Page 132 of Truth or Dare: A Second Chance Single-Mom Romance

“People die.”

“That’s right. People die.” I remember focusing on the blinking of the turn single light, just zeroing in on it, because as long as I kept my gaze there, I didn’t have to look at him. I didn’t have to see the disappointment in his face. And if I focused hard enough, I could detach my emotions from my body, flying them high above me like a kite, and save the tears for later.

“Kings can’t afford to make mistakes,” he told me. “Do better.”

I still swim. In case you’re curious.

You might think something like that would’ve turned me off water, but I can’t help it. Swimming is in my blood. It’s one of the few places where I can completely clear my brain.

Lighthouse Medical has a long pool in the rehab wing. It’s heated and keeps the same temperature all year around. At 9:30 every morning, there’s a group exercise session for certain patients in physical rehab. So at 8:30 a.m., I steal some time vanishing into the water and do laps.

For a few minutes, the world is gone, and all I can hear is the rushing in my own ears. The raggedness of my own breath as I push myself to my own limits, just because I can.

When I’m in the water, no one needs me. Water doesn’t put demands on me. All I have to do is put one arm in front of the other and keep breathing.

I lose track of time. When I come up for air, clutching the side, I’m eye-to-toe with a familiar pair of dress shoes.

I blink water from my eyes. My father crouches on the platform above me, the edges of his white coat brushing against the damp tiles. He’s holding out a white towel.

“We need to talk,” he says.

“Coming out.” I rub my hand over my face and then sink underneath again. I push off the edge and rocket to the stairs.

I make a point not to come up for air until I reach the steps. Even then, I stay under water as long as I can, until it feels like my lungs will burst from the empty pressure.

What could we possibly need to talk about?

Word travels fast in Hannsett. Everyone knows everyone’s business. Does he know?

It’s been two weeks and three days since New Year’s Day (but who’s counting?), and still Donovan, Kenzi, and I haven’t actually defined what this is. Sure, our schedules don’t help—Kenzi rarely gets a second to herself, and Donovan and I are nearly always at the hospital. When the three of us do hook up, it’s a secret, private thing, something that’s ours and no one else’s.

I guess I like that aspect about it—having something that’s mine. But there’s a large part of me that wants to scream about it from the rooftops.

Maybe it’d be okay if my dad found out. Maybe it’s better to let this secret out than crush it deep down inside.

At least, those are the words I use to reassure myself to keep my heart from launching out of my chest.

When I exit the pool area, my father is waiting for me. I thank him for the towel and pat myself dry. He’s wearing a pale blue button-up and dress slacks underneath his white coat, and I feel exposed in only my swim trunks, but I try to shake the feeling off.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I’ve been talking with one of the producers on the Dr. Mazie Show. They saw the promo images, and they’re ready to pull the trigger on this. But there’s a couple details we need to discuss first.”

“Okay…”

“Come over to the house. Friday. We’ll have dinner.”

I rub the back of my neck with the towel. “I, uh—have something going on this weekend. With a couple of friends.”

“Bring them. It won’t take long. You know Clara cooks for a small army.”

“Sure.”

“Seven. Don’t be late.”

I dry off. Put my uniform back on. And walk into the general care unit—to an incredibly irate Donovan.

“All good?” I ask.

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