Page 59 of Forever Yours

I finished off the sandwich and picked up the bowl of chicken noodle soup he had heated. Hospital food wasn’t great, and I was starving after being fed bland food and pudding cups.

“On a scale of one to ten—” He grinned wide while saying it.

I laughed, almost upending the soup onto my lap. “God, no. Stop. No more pain scales.”

From then on, if anyone asked how I felt, my answer would either be ‘good’ or ‘like shit.’ Simple, easy, and did not require emoji faces—which one of the nurses this morning handling my discharge had me use. Dumbest thing I’d ever seen. It only had even numbers on it. What if I thought my pain level was a five? Did I drop down to four or up to six? It was confusing.

Dad took my empty bowl and set it on the tray.

“Take your meds.”

I didn’t want to. They made me sleepy.

“I’m not hurting that bad.” Which was a lie.

Not giving me a choice, he twisted the cap off the prescription bottle and shook a pill out, then waited for me to down it.

“Were you able to get a room?”

Dad had declined Ryder and Jayson’s offers to sleep in their rooms.

“Two nights. I’ll leave Friday afternoon unless you need me to stay longer. Dan traded shifts with me so I could be here. If I need to, I’ll ask for family leave.”

Knowing how difficult it was for him to take this week off, I assured him, “Dad, I promise I’ll be okay here with the guys.”

“I was able to get in touch with Jessi.”

Shit. I’m a crap friend. She texted and tried to video call while I was in the hospital. I didn’t want her seeing the state I was in. She would’ve freaked the hell out.

“Did you tell her?”

“I did. That girl has a mouth on her.”

Amusement seeped past the pain I was in.

“How many times did she throw out the f-bomb? If it was less than five, she’s not that pissed at me.”

Dad chuckled. “It was a lot more than five.”

I had no doubt if I didn’t call her with proof of life before sundown, she’d be hopping on the next flight to North Carolina.

“I’ll call her later.”

Dad leaned forward, elbows to knees and hands clasped together, all serious.

“What?” I asked.

“Fallon said he found the guy who hurt you.”

The food I just ate turned to cement. Did I want to know? There was a thing called willful blindness.

Grunting from the discomfort in sitting forward, I clasped Dad’s hands.

“If you want me to file an official report with the police, I will.”

I hated that I put him in a position where he went against the oath he made when he became a sheriff’s deputy. He trusted the legal system and the law. Fallon didn’t.

“That man hurtmy child. Trust me when I say that my conscience is clear with whatever happens to that piece of shit.”

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