Page 135 of The Kiss of Deception

“Death isn’t the only thing that takes people away. Sometimes it’s our own actions—our fears.”

I pinch my eyes closed, not wanting to hear anything else. I don’t want to hear how much I’m the daughter of my father. I’m not ready to forgive him. Not yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.

So I focus my last shred of energy on being my mother’s daughter, speaking in a voice that doesn’t shake. “Please, step out of the room. When your father awakes, if he wishes to see you, you’ll be informed.”

The beep of the monitor punctuates the silence. In the window glass, his frozen reflection stares at me.

“I know the distance is big—and I created it. But I want to build a bridge.”

Is that even possible?

Through the last few weeks, I watched Miles rebuild his own relationship with his dad. Between them, though,the Atlantic didn’t stand.

“You can’t create a bridge over an ocean, Father.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Zoe

“I think I just met my father-in-law.”

The voice has a direct line to my heart, pulling it from the ledge.

I turn from the window from where I haven’t moved since William Westwood left. Hugged by my arms and the steady beep of the monitor, I’d traced the angles from which sunlight poured through the buildings as the merciless clock ticked.

“Oh,” I say to my boyfriend. “Will you introduce me? To your spouse, too.”

“Ah-hah.”

With a brush of his thumb, the camera of his phone looks down at me—showing me myself.

“Ah-hah,” I mimic.

Looking down at me, Miles returns his phone to his pocket and sobers up. “Your father is here.”

A nod. That’s all I manage.

With one glance into my eyes, he reads the turmoil in my thoughts.

“Come here.” He intertwines our hands and pulls us to the chair my father vacated, positioning me on his lap. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not yet.” My arms find their place around him. “Tell me about your hand.”

Finally, he does.

As my gaze rests on my Grandpa, I lean my head on Miles’s shoulder and listen as he relays his long day, arm fastened around my waist.

Even though my blood heats until my cheeks could burn through his clothes, I listen without interruption.

And Miles tells me.

He tells me about Charlie fucking Cox. He tells me about Lucy, and my next breath comes lighter until he tells me about their connection, and his plans to deal with them. My head is already spinning with plans of my own, but I don’t give them a voice.

I want to ask about the end of this season, but he tells me it doesn’t matter much, since his injury won’t let him play another game this year, anyway. I know it matters to him that his integrity isn’t doubted, that the fans never question his professionalism and his commitment to the team.

We don’t leave until visiting hours are up and the nurse kicks us out, not before they promise that they’ll contact us—Miles, since my phone is still out of service—as soon as anything changes.

But we’re not even out of the elevator—because we’re too lazy to use the stairs—when his ringtone calls us back upstairs.

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