Page 16 of Chasing the Horizon

“Not yet, but I have it at home,” Hannah said.

Victor didn’t know what to say. He put the book back and tried to return to Valerie and Julia. But too many people had filled the pathway, which meant he needed to go around Hannah and back around the side.

Hannah looked at him with a soft and kind expression. Victor hated it.

“I imagine you’re not very comfortable with me being here,” Hannah said now, so quietly that Victor knew nobody else could hear. “I promise you that I’m a professional.”

Victor wanted to say,If you were really professional, you wouldn’t be talking to me like this.

“I understand. We’re all professionals here,” he said instead.

“I wondered if you’d given any thought to finding a therapist of your own?” Hannah asked now, still quiet as a mouse. “I think it could help us all move in the right direction.”

Victor sniffed. He remembered the past forty-eight hours of frantic thoughts and sweaty palms. He remembered Esme, turning away from him.

“I don’t know about that,” Victor said.

Hannah looked disappointed. She placed her hand on her chest. “I can recommend Dr. Frank Gallagher with my whole heart,” she said. “Reach out to him. Let him talk.”

Suddenly, the microphone squeaked and sent everyone scurrying to their chairs. Victor gave Hannah a slight nod and maneuvered back toward his seat, where he collapsed just as Valerie and Julia burst into giggles. Victor bent his head.

As Marvin charged into the reading, Victor hid his cell phone from the crowd and googled Dr. Frank Gallagher, telling himself it was just for kicks. What he saw surprised him. Dr. Frank Gallagher was a year or two older than Victor, and what was more, he’d once written a few psychiatric papers that cited Victor’s research and findings after years of working with clients and patients of his own. It meant that Frank got him, at least in some respects. It meant that, in her own way, Hannah got him too. She knew he needed someone like that.

Maybe this meant he was being too harsh on the girl.

Maybe this meant he needed to remember that, at her core, she was a professional—and she wanted to help.

Chapter Six

June 2025

The drive to the hospital was frantic. Victor, being Victor, refused to let Esme take over, but his eyes were blurry with tears, and his fingers smelled of fire, and his thoughts whirred.It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.Victor nearly blasted through the red at a stoplight, but he smashed the brakes just in time. Frustrated, he cried out, “What is happening?”

Esme looked small and panicked. Her eyes were glassy and reflected the light. All she’d said was Alex called. There’d been an accident. Everyone was in the hospital, and they didn’t know what was going to happen.

She’d said,There’s something wrong with the baby.

Now, as Victor stared into the inky black June night, he demanded, “What kind of accident?”

“Car,” Esme said.

“Who was driving?” Victor rasped. If Alex had been driving his perfect pregnant daughter around… if it was Alex’s fault that something awful was happening, what would Victor do?

Would Victor make Alex pay for what he’d done?

What was he even thinking?!

The light changed to green, and Victor drove the speed limit the rest of the way to the hospital and parked in the emergency parking lot. He suddenly couldn’t fathom why he’d wanted to burn all the pages of the manuscript he’d been writing with Valerie. Why had he been so sure that he wanted to scrub all their work from the face of the planet? As he leaped from the car, he imagined Valerie coming out of the hospital and saying something like,You thought you could delete the manuscript from the cloud, Dad? Everything is backed up these days. It’s almost impossible.Maybe they’d laugh about it and go grab burgers.

But no. They found their entire Sutton family waiting for them when they entered the emergency room. Victor cursed himself for being the last one here. He was their father. He was supposed to be the first. Bethany was dressed in her hospital gear, presumably because she’d already been here for one surgery or another, and Rebecca was in a pair of house shorts and a sweatshirt, scrunched in a ball on a chair in the corner. Their children were spaced out, their faces drawn. What time was it? Victor checked the clock on the wall to see it was just after nine thirty. He knew they’d be there all night.

He had a sudden flashback of being with Joel at the hospital all those years ago. How many nights had he and Esme slept at the hospital?

How many nights did I let Esme sleep at the hospital by herself, telling her I needed some time to myself, telling her that I needed to hang onto my career?

And then the worst memory of all: when he’d snuck off with Bree instead of tending to his family.

His head throbbed with terror at what he’d done.

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