Page 39 of What I Should've Said

Pink is Summer’s absolute favorite color. Truthfully, it’s the only color in her eyes. All the other colors don’t stand a chance or ever get selected if Summer has the choice.

I shake my head with a small laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because who wouldn’t hope for pink? Pink is the best!”

“Okay, Summble. You’re right. I hope it’s pink too.”

She giggles again, her eyes rolling back toward the sky, she’s doing it so hard. We’ve always had to be careful since she was born with the worst and most progressive type of brittle bone that a baby can actually survive, but I can’t imagine how she must feel these days, practically—purposely—paralyzed for her own good. When it comes to Summer’s disease, even the simplest of movements can cause a bone fracture. Hell, sometimes—lately, a lot of times—her bones fracture for no reason at all.

She cheers as I pull to a stop right in front of the red barn doors and push the brake pedal to its locked position to keep the cart from rolling at all. I grab her mobility stroller from the back and gingerly lift her—while she’s still strapped into her seat—out of the golf cart and secure her in place.

“Come on, Dad,” she complains when I start doing my usual double- and triple-check thing. “I want to see the wall.”

“Hold your horses,” I chastise with a chuckle. “This isn’t a race.”

“It should be,” she argues. For as long as I can remember, Summer’s been in a hurry. She’s eager and voracious and demanding of both excitement and affection, and because of all those things, she’s impossible to placate. She wants what she wants, and if I’m completely honest, I’ve never even tried not to give any of it to her.

Seven years ago, her mom skipped out as soon as she had her, too selfish to be weighed down by a daughter, especially one in need of extra care, and I did the only thing I could do—turn my life around in a hurry. I cut ties with everyone of questionable influence and moved the two of us to Red Bridge, swearing to myself that nothing—and no one—would ever come between me and what my daughter needed.

Even damsels in seeming distress like Norah Ellis.

I slide open the big red doors and step inside the vacant barn, pushing Summer ahead of me. The sun shines through one of the upper windows and lands right on the wall that is no longer white. Instead, a beautiful shade of pastel pink with hues of orange and yellow and red is now front and center.

I take off her sunglasses, and Summer’s reaction is instantaneous. Mine lingers in my gut like it’s been punched.

“Oh my gosh, Daddy! I love it so much! This is the one! It looks just like the sunset we saw last week on the back porch! Right?”

It does. I wasn’t sure Summer would notice, but now that she has, my stomach churns ten times harder. Every sunset we share together feels like one fewer is left.

Leaving Summer there to admire the wall with excitement, I walk over to the neatly sorted paint cans and clean brushes to see if the paper is there. I barely even glance at it before I’m shocked by a name—Norah Ellis.

Her phone number sits right below it in the same delicate, feminine handwriting.

Holy shit.

I have to blink several times before my brain can fully comprehend how to feel about the revelation.

She’s a pain in the ass, weighed down by complicated baggage, and she makes me do stupid things. In a week’s time, her presence has had me both punching strangers and engaging in the best kiss I’ve ever had.

Norah Ellis is the very last person I need working for me.

“Dad, you have to leave this one up,” Summer continues, her exuberance temporarily knocking me out of my confused stupor. “This way, we can come out here and see that sunset all the time!”

Even though I wish I could erase Norah Ellis and everything related to her from my life, there’s no way in hell I can say no. “Okay, baby. We’ll leave it.”

“Forever?” she asks.

Fuck. “Forever.”

I feel slightly sick as we leave the barn to finish our ride around the property, and by the time we get back to the house for Summer’s daily bathing and evening medications, I’m ready to come out of my skin.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to worry about hiring an assistant while I have so many bigger things to worry about, and how to reconcile that Norah Ellis is the assistant in question.

I want to do right by my sister and my daughter, and I want to be able to afford the care Summer so desperately needs. And for the love of God, I want to stop thinking about that fucking kiss.

In need of distraction, I grab my keys and give a heads-up to Summer and her nurse before taking off for town in my truck.

Less than ten minutes later, gravel crunches beneath my tires as I park in front of The Country Club. It’s not busy, thank fuck, so I know I’ll have immediate access to a stool and a glass of bourbon.

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