Page 62 of Dirty Pool

Charles smiled, and straightened. “As I thought.”

He held opened the back passenger door for Gabbie, and she just shook her head before slipping into the car. The heater had been turned on which was enough to make her feel slightly better—at least she wasn’t standing in the wind, anymore. Her father had thought far enough ahead to make sure that he brought her a new coat, and a change of clothes to wear after her discharge from the hospital.

She was not walking out of there in a feckin’ gown.

Charles had been the first person, after Michel left, to enter her hospital room that morning. Visiting hours hadn’t even started when he showed up, but there he was. Apparently, he had gotten on the phone with the doctor to have her discharged as early as possible.

She was grateful.

It was only once her father was in the car, too, next to her in the back seat that the driver pulled away from the curb. She passed the hospital a look over her shoulder, watching it and the bad memory of being brought there fading the further away they drove.

Another silver lining.

“How’re your glucose levels today?” her father asked.

She shrugged. “Better.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Her body still ached, and mostly, she was knackered. Yes, she had gotten a restful sleep, but trauma was exhausting in general. The bed was going to be her favorite place for the next several hours, simple as that.

“I just can’t wait to get into my bed,” she said, sighing.

Charles stiffened.

Gabbie didn’t miss it. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said carefully, “I just thought you might like to stay with me for a wee bit … this was a lot to take in, that’s all.”

She blinked at the passing buildings. “But I want to go home.”

“And I would like to see you with me for a bit.”

“Daddy—”

“Gabbie, don’t argue. We’ll discuss this another time.”

She would have argued.

But she was so feckin’ done.

“Fine,” she grumbled.

Not that this was a surprise. Charles had never changed in all her years, and the first thing she thought about when it came to her father was just how overprotective he could be when it came to her. She should have expected this to happen, honestly.

“Things are about to get better,” her father said quietly.

She glanced back at him. “Will they?”

“Much better, sweetheart.”

She had a feeling he meant the Italians.

She hoped that was it.

For more reasons than he knew.

ELEVEN