Page 88 of Direct Action

But the longer this went on, the more dangerous to the mission she would become.

“I want to warn you, there might come a time when Poppy will need to be locked down.”

“Locked down how?” While I was trying to find a gentle way to explain what would happen, Chloe jumped back in. “You mean locked down like cuffing her to your bed?”

Poppy would never be cuffed to my bed for any reason.

“Fuck no. We’d take her to a safe house and contain her until this was over.”

“Let me guess. I’d be joining her.”

If I had my way, hell yes.

“That’d be up to you.”

She gave me more of her weight and asked, “Because you’re worried I’d be pissed at you or because you know about my dad?”

Good Christ. We needed to consider bringing her in on interrogations.

“Both,” I told her honestly.

I waited for her to ask more. When she didn’t, since she’d brought up her father, I inquired, “How’d your visit go with your dad today?”

Over pizza she’d told me about her day, noticeably leaving out her visit to Leisure Village. The other omission was Poppy talking to Pamela and breaking down about her friend.

“I watched him play checkers.” She sighed.

“There’s no delicate way to ask this—”

“If you’re going to ask if he recognizes me, the answer is no. I’m Chloe. Just Chloe. Not his daughter. Not cupcake. Not sweetie. Not anything but Chloe, a stranger that sits next to him and watches him play checkers or cards or watches TV with him.” I heard the hitch in her inhale before she continued. “Leisure Village was supposed to be temporary. Just until he got to a place where some of his memories returned and my mom could manage him at home.”

“He doesn’t recognize your mom either?”

“Sometimes he’ll get snatches of a memory. It happens more with my mom than with me. But when the memory is lost, he gets agitated. That’s what happened yesterday. He was confused and fell. He hit his head on the corner of the table and needed stitches. Since he doesn’t remember his wife, she had to wait in the lobby while he was taken to the infirmary and stitched up. There are a lot of worse parts about this, so I can’t say this is the worst-worst, but when I see him do something like rub the pad of his thumb against his forefinger, I know he’s thinking about something because that’s so him. That’s the old him. He’s still in there. Or like when the doctor mentioned his sense of humor, and I know he’s in there, it’s just that there are big pieces that he can no longer reach.”

“Baby.”

She blew out a shuddered breath.

“Can we stop talking about this now?”

“Yeah, Chloe. Rest.”

She was quiet for a long stretch before she whispered, “Death by a thousand cuts.”

Guilt immediately flooded. Not for the few days where I’d acted every bit of the bossy asshole she’d accused me of being, but for the last ten months.

How in the hell had I not seen that Chloe was drowning?

“Next time you go visit, I want to go—”

“Ryan—”

“I can’t be there every time. But I want to get to know your dad, and I want him to get to know the man who’s falling in love with his daughter. Not only do I want that, I need it, and even if he won’t remember, your dad needs it too.”

I felt it before I heard it—the first jerk of her shoulders, followed by a raw groan that sounded like it was both painful and depleted what was left of her energy. Before the sound could fully take root, I swiftly pulled her closer. Chloe took it from there and buried her face in my throat.

Then the full-body sobs came.