.
"Hey, sweetheart. Ready to go home?"
She nodded, but her hand gripped mine tighter than usual as we walked down the hallway. Past the whispering parents. Past Emma's mom, who had the grace to look away. Past the office where Principal Davis stood watching us leave.
Outside, the man with the camera was waiting.
"Casey! Look over here!"
"How does it feel to finally meet your dad?"
"Are you happy your mom told the truth?"
I pulled Casey closer, using my body to shield her from the cameras. She buried her face in my side, her small body trembling.
"Leave her alone!" I snapped, unable to help myself. "She's six years old!"
The camera kept clicking.
We made it to the car. I buckled Casey in, my hands shaking with rage and helplessness.
"Are they going to be there tomorrow?" Casey asked in a small voice.
"I don't know, baby."
"Emma's mom said I'm famous now. Like Dad." She looked up at me with those blue eyes. "I don't want to be famous."
"I know." I started the car, checking the mirrors for anyone following us. "I don't want you to be famous either."
"Can I stay home from school tomorrow?"
Every instinct screamed yes. Hide her. Protect her. Keep her safe from the cameras and the questions and the judgment.
But I couldn't. Hiding hadn't worked before. Hiding had created this mess.
"No, baby. We're not going to hide. We're going to hold our heads up and live our lives, and eventually people will get bored and leave us alone."
I said it with conviction I didn't feel.
Casey was quiet for a long moment. "Did Dad have to deal with this when he was famous?"
"Your dad's been dealing with this his entire career."
"Then how does he stand it?"
I thought about Easton’s anger issues, the assault, the desperate need for control that had led to therapy and community service, and that sealed bottle of whiskey.
"I don't think he stands it very well," I admitted. "But he keeps showing up, anyway. And that's what we're going to do, too."
In the rearview mirror, I saw the black sedan pull out behind us.
They were following us home.
I kept driving, hands tight on the wheel, and called Easton.
"There's paparazzi following me home from Casey's school," I said when he answered. "They were waiting outside. They took pictures of her. They shouted questions at a six-year-old."
"I'll meet you at the house in fifteen minutes. And those photographers? They're about to learn what happens when you go after my daughter."
Easton showed up forty minutes later with Chinese takeout and a grocery bag full of Casey's favorites, including chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, and apple juice boxes. Comfort food for a day that had been anything but comfortable.
He'd taken one look at my face when I opened the door and pulled me into a hug without saying a word.
"What did you do?" I asked when I finally pulled back.
"I called campus security first and had them clear the parking lot.
Then Sunny." His voice was controlled, but I could hear the fury beneath it.
"We're filing for restraining orders. They can't come within a hundred yards of this building, Casey's school, or the clinic.
If they violate it, they'll be arrested. "
"Will that actually work?"
"It'll work for the ones who care about jail time. The rest…" He exhaled. "I'm hiring private security for school pickups. They start tomorrow."
I wanted to argue about the cost, about the necessity, but I'd seen the fear in Casey's eyes. "Okay."
We tried to make dinner feel normal. Easton set out the food while I got Casey washed up. But when we sat down at the table, Casey just stared at her plate.
She'd barely touched her chicken nuggets. Her mac and cheese sat untouched, cooling into a congealed mass.
"Sweetheart, you need to eat something," I said gently.
Casey pushed a nugget around with her fork but didn't pick it up.
Easton and I exchanged worried glances over her head.
"Casey?" Easton said softly. "You okay, kiddo?"
She didn't answer. Just kept moving food around her plate, her jaw tight, her shoulders hunched.
I reached over and touched her hand. "Baby, talk to me. What's wrong?"
"I don't want to go back to school," she whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear her.
"We talked about this in the car, remember? We're not going to hide."
"I don't want to hide." Her voice cracked. "I just don't want them to take pictures of me anymore. I don't want Emma's mom looking at me like that. I don't want everyone staring."
Easton pushed back from the table and kneeled beside her chair. "Casey, look at me."
She did, and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.
"Those photographers? The security team I hired starts tomorrow. They'll make sure no one bothers you at school. And if anyone does, you call me. Immediately. Okay?"
"What if they follow me home again?"
"Then I'll be there," Easton said firmly. "Or someone I trust will be. You're not alone in this, Casey. You have your mom and me, and we're both going to protect you."
Casey's lower lip trembled. "Are you going to leave?"
The question hung in the air.
"What?" Easton looked confused.
"Emma's friend Sophie said that famous people don't stay in small towns. She said you're going to go back to your real life and forget about us." A tear slipped down her cheek. "Are you?"
"No." Easton's voice was fierce. He took both of her hands in his. "Casey, listen to me. I live here. In Amber Falls. This is my real life. You are my real life. I'm not going anywhere."
"But what about hockey? Don't you have to travel?"
"Sometimes, yeah. For away games. But I always come back. And when I'm gone, I'll call you every single day. I promise."
"Every day?" Her voice was so small, so hopeful.
"Every single day." He squeezed her hands. "And on the days I'm here, I'll pick you up from school. We'll practice hockey. We'll have dinner. Whatever you want. Because you're my daughter, and that will not change just because some photographers are being jerks."
