Page 106 of Take Me Home

When her exhaustion from the day finally made it impossible to stay awake, Hazel said, “You can watch me sleep like a weirdo, but I’m closing my eyes now.”

“Wait,” Sylvia said on a yawn. “Don’t forget. Call your dad.”

Hazel opted for a text:I’m in Garrettsville. I’m okay. Sorry if I made you worry.

The dots indicating his reply looped several times before a message finally came:Thank you.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Hazel checked that she had everything before she pulled the motel room door closed. She’d jolted awake just before five a.m. with the crystal-clear realization that a text had not been enough. She was only about thirty percent on board with her new plan to drive back to Lockett Prairie but didn’t have time to second-guess it. Her father’s wedding was at noon. She didn’t know what would happen when she turned up for it, if anything could possibly be fixed, but missing it felt like the exact worst thing.

From around the corner, down another block of rooms, a stringent male voice pleaded, “Sir, you must stop, or I will have to call security.”

There was a quick, harsh knock, a door opening.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry for this. Sir. Sir, please,” the man said.

Then footsteps, one pair long and purposeful, the other scuffing and quick, came down the cement walk toward Hazel’s side of the building.

“You are waking all the guests.”

“If you’d give me her room number—” a familiar voice bit back.

Hazel was groggy, but there was no mistaking that voice. Her heart lurched. He was here.

“Hazel?” he called, knocking on another door.

“That’s it. I’m calling security.”

Hazel flew around the corner. “Dad?”

A young motel employee with dark eye circles and days-old scruff was pacing a few feet away, tapping into his phone and offering a weak, apologetic smile down the length of the building at the confused guests poking their heads out of their rooms.

“Don’t call security,” Hazel said. “He’ll stop now.”

The man eyed her father, uncertain.

“What are you—” She was cut short by arms pulling her in, her face crushed to her father’s blue windbreaker. The embroidered Channel 2 emblem pressed against her cheek. He held her so tightly her lungs ached.

“Hazel,” he murmured into her hair. “Thank God.”

She turned her face to catch her breath. The motel employee sobered at the sight of their embrace and backed away.

When her father finally let her go, her teeth chattered, giving her an excuse to go back into her room, rummage around in her bag for a sweater, turn on a lamp without having to make eye contact again just yet. He stood inside the closed door, jiggling his keys in his jacket pocket.

“Did you drive all night?”

Stupid question. She’d texted him after midnight. He’d had just enough time to look up lodging in Garrettsville, drive here, negotiate with the motel attendant for her room number, give up, and knock on a half dozen doors, which she guessed was exactly what he’d done.

He rubbed his face, the adrenaline that had been there moments ago fading right before her eyes. He was exhausted. He looked around the room before finding the chair and dropping heavily into it. “Got a speeding ticket two miles from home,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

She wanted to tell him she’d been on her way back, but helooked so haggard, she was a little afraid to speak. She perched on the corner of the nightstand, realized that was horribly uncomfortable and awkward, and moved to the bed. “I didn’t mean to make you drive all this way.”

He frowned, and the thick silence that followed made her squirm. “You didn’t think I would?”

“I sent the text so you wouldn’t worry.”