Page 62 of Fight Or Flight

Brooklyn’s body trembles in my arms as she starts to cry again, but my father’s eyes never leave mine. It’s almost as if he’s daring me to take a stand.

To be a man of my word.

To prove myself worthy.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I unwind my arms from Brooklyn’s body and slide off the bed. Sensing the loss, she lifts her tear streaked face and those eyes that call to every part of me, find mine. I lift my hands to her face and bend my head, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

It’s a quick brush of my lips and as I lean away, I remind her of a truth I’m not sure she believes, “Such a pretty hurricane.”

Then I take a stand and I tuck one arm under both of her legs and wind the other around her back. I lift her off her mom’s body and out of the bed. Crying, she winds her arms around my neck and I silently vow to never let her go. These arms of mine may not hold her forever, but my heart won’t ever stop.

Not now.

Not ten years from now.

Not ever.

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