Page 74 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

I gave her a nod to let her know that I understood. "I'll go now." I headed out her bedroom door and down the hallway. I put my coat on and reached for the front door.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

I turned to see her standing at the entryway, her arms wrapped around her.

"I already know the answer and I can't bear to hear it again tonight."

Her eyes softened as she approached me. "I'm sorry, Brett."

"I am too."

I opened the door, stepping out.

"I don't hate you, Brett."

I stood on the porch feeling more pain than I ever had before. How was it that the words I'd been waiting to hear over all these weeks only filled me with more sadness?

"I'm glad." I headed to my car, and as I drove home, I replayed the night in my mind, wondering if I had done something different, had said something different, things would change. The pessimistic part of me said no.

I tried to think about how Lindsay might view it. She had a glass half full type of attitude. Lindsay would have seen the kiss as positive. Miranda’s telling me she didn't hate me was positive. Did this mean there was hope? Maybe I needed to do more. Maybe not more kissing and touching, but more proving that I was devoted to her. Committed to her and the baby.

When I arrived home, I headed upstairs and down the hall to a bedroom right off my room. It was currently empty because I had no use for it, but the original purpose of the room was as a nursery. Maybe if I created space for her and the baby, coupled with the counseling, she would see the depth of my commitment.

The next day, I made calls to several contractors to get estimates on turning the bedroom into a nursery and then creating another space in the house just for Miranda. It could be an office or whatever she wanted.

I’d just finished making an appointment with the third contractor when my phone rang. The caller ID said the police, and as normal for any human being, my heart rate skyrocketed. Why were the police calling me?

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Brett McKinnon?" a gruff male voice came over the phone.

"It is."

"Mr. McKinnon, I'm calling because we have your daughter, Lindsay McKinnon, down here at the station."

What the fuck? "What, why? Was she a victim of something?" God. If I lost her, I didn’t know what I’d do. Immediately, all the wrong moves I’d made in raising her came to the surface.

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle this guy.

"Your daughter was picked up with a group of young men we have arrested. We have determined that she is not liable for any criminal activity. But we need somebody to come get her to bring her home."

"Why? Is she incapacitated?"

"Yes. We think she's taken something. She insists that she hasn't, and it’s possible she was unaware she was consuming something, but we cannot be sure of that."

Holy hell. "I'm on my way."

I made it to the police station in record time, and the police were right that Lindsay wasn't quite right. I immediately took her to the hospital where I was told that she had been drinking and had ingested some sort of street drug I knew nothing about. Fortunately, they said she wasn’t in any immediate danger and the effect would wear off in a few hours.

Three hours later, I had her in the car heading back to my place.

"Lindsay, what the hell—"

Her hand came up in a stop position next to me, even as she was still slumped against the passenger door. "I don't need a lecture, Dad."

"I just had to pick my daughter up at the police station. I think that automatically comes with a lecture. What the fuck are you doing?" She was so close to graduation. She had a job lined up. Was she really going to throw it away? "If this has anything to do with Liam, I will stop you from seeing him. That kid is bad news."

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