Casey was quiet for a moment, processing this. Then: "Can I stay with you sometimes? At your house?"
I felt my chest tighten. This was happening faster than I'd expected.
Easton glanced at me, clearly asking permission.
I nodded. We'd have to figure out the logistics, but if it made Casey feel safer, more secure…
"Absolutely," Easton said. "We can set up a room for you. You can help me decorate it. Pick out whatever you want."
"Really?"
"Really." He smiled. "Maybe this weekend we can go shopping. Get you some stuff for there."
"Okay." Casey wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Can we still have ice cream? Even though I didn't eat my dinner?"
Despite everything, I laughed. "Yeah, sweetheart. I think today definitely deserves ice cream."
Easton stood and ruffled her hair. "What flavor are we thinking? I saw some chocolate chip in the freezer."
"With sprinkles?"
"Obviously, with sprinkles." He shot me a small smile over Casey's head. "What kind of dad would I be if I didn't have sprinkles?"
As we moved to the kitchen, Casey slipped her hand into Easton's. The gesture was slight, but the trust in it made my throat tight.
"Dad?" she said quietly.
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"I'm glad you're here."
Easton stopped, crouching down to her level. "Me too, Casey. Me too."
After Casey was in bed, I found him standing in the living room, staring out the front window.
"They're gone," I said. "The photographers. For now."
"They'll be back." His voice was grim. "They always come back."
"I'm sorry. This is my fault. If I'd just told you from the beginning—"
"Don't." He turned to face me. "This isn't your fault. It's theirs. And mine. I'm the one who made my life public. I'm the one who comes with this… circus."
"Casey's scared."
"I know." His jaw tightened. "But she's also resilient. She'll get through this. We all will."
I wanted to believe him. But standing in my living room, thinking about the meeting with Principal Davis tomorrow, the reporters at the clinic, the life I'd built that was crumbling around me.
"What if they ask her to leave?" The words came out broken. "The school. What if they ask Casey to leave?"
"Then we'll find another school. A private one, where they can control access. Whatever she needs."
"She loves her school. Her friends…"
"I know." He crossed the room and took my hands. "But Casey's safety comes first. Her well-being comes first. We'll figure out the rest."
I looked up at him, at the determination in his eyes, and felt something shift in my chest.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For being here. For showing up."
"I'm her father," he said simply. "Where else would I be?"
I arrived at the clinic the next morning to find two news vans already parked across the street.
My stomach dropped.
Monique was standing at the front door, arms crossed, glaring at a reporter who was trying to peer through the windows. When she saw me pull into the lot, she intercepted me before I could get to the door.
"They've been here since five," she said, voice tight. "Asking questions about you and Easton. One of them tried to come inside and 'accidentally' schedule an appointment just to get photos."
"You're kidding."
"I wish." She walked with me to the door, positioning herself between me and the cameras. "Dr. Honors, we need to talk about security. Mrs. Patterson canceled her appointment because she didn't want to 'deal with the circus.' That's a direct quote."
Inside, the clinic felt different.
Violated.
This space was mine.
Now, even that was gone.
My phone buzzed.
Easton:
Are there reporters at the clinic?
Me:
Two news vans. How did you know?
Easton:
Because there are three at the rink. They're following both of us now. I'm calling my publicist to see what we can do.
Me:
Can they do this? Just camp outside my business?
Easton:
If they're on public property, yeah. I'm sorry, Palisade.
I looked out the window at the vans, at the reporters clearly visible with their cameras and microphones, waiting for me to do something interesting.
"We can put up privacy film on the windows," Monique suggested. "And maybe a 'No Media' sign?"
"Will that help?"
Her expression said it all.
My first appointment was with Mr. Kuzusawa and his elderly beagle, Buddy. He'd been coming to the clinic for three years, always patient, always kind.
When he arrived, he had to push past two reporters shouting questions at him.
"Dr. Honors, I'm so sorry," he said immediately, Buddy trembling in his arms. "They asked me if I knew you. If I'd seen Easton Henley here. Buddy got scared of all the noise."
I took Buddy gently, my heart breaking for the old dog's anxiety. "I'm the one who should apologize, Mr. Kuzusawa. This is completely unacceptable."
"It's not your fault." But his hands shook as he signed the intake form.
By noon, we'd had three more cancellations. By three PM, Mrs. Whitmore called to say she was transferring her five cats to another clinic.
"I just can't deal with the spectacle, Dr. Honors. I hope you understand."
I understood. That was the worst part.
I was updating patient files when Monique knocked on my office door.
"You have a visitor. He won't leave until you see him."
Easton stood in the waiting room, still in his practice gear, jaw tight. He'd seen the news vans. Of course, he had.
"How bad?" he asked.
I looked at my empty schedule, at the messages from worried clients, at the life I'd built that was crumbling around me.
"Bad," I said.
He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. "We'll figure it out."
I wanted to believe him. But standing there in the wreckage of my clinic, with reporters outside and clients fleeing, I wasn't sure there was anything left to figure out.