Page 3 of Fierce-Colson

“Dad?” Her voice was sleepy. Innocent. Christ. It was past midnight.

“Bella, it’s Colson. Where are you?”

“What?” Confusion crept in. He couldn’t blame her. He was still processing this.

“Your brother. Colson. Dad was in an accident.” He kept his voice even, careful, guarded as if he was working a case. But this wasn’t a case. This was his life. “I need to come and get you.”

Silence. Then, “I’m at my friend Sophie’s house.”

“Text the address to Dad’s phone. I’ve got it. Wake her parents. I’m on my way.”

“Is Dad okay?”

“I’ll be there soon,” he said and ended the call. It wasn’t the kind of news you deliver over the phone.

He dragged a hand down his face, the exhaustion slamming into him now that the adrenaline was fading. “Christ. What a nightmare,” he mumbled.

“How old is your sister?” the nurse asked quietly.

He looked up and saw the calculation in her eyes.

“Eleven,” he said.

Twenty-one years younger than him.

And with Bella’s mother long gone years ago and Colson not knowing anything about that situation, he knew exactly what was coming.

His father was dead.

And somehow, once again, he was left cleaning up the mess.

1

TOUCH OF HUMOR

Two Years Later

“Let’s go, Bella,” Colson shouted up the stairs.

“I’m coming,” Bella said, walking down, her hand on the railing as if it was going to ground her in place so she didn’t have to leave for school.

He kept the roll from his eyes, barely. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good.”

Here they went again. “What doesn’t feel good?”

“My stomach hurts.”

He blew out a breath. “What hurts on it?”

Bella shrugged. Like she always did when she didn’t want to talk.

How the hell had his life turned into this? He no longer lived in a simple apartment where he had no maintenance on the building or the grounds. Now he was in a house and had to care for not only that, but the teen in front of him.

And let’s talk about that!

Teenage girl drama.