Page 202 of Split You Open

I frown. “You made the oatmeal?”

Glancing at the bowl, there’s brown sugar, sliced banana, and a drizzle of peanut butter on top. This is way too luxurious of a meal for Dad to make.

“Well… Wesley did,” Dad corrects stiffly as he takes Ledger’s spot beside me on the edge of the bed. “He gave it to me when he realized I was getting you something to drink.”

I look past Ledger and Dad toward the door.

“Where is everyone else?”

“Santi and Rhett were driving all of us crazy with their moping so we put them to work,” Ledger says, his voice growing rough. “They’re overseeing all the Zones for the day. It’s keeping them occupied.”

Dad frowns in disapproval. “You haven’t been alone since your return three days ago. If it’s not one, it’s two or three of them hanging out in here. I’m surprised you’ve slept through most of the talking. You’re usually a light sleeper.”

Again, shame wells up.

I should wake to noises. It’s a safety instinct, for sure. One that I thought I had down pat. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper.

“She’s been recovering, Anchor. Of course she’s been sleeping. I’d be worried if she hadn’t been,” Ledger growls defensively.

He doesn’t realize it, but I’m grateful for his intervention.

In fact, ever since Dad arrived, between Ledger, Wes, Santi, and Rhett—Dad’s disapproval has hit a wall of muscle. They’ve been sticking up for me without hesitation. While I’m used to Dad’s way of talking, it is nice to know there are others ready to shut it down when it gets to be too much.

Dad glowers at him. “Why don’t you go get my daughter those pain pills?”

Ledger opens his mouth like he’s ready to argue but seemingly decides to let whatever he’s about to say go. Instead, he turns and stomps out of the room. The minute he’s out of earshot, Dad turns to me.

“Why are you two bickering so much?” I ask him before he can speak. “You two never fought so much before.”

Dad’s upper lip peels into a silent snarl. “We’re not bickering.”

He could’ve fooled me.

Rather than tell him that, I attempt to reach the bowl of oatmeal. Now that I’m awake, I’m very aware of how empty my stomach is. Unfortunately, it’s too far for me to reach and I wince before dropping my arm.

Dad notices my struggle and immediately grabs for the bowl to hand it to me.

I eye him suspiciously before taking it. “Not that I don’t appreciate it but… why are you helping me?”

He frowns as his brows smash together.

“Because you’re my daughter and you’re hurt. It’s my job to take care of you.”

I want to laugh.

Dad has looked out for me for most of my childhood but he was always quick to remind me that I needed to be self-sufficient and independent. He didn’t hand me things—he’d make me get it. He didn’t coddle me when I hurt myself—he just reminded me to be careful in the future and taught me how to tend to whatever injury I’d incurred.

Hell, even him hanging out right now isn’t normal. After a job, Dad usually disappears pretty quickly.

Unsure of his motive—because there definitely is one given all this fanfare—I turn my attention to the oatmeal. My stomach growls as I stare down at the food, but then it knots in warning. Will I be able to keep this down? And do I want Dad to witness me any weaker if I can’t? I’m not sure I can handle the embarrassment right now.

“I—” Dad starts suddenly.

When I look up, his mouth clamps closed and he looks away from me. I wait, wondering if this is some sort of test I’m not understanding.

“Blair Bear, I almost lost you,” he says quietly, his shoulders dipping low. “It… it’s put things in perspective for me.” When Dad turns to look at me, his eyes are darker than normal. “I never, in a million years, wanted you to feel like you had to protect me. Yet, not only did you not hesitate to put yourself in front of me to catch stray bullets, but you shoved me out of a window so I could escape. You are my daughter, Blair. I’m supposed to protect you from harm’s way. It’s never supposed to be the other way around.”

I give him a half-smile. “And you’re my dad. I’d do it again and again.”