Page 144 of Break Me

The way Dad never stopped believing the next treatment might be the one that worked.

"I don't want that," I whisper. My voice trembles now. "I don't want Sam spending whatever time we have left sitting beside hospital beds, waiting for doctors who can't give us different answers."

I swallow hard.

"I don't want the last memories he has of me to be machines, and sickness, and watching me disappear."

Dad never looks away. "I know."

Those two words break something inside me. Because he doesn't say he'll change my mind. He doesn't tell me to fight harder. He doesn't promise everything will be okay.

He just understands.

The knowledge settles over us in a silence too heavy for words. Dad closes his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a slow, unsteady breath. When he opens them again, he simply stands.

The movement is slow, as though the years have settled onto his shoulders all at once.

When he reaches me, he gathers me into his arms the way he used to when I was little, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other wrapping tightly around my shoulders.

For a heartbeat, I'm ten years old again.

Safe.

Certain that as long as my father is holding me, nothing bad can happen.

I bury my face against his chest and let myself believe it anyway.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmurs.

The words break something inside me open.

The sob comes out of me sharp and helpless, the sound of it startling even to my own ears. I clutch at the front of his shirt.

His arms tighten around me. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

His hand moves slowly through my hair, the same quiet motion he used when I was small enough to sit in his lap while he told me everything would be okay.

He doesn’t say that now.

He just holds me.

For a long time.

Long enough that my breathing finally begins to slow, the sharp edge of the sobs fading into something softer and more exhausted.

His arms don’t loosen until the storm inside my chest burns itself out. Even then, he keeps one hand on the back of my neck like he isn’t ready to let me go completely.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at me. "Does Knox know?"

I nod. "Yes."

He closes his eyes briefly, absorbing it, before looking toward the front door where Sam stepped outside.

"He's a good man."

"He is."

Dad studies me for a long time.