Page 64 of The Way We Are

“Come on, let me give you a ride home. The sedative Savannah was given won’t wear off for a few more hours. She won’t even notice you’ve left.”

“She won’t, but I will,” I summarize, expressing the reason I refused Regina’s repeated pleas to drive me home hours ago. “Besides, Brax brought my truck. It’s parked out front.”

“Alright. New tactic.” I swear I can hear her overworked brain ticking over. “Until Savannah’s father arrives, they won’t discharge her.”

“Savannah’s eighteen. Can’t she discharge herself?”

Cybil glares into my eyes. “Are you sure you don’t work with Regina? You’re a bit too quick off the mark for a high school boy.”

Her words come out snippy, but I take them as a compliment, understanding a double shift has taken its toll on her easy-going nature.

Cybil checks in both directions. Happy there are no spectators, she returns her eyes to mine. She looks like she's going to say something immensely compelling, so you can imagine my shock when she simply mutters, “You’re a good man, Ryan. Savannah is lucky to have you.”

She runs her hand down my arm in a comforting manner before hotfooting it to the exit, her steps as fast as the ones she used after discovering Savannah’s identity. I watch her brisk trek across the half-empty parking lot before resuming my wait on the same chair I’ve been sitting in all night. It's the only one that has unimpeded views of the nurses’ station and the main entrance. When Savannah’s dadfinallyarrives, I’ll be on him faster than a bullet fired from a gun.

Another hour passesbefore my frustration gets the better of me.Where the hell is Thorn?Five years have passed since I last saw him, but the man I used to know would never leave his daughter unattended in a hospital emergency ward. Yes, Savannah is an adult, but she's still his responsibility.Isn’t she?

“Can I borrow that?” I ask a nurse with a tight pepper-gray bun and even sterner face sitting behind the nurses’ station desk.

Her green eyes drop to the phone resting near her chubby hand before raising them to me. “Local calls only.”

Nodding, I snag the phone off her desk and dial a number I know by heart. The annoyance thickening my blood grows when Savannah’s voice filters through my ears eight rings later.

“Hi, you’ve reached the Fontane’s. We’re not home. Please leave a message after the beep.”

It's lucky I have no intentions to leave a message, as a recorded voice announces that their messages are full before disconnecting my call.

As I place the receiver back on the console, my eyes catch sight of the time flashing on the dashboard. It's 7:13 AM. Recalling Cybil’s pledge that Savannah will be asleep for a few more hours, I make a drastic decision. If Thorn isn’t going to come to Savannah’s bedside willingly, I’ll force him here. She already lost one parent’s love because of my father, so I’ll do everything in my power to ensure she doesn’t lose another.

“If the patient in room 32 wakes before I return, can you tell her I’ll be right back? I’ll be ten, fifteen minutes max,” I request to the nurse eyeing me oddly.

“Please,” I beg when she takes a moment to consider my request. “I just want to find her dad.”

“Oh, honey. You’re going to bring her dad here?”

I nod, hiding my shock at the sweetness of her voice. It's nothing like the scold she was issuing me mere seconds ago.

“Of course I’ll tell her. Quick, go,” she demands, waving me toward the door.

“Thank you,” I praise before sprinting for the exit.

“Hello? Mr. Fontane?”I shout, knocking on the front door of Savannah’s family home for the third time. “Are you home?”

When he fails to answer me, I swivel the lock. My heart rate kicks up a gear when the door pops open without much force. After peering over my shoulder to ensure there aren’t any witnesses to my crime, I step into the marble-lined entranceway, closing the wooden door behind me.

The confusion that bombarded me during the ten-minute drive grows when I scan the nearly empty surroundings. Gone are the priceless paintings and antique furniture, replaced with shadows where they once stood.

I crank my neck to the side when murmured voices break through the silence.

“Thorn?” My voice echoes like I’m standing in one of the many caves that line Bronte’s Peak.

When my question is met with silence, I make my way to the curved stairwell. Although the voices were hushed, I’m confident they came from above. I take the stairs two at a time, noticing the living areas the staircase curves around are as empty as the foyer. Savannah is either moving or in the process of replacing more than just her patio furniture.

Trekking down the blank-walled hallway sends me past Savannah’s childhood bedroom. Unlike the rest of the house, her room looks the same way it always did, minus a few important accessories. Instead of her large mattress sitting on its original four-poster frame, it's pushed up against the far corner of the room. The shelf formerly holding her Fabergé eggs is empty, and the clothes hanging in her closet are as sparse as mine.

What the fuck is going on?

I’m dragged from my disturbing thoughts when a flurry of white catches my eye. A lady I’d guess to be mid- to late-twenties with dark hair rushes past me so fast, she blasts my cheeks with hot air.

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