Page 87 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Hearing Rocco’s voice on the phone, though, brightened everything inside her. Her brother was stateside and on his way to see her. If their terrible childhood proved anything, it was that they were stronger when together. They took care of each other and managed the impossible—which, in their case, had been surviving their father.

But the second time he called, rattled her something fierce.

Clint knew.

He knew about her father, that Fletcher was in prison. And he knew it was because Brooke turned her father in for killing her mother.

She felt no guilt for what she did. Her father was a terrible person and deserved to rot in prison, but she was so used to suppressing the first fifteen years of her life, that knowing someone she was developing feelings for knew the truth made a sick sensation form in her belly.

That Thai chicken salad wasn’t sitting so great anymore.

What did Clint think of her?

He was an honest, upstanding man—probably the best man she’d ever met—but everyone had their threshold for crazy. Maybe this would be his.

She made herself a cup of tea and sat on the couch for a long time just thinking. Then she stared at the tablet, sitting innocently on the coffee table.

What was the world saying about her now?

How far out into left field were the conspiracy theories now?

The tablet mocked her from its spot on the coffee table until she gave into her curiosity and picked it up.

The rumors and speculations circling Brooke’s disappearance ranged from suicide to alien abduction. There was even a subreddit thread that had over five hundred comments of people discussing the possibility of Brooke staging all of this for publicity for her movie premier. That she’d reveal herself on the red carpet. Apparently, Blake Lively had done a much less dramatic version a few years ago where she deleted all her social media to hype up a movie she starred in, playing a woman who staged her own disappearance.

But she never would have agreed to something like that, let alone something as extreme as faking her own death for publicity.

Most of the comments had positive tones, with people talking about how she was a talented actor and kind. But there were some nasty ones as well—there always were—that said she couldn’t act, was discovered because she’d done porn (she absolutely had not, she was discovered at a mall while working for American Eagle Outfitters and became a model), and that her disappearance was one less entitled white woman the world was forced to deal with.

Usually, she didn’t let comments like that affect her. There were always going to be haters out there. Internet trolls. Keyboard warriors. But with nothing else to do, it was easy to get swept up in the vortex of hate and have those creepy, strangling vines of loathing wrap around her chest and squeeze until they caused pain.

She was deep in a rabbit hole of conspiracy and toxic masculinity comments when the front door burst open, then banged closed, rattling the house. A quick glance at the clock on the tablet said it was three-thirty.

Talia must be home.

Heavy stomps up the stairs, followed by a bedroom door slamming, had Brooke closing the tablet and forgetting all about the disturbing threads about her alien abduction and cries for attention.

“Talia?” she called out, getting up off the couch and hopping toward the bottom of the stairs.

The muffled sound of sobs emanated down the stairs, hitting her hard in the heart.

Using the banister for support, she climbed the stairs, wincing when she accidentally put pressure on her right heel.

It took a bit more effort than normal for her to reach the top, but she made it nevertheless, then hobbled her way to Talia’s closed door. She rapped her knuckle against the smooth grain. “Talia? Honey. Everything okay?”

More sobs, but no answer.

She knocked again. “Can I come in, sweetheart?”

No answer.

Talia wasn’t her kid, and she knew better than to just enter a kid’s room without permission. But at the same time, she’d come to care deeply for this little girl and Talia was clearly in pain. Brooke couldn’t just sit downstairs and do nothing.

She knocked again. “I’m going to sit outside your door. I won’t come in unless you want me to. But I also don’t want you to be alone. Know that I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

She slid down to the ground on her butt and heaved a sad sigh. Talia was such a bright and happy little girl. What could have possibly happened to make her run home, slam her bedroom door and sob so aggressively?

Noise on the other side of the door drew her attention, then the knob turned, and the door opened a crack. A second later, a little body made a big noise, collapsing back onto the bed, then the crying resumed.

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