Page 191 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“As for The Guardian Grind, I’ve made incredible friends there, and Hank and Gabe are right there if anything happens.”

“I just wish you were here. You’re my little girl, and I… I just feel like I’m losing you.” He trails off, and I know he’s thinking about Kazakhstan and how his security team failed while Hank and Gabe didn’t.

“I’m no longer a little girl, but I’ll always be your daughter. I’m in a good place and right where I want to be. I’m okay,” I say softly. “Really okay. For the first time in a long time.”

“I know.” The commanding edge in his voice gives way to something rawer, more vulnerable. “That’s what makes it so damn hard. I love you more than you can possibly know.”

“I love you, too,” I repeat.

“Just promise me that you won’t give up on your doctorate. That lattes won’t be your future.”

“It’s not, and I won’t. I may even have a job if I want it.”

“As a barista?”

“No, Dad. As a physicist. Though I have to say, I make a mean latte.” I pause as Gabe stifles a laugh beside me. “I’ll finish my degree. I’ll defend that thesis. I’ll get my PhD, and I’ll make you proud. Though fair warning—my dissertation acknowledgments might raise some eyebrows when I thank my ‘research assistants’ for their… hands-on support.”

Silence.

Not just any silence—shocked, choking silence.

I grin, waiting for it.

“Alexandra Collins—” My father finally sputters, voice strangled, “you’re going to give me gray hair.”

“Too late for that, Dad. I’ve seen your medicine cabinet.”

More silence.

Then—a cough. A hesitant, almost wary chuckle.

“Excuse me?”

I stretch out on the bed, feigning innocence. “You heard me.”

I can practically hear him pacing, running a hand through his already silver hair.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, young lady, but?—”

“Oh, I know exactly what I saw, and I know exactly what those little blue pills are for.”

A full coughing fit now.

I grin.

“Christ, Ally.” He mutters something under his breath, something about “this is what I get for raising an unfiltered smartass.”

I hum, far too pleased with myself. “Hey, I don’t judge. I just don’t need details. Ever. Please, for the love of all things holy.”

More muttering. This time, I catch something about “mouthy daughters and early retirement.”

“I mean,” I press on because, at this point, I might as well go all in, “I just assumed it was some lovely widow from your charity circles or, I don’t know, one of those terrifying power women you do business with. But if you tell me you’re some masked Dom at a BDSM club, I will walk into traffic.”

“Alexandra.” His voice is sharp, scandalized.

I laugh, giddy with victory.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” A beat. “But seriously, hydrate, Dad. Those things can be dangerous at your age.”

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