Page 68 of Puck You Very Much

She gritted her teeth. “It’s not new-fangled. And it helps. How do you know it’s not for you? And Rachel is a psychologist!”

“Lucy, none of these people know me! And they didn’t know your mother either. How would they know what I’m going through?”

“It would at least be worth a try. You can’t go on like this. You’re not well.” She waved her hand around the dirty kitchen.

“I feel like any widower would, Lucy,” he said firmly, his voice growing louder.

“You laid on the cold garden ground for four hours, Dad, because you felt close to Mom,” she replied heatedly, her voice unnaturally thin and high. “Because she’s also under the cold ground, isn’t she? Dad, that’s not normal. That’s not healthy…”

“I just need time,” he defended himself. “If your mother were still alive, she would also tell you that I don’t need a psychologist.”

“But she’s not!” Lucy snapped. “She’s been dead for three years, Dad! She’s not coming back, she’s not looking after you, and she’s not helping you live your life. Stop waiting for it! This life belongs to you. Not thetwo of you. You are an individual. There’s more to you than just your marriage. God, enough already, Dad,” she said harshly, glaring at him. “I’m tired of worrying all the time. I’m tired of watching Maddie destroy herself because she only cares about you and not her personal life! You need to wake up. You need help. More than we can give you.”

“You have never been married, Lucy!” her father thundered. “You don’t know what love is and what it means to lose it! Otherwise you wouldn’t talk like that.”

Lucy lowered her gaze. Her hands began to shake, her lips began to tremble—and she didn’t know how to respond. He was right. She had never been in love. She didn’t know how it felt to lose someone. All she knew was that seeing her father this way was exhausting. He needed to change his ways—just like she did. “Okay, I think we should go now,” a deep, calm voice came from behind her.

Lucy jumped and whirled around. She had completely forgotten that Dax was here. “What?” she replied, confused, blinking several times.

“Your father is fine, Lucy. Well enough to yell. You came here to make sure of that and you did. We should go,” he repeated quietly.

“But…”

“Listen to your friend, Lucy,” her father said firmly. “I don’t need you here. You don’t have to stop by every time I’m lying in the garden for a few hours.”

“Fine,” she said abruptly. “But I’m going to tell Maddie to stop cleaning up after you, Dad. Have a wonderful evening.”

With that, she swept past Dax and out of the house, which suddenly felt far too cramped and stuffy.

God, her father was unreasonable! He was stubborn and wounded…hadn’t lived a good life the last few years and…and…the thought that it would never change for him was eating through her like moths.

She couldn’t help him. She had tried but failed every time. She felt so infinitely powerless.

Tears of anger and despair broke from her eyes and wound their way down her cheeks. When the gravel crunched next to her, announcing Dax, she swiped them away roughly.

“God, look at me. I’m completely incapable of pulling myself together. Too damn weak to even try, although I really don’t want you to see me like this. It’s just…” She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I can’t help him. I’m his daughter and I’ve known my father all his life. I should be able to help him. Or at least get him help.”

For several endless moments, a weighty, cold silence hung between them. Then, “Look at me, Lucy.”

She sniffed and shook her head. She didn’t want to see the pity on his face.

“Lucy, look at me,” he repeated quietly and this time he gently put a finger under her chin and lifted it toward him. He raised it until she was looking into his blue eyes. “You’re not incapable. You’re not weak. Nobody thinks that. Least of all me.”

A tear rolled down his finger and she smiled shakily. “You have to say that to the crying girl, Dax.”

He shook his head. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You are the strongest person I know. You handleme. It’s not your fault your father doesn’t want help. There’s nothing more you can do than offer it. You give him everything you can give. Your time, your patience, and your love. Your father isn’t demented or crazy. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The way he deals with the pain while remembering your mother is not your fault. You do what you can.”

She shook her head. “But it’s not enough.”

“You are always enough, Lucy—whether you achieve your goals or not. Your father won’t change that. I won’t change that. Nothing will—not your job, not your friends. You are enough. Got it?”

She nodded. What else could she do when he looked at her with such earnest determination? When his gaze didn’t allow any argument?

“Good,” he murmured. “Would you like a hug?”

She nodded again. And the next moment, he was wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against his hard, warm body. He created their own cage of calmness, his head resting on the top of her head, one hand on her neck, his arm wrapped around her middle, so she knew he would hold her if she let herself fall.

Lucy closed her eyes, sank into his arms, inhaled his scent of man and cold ice, and forgot for a moment where she was. Her anger and despair flowed from her and evaporated in the cool evening air. Nothing but calm remained.

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