Page 31 of Monk

Blackjack followed my gaze, squinting against the sun. “Yeah. Dark hair, long legs, looked like she knew where she was going. Why?”

That confirmation that I wasn’t hallucinating, that she was real, shattered whatever restraint I had left.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. I just moved.

“Monk! Where the hell are you going?” Shadow called after me.

I didn’t answer. I was already crossing the street, my boots pounding against the asphalt, my heart hammering in my chest.

The hospital doors slid open as I stepped inside. Cool, sterile air hit me, sharp with antiseptic and floor wax. People moved all around me—nurses, visitors, patients in wheelchairs—but they barely registered. I was hunting for a face I’d lost years ago, someone I’d convinced myself I’d never see again.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lina

I folded my father’s flannel shirt—the one he’d been wearing when he fell off his horse, still stiff with dirt and blood—and placed it carefully in the overnight bag Mrs. Patterson had packed for him more than a week ago.

“You know,” my father said from his wheelchair, his voice carrying that particular tone I had learned to recognize over the years. The one that meant he was about to say something I wouldn’t want to hear. “This place isn’t so bad. Lawton. You could stay.”

I kept my eyes on the bag, smoothing down the fabric. “Dad.”

“I’m just saying.” He shifted in the wheelchair, wincing slightly. The doctors had cleared him to go home, but he was still sore, still pieced together with pain and stubbornness. “Tatum would love it here. Wide-open spaces. Fresh air. A real childhood, not one boxed up in some city apartment.”

My jaw tightened. I reached for his toiletry bag on the bedside table and checked to make sure the nurses had packed everything: toothbrush, toothpaste, prescription bottles lined up like obedient little soldiers.

“We have a good life in San Francisco,” I said carefully.

“I’m sure you do.” He paused. “But you could have a good life here too. Better, maybe. Family. Roots. Tatum could grow up knowing her grandfather. Her uncle, when Eric gets leave.”

I felt the familiar tightness in my chest. The one that came every time he brought this up. Which had been approximately seven times since I had arrived in Lawton a week ago.

He didn’t understand. I had left for a reason. Built a life somewhere else for a reason. And that reason had everything to do with the ghosts still stalking this town—the memories lodged in every street corner, every familiar building. The ghost of a man I loved. The ghost of a life I had nearly touched. “Let’s just focus on getting you home,” I said, zipping the bag closed with more force than necessary.

“Lina.”

“Dad.” I turned to face him, forcing a smile that felt brittle on my face. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Once you’re settled. Once we’re home.”

He studied me for a long moment; his weathered face creased with concern and something uncomfortably close to disappointment. Then he sighed. “Fine. Later.”

I exhaled slowly, grateful for the reprieve, and moved behind his wheelchair. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

I started to push him toward the door, but something made me pause. A question I had been avoiding, a subject I had been too afraid to broach. “How’s the farm doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. “Business good?”

The change in my dad was immediate. His shoulders stiffened. His hands gripped the armrests of the wheelchair. And when he spoke, his voice was flat, carefully neutral. “It’s fine.”

That tone. I knew it. It was the same one he’d used when Mom got sick, when the medical bills started piling up, when he tried to shield Eric and me from the weight he was carrying. “Dad.” I came around to face him and crouched so I could meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He looked away, his jaw working. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed, and the sound was heavy, defeated. “Business hasn’t been good,” he admitted. “Not for a while now.”

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve lost clients. Lost capital. The farm...” He trailed off and shook his head. “It’s not what it used to be, Lina. Not since your mother died. Not since Eric enlisted. It’s just been me, and I’m getting older, and?—”