Prologue

PROLOGUE

Five months earlier

Britt

All this over a motherfucking toy that still reeks of the chicken nuggets it came with.

I grit my teeth as another wave of pain washes over me. The morphine the EMT gave me hasn't helped. But when you slip on a tiny plastic car and fall down a flight of stairs, pain is inevitable. Thank God for Mrs. Neely. Normally, the old busybody is a pain in my ass, but having a nosy neighbor has finally proven useful. She's got Karli at her house baking cookies with her and she called 9-1-1 when I was too freaked out from the extra bend in my leg to even form a coherent sentence, much less arrange childcare.

The ambulance sirens finally go quiet and the vehicle stops abruptly. Even that slight jolt has me gasping with pain and gripping the sheet with white knuckles.

"Just hang in there, Britt. We'll have you inside with the doc in no time."

I can't remember the EMT's name. We went to school together for half our lives and I'm looking at this woman and drawing a complete blank. "Thank you."

She just pats me reassuringly on the shoulder. Not even a second later, her partner has the rear door open as they are easing the gurney out. I know they're trying to be gentle, but all I can do is grit my teeth and try not to lose all my dignity and vomit from the pain.

I'm holding on okay until we get inside. And with nurses counting down around them, they all lift me up and slide me over onto the ER bed. The whole world flashes white before my eyes and then goes pitch black.

"How did this happen?"

It's a male voice that I don't recognize.

"Slipped on one of her kid's toys and fell down a flight of stairs."

That was the EMT whose name I can't remember.

"Legit? Or do we need social services?"

"Legit," the EMT replies. "Nobody living in the home but her and the kid–the kid, btw, is with the neighbor who called it in. She might not remember all that when she wakes up."

Ex-husband. Almost. I don't actually have the strength to utter the correction. I just think it really, really hard.

"Miss Clay? I'm Dr. Silas Blake."

I force my eyes open and look up into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Like September skies kind of blue. Okay, yeah, the drugs might not have dulled the pain that much, but they are clearly working in other ways.

"We're going to get a CT of your leg. If it's a clean break, we can get an ortho here to set it and cast it. If it's not, we'll need to do surgery to remove any bone fragments," he says.

I'm not really hearing the words. Just the confidence in his voice. He's speaking with a kind of certainty that is comforting, like he knows what the hell to do. That's a rarity from most men these days, my dad not included.

"Is there someone we can call for you? Someone to sign consent forms since you're incapacitated?"

"My dad… phone." My mouth feels weird, like it's stuffed with cotton that makes the words come out thick and slightly garbled.

He looks around and sees my purse on the table. The unnamed EMT had the foresight to bring it, thank God. But he doesn't dig into it, He just opens it up and holds it out to me. Luckily, I just cleaned it out so I can grab the phone easily. Normally my purse is full of Karli's half eaten snacks, a random sock or two that I find in my car, and enough receipts to wallpaper the house. I hold it up, looking at it just long enough to unlock it and then pass it to him.

"Under Dad," I tell him.

He makes the call. I can hear my dad's voice when he answers, muffled, but still recognizable. Immediately, I feel better. Dad will fix it. Somehow. Someway. Dad always fixes it.

I lose track of the conversation then, wavering in and out of the funky painkiller fog.

I'm x-rayed. CT'd. Poked, prodded, and manhandled, gently enough under the circumstances. Then I'm back in the little cubicle. Dr. McHotness with the baby blue eyes is there. "You were lucky, Miss Clay. It's a clean break. I've called for Ortho. He should be here within the hour. In the meantime, I'm going to do a nerve block to help with the pain… Based on your response to any touch, the morphine doesn't seem to be effective."

"How long have I been here?"

He glances at his watch. "Four hours, give or take."

Karli is still with Mrs. Neely and the cookie baking is probably long over with. That poor old woman is probably ready to tear her hair out. I love my kid, but she is chatty as hell.

Just then the door opens and I see a familiar and very welcome face. My Dad.

"Hey, baby," he says, walking over to the bed. He leans down and kisses my forehead just like he used to do whenever he tucked me into bed at night. That's when the tears start to fall. I can't help it. I just fall apart. And I can. Because now there's someone else to take care of everything.