Page 66 of Puck You Very Much

She glanced at her hands and grinned. For a moment, worrying about her father didn’t fully occupy her mind.

As they pulled off the highway in Burbank, she sighed heavily and glanced at her cell phone. Mrs. Marsden hadn’t called again.

Dax cleared his throat. “So, your father lives in Burbank.”

“Yes.”

“Did you grow up there?”

She nodded. “He’s owned the house for nearly thirty years and doesn’t want to move, even though it’s far too big for him alone. He doesn’t want to lose…the memories of my mother. Yet most of the ones that aren’t covered in dust have long since been eroded by time.”

“So…he’s not well?” Dax asked slowly.

“No,” she murmured, “not since my mother died. It’s like…like she took him underground with her. Only he’s still breathing and alive, and she’s not.”

Dax nodded…but didn’t speak.

Lucy understood. There was nothing to say. She closed her eyes and leaned back while Dax continued to follow the instructions on the navigation system.

“He used to be a happy man, you know?” she finally muttered, because the silence gave her too much space for her own thoughts. “Down to earth. Conscientious. Happy. Now, I barely remember what he looked like when he was happy. Somehow…we lost both parents when Mom died, and I don’t know how to bring him back. Everything we say rolls off him like rain off a windowpane. It’s frustrating, knowing he could be better if he was only willing to get help and talk to a therapist about it. But he’s so stubborn and always thinks we’re trying to force him to forget Mom.”

“It’s hard having to take care of parents,” Dax murmured. “Having to protect them even though they were the ones who protected you and were supposed to be there for you. I mean, it’s how things go sometimes—but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Yes,” she whispered…and knew he understood. He’d had to take care of his mother and father at a much earlier age, at a time when he should have only been worrying about his future, hockey, and hot cheerleaders. They drove the last two minutes in silence and when Dax pulled over to the curb in front of her childhood home, she suddenly wished she were alone. Her middle finger ached from rapidly turning the ring on it. Her heart was beating too fast. He was here and…Dax shouldn’t see her so weak. Desperate. Sad.

“It’s okay. I can stay in the car,” Dax murmured as if he had read her thoughts.

She swallowed and shook her head. “No. You can get out. Maybe…” She hesitantly pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Maybe Dad will pull himself together if he sees a stranger here.”

She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out with a heavy heart. She waved over the car roof at Mrs. Marsden, who was peeking out from behind one of her kitchen curtains. Then she turned to the front yard and opened the squeaky gate.

Her father was not difficult to find. He was lying in the middle of the dry flowerbed, which now held nothing more than rocky soil. Lucy had been told it was good for the back to lie on the ground every now and then, but that certainly did not mean earth riddled with uneven stones.

Uncertain, Lucy stopped and peered down at him. Paler than he was a few weeks ago, he was lying there motionless with his eyes closed. If his chest had not been rising and falling regularly, she might have panicked. But he was breathing. Calmly and evenly. He was fine. At least physically.

“Dad, what are you doing down there?” she asked quietly.

Her father flinched and opened his eyes. “Lucy!” he said, startled. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. What are you doing down there?”

“I’m lying down. What are you doing here?”

“I’m standing,” she replied softly. “Why are you lying here? And how long have you been doing it?”

He blinked and sat up. “What time is it?”

“Just after eleven.”

“Oh. Then four hours.”

“Four hours?” she echoed in disbelief, stuffing her hands into her pockets so she didn’t tear out her hair. “Dad…it’s cold and the ground is hard. Why are you lying on the ground?”

He smiled sadly. “Oh, I just feel closer to your mother down here and…” He stopped because his gaze landed on Dax, who was standing a foot behind Lucy. “Oh, you’re not alone,” her father said, irritated. “Why did you bring a stranger onto my property at this time of night, Lucy?”

“He’s not a stranger. This is Dax Temple, Dad. I work with him. He drove me here. Could you please get up?” She held out her hand and raised her eyebrows. Her father blinked several times, but finally did her a favor and let her pull him up from the ground. “Dax Temple,” he muttered. “Isn’t that the hockey player who’s been giving you so much grief?”

Lucy’s cheeks blushed and she glanced hastily at Dax, who looked mildly amused. “Um, yes,” she admitted. “Shall we go inside? When was the last time you had a drink and something to eat?”

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