27. goodbye

27

GOODBYE

DAY 28

Early Monday morning, I'm roused from weird dreams about surfing on a sand dune by a pounding on the door of my cabin.

"Mia, open up!" shouts a familiar voice.

Stuck in that viscous moment between sleep and waking, I decide I'm still dreaming. The curtains are still dark with night. There's no way Jameson is outside right now.

The door rattles, and his low voice snaps, "Give me the damned key!"

The sound of the door swinging open brings me fully awake. I snap upright, yanking the sheet over my bare chest, to see two dark figures standing in the doorway. One of them flips on the overhead lights.

My eyes bug out. "Jaybird? What the…" My voice fails as I see the man beside him. "Le—Dr. Chastain? What's going on?"

Jameson is across the room in seconds, blocking my view of Leo. My brother reaches for me, then frowns. "I forgot you sleep naked. Get dressed. We have to go, Meerkat."

I blink dumbly. "Huh?"

A drawer opens and Leo tosses a shirt onto the bed. Feeling like I'm in the Twilight Zone, I watch him move to the closet and pull out my suitcase, then start tossing all my clothes inside. His shoulders are tense, his gaze never once veering my way.

The last cobwebs clear from my mind. "What the hell is going on?" I snap at Jameson. He hands me the shirt, then meets my gaze. What I see in his eyes makes my stomach bottom out.

"Jaybird?" I whisper.

He nods, swallowing and rubbing at his eyes. "It's Dad. He had a massive heart attack last night. He's stable right now but is scheduled for bypass surgery in two days. I couldn't get ahold of anyone here, so I called Dr. Chastain. He was kind enough to drive out with me."

I glance at Leo, not for confirmation, but because I can't help it. I can't believe he's here. For the first time, he's looking back at me. There's no professional mask—just the man, tired and rumpled and sincere.

"I'm sorry, Amelia," he says softly.

I nod numbly, then clear my throat. "Can you both step outside for a sec so I can get dressed?"

They go.

An hour later, I sit in the back of Jameson's Lexus SUV as it eats the miles toward Los Angeles. Dawn is breaking behind us, a kaleidoscope of blue and orange through scattered white clouds.

Everything since getting dressed is a little blurry—Callum and Tiffany outside in their pajamas, giving me tight hugs and pieces of paper with their phone numbers; Charlene's unexpectedly sorrowful face waiting in the Fish Tank; a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Nurse Nora. Then buckling my seatbelt, Jameson behind the wheel. Leo hesitating at the passenger door, then sliding in back beside me.

For the last few miles, every couple of minutes a random thought has come out of my mouth.

"He always loved bacon."

"He played tennis twice a week."

"Just turned sixty last year."

"I skipped his birthday party because he invited his girlfriend."

Finally, I turn my gaze from the passing scenery and look across at Leo. "Is this my fault?"

Jameson barks, "What? Of course not!"

Leo watches me sadly for a few moments, then reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt. "Come here, Amelia." The arm closest to me lifts, beckoning.

I move toward him like a flower seeking sunlight, sliding across the leather to tuck myself into his side. He finds the middle seatbelt and secures it around me, then hugs me against him.

"It's absolutely not your fault."

My cheek is against his chest, my arms cradled comfortably between us. Leo's chin rests on my head. I don't feel the seatbelt digging into my hip and stomach. I only feel him.

I think I should cry. Shouldn't I be crying?

I don't realize I've asked the question aloud until Leo says, "People process the shock of emotional pain in different ways. Some funnel overwhelming feelings into denial, anger, or violence. Others cry, or seek comfort in loved ones, or isolate."

"Where do I belong on that list?" I murmur.

He pauses, a sigh warming my scalp. "You're a survivor. You're not going to run from this. I don't think you can anymore."

"Because of your brilliant work inside my head?"

I'm only half-joking. I honestly don't know how I would have taken this news a month ago. Would I have shown up at the hospital? Maybe. For a few minutes at least. To comfort Jameson, to play the part of caring daughter—poorly, I might add.

And now? I just feel an amorphous sadness. For the past, for the fractured present, for words unsaid and efforts unmade. Despite my lack of relationship with my father, he's still my dad. The only parent I have. And the thought of him suffering, not knowing if his daughter even cares… it hurts. I want to change it.

Leo finally answers my question. "Not me, Amelia," he says gently. "It's because of you."

I breathe in and out, my exhales fanning the strong column of his throat. Despite everything, I feel safe. And that's what finally brings tears to my eyes .

Because he's not mine. Can't be mine.

"It's not fair," I whisper.

His arms tighten around me. He thinks I'm talking about my father. He doesn't know.

Against my hair he whispers back, "I agree."

Silence cocoons us. Need and deep, penetrating loss rise in my veins. A thousand wishful memories pass through my mind.

Leo.

Sunday mornings in bed. Teaching him how to surf. Coffee and croissants at my favorite Venice Beach café. Private smiles and wordless glances full of meaning. Walking our dog. Because of course we'd have a dog. Fights and forgiveness and hunting for the perfect surprise birthday present for his son.

Loving him. Being loved.

These last thoughts are the ones to break the camel's back. A sob tears free; long-suppressed emotion hurls forth. The hunter becomes prey as fear barrels through me. Fear for my father, Jameson, and myself. For Kinsey, Callum, Nix, Tiffany, Preston, Declan. For our futures, for our precarious, precious lives.

I feel it. All of it. I know it's fear because of the metallic taste in my mouth. Because I remember tasting it when Jameson and I opened the door that rainy night to two police officers.

Leo holds me tighter, harder, his arms a wall of false hope. My heart breaks again. More. Differently. Because I gave Leo Chastain what I've given no man before him—the unmitigated truth of myself .

"I'm sorry," he whispers softly, fiercely. "If I could have found you in another time, another place…"

Is he saying…?

Hope soars.

Then it plummets.

"I'll miss you," he finishes. "Please be happy. Your heart is too big and beautiful to be hidden away."

The words are said with finality.

A farewell.