Page 22

Olivia

C hesna’s alive… and stable for now. I got the text early this morning. I can go and visit, but they’re keeping her for observation after the surgery. I’ve been pushing off an appointment with Aleks and Sofia for a bit now, and I shoot off a quick text about moving again so that I have time to see Chesna. Even knowing that she’s okay, I’m riddled with anxiety.

What if? Why? How?

It’s a constant distraction throughout my day. The wedding passes by in a whirlwind. The event was gorgeous. The vintage Westlan estate came together wonderfully, but having Crew and Taylor at my side all night proved to be a pain in my side. A constant reminder of what happened- of Crew all but confirming that my dad is hiding something.

When Monday morning rolls around, I’m surprised when Taylor and Crew don’t trade off like usual. I walk into the kitchen to find Crew at the stove, scrambling eggs and adding berries to his oatmeal like he usually does after a workout.

He looks good. Too good, wearing nothing but a tight shirt and sweats. With a baseball cap pulled low over his face, his brown eyes lift to see me staring.

I clear my throat, pasting on a smile. “Good morning.”

“‘Morning.”

I hastily flip on the coffee machine and brew a fresh cup as he sits at the island to eat. It would normally bother me that someone else is in my house, using my things, but I’m grateful to not be alone.

“Are you planning on eating?” he asks, gulping down a few mouthfuls without looking up.

I freeze like a deer in headlights because I usually forget food in the mornings. I’ve been so focused on seeing Chesna today that I haven’t had time to think about anything else.

I purse my lips, yanking open the freezer and popping two protein waffles into the toaster as I carry my coffee to get dressed. “Didn’t realize you were the breakfast police.”

He doesn’t respond, but once I’ve reappeared from my room, dressed in a comfy blouse and dress pants, I’m aware of him watching as I lather a heap of peanut butter on each waffle and eat them as-is. I eat quickly. He’s already done washing his dishes by the time I finish and stand with my purse in-hand.

“Ready?” I chirp.

He lifts a brow. “No syrup, huh Princess?”

I shrug, trying not to frown at the nickname. “It’s messy.”

He reaches to open the door, and I gasp as a sudden idea fills my head. “Warden. You’re the Breakfast Warden.”

“Har har,” he deadpans, motioning me ahead of him. “After you, Princess.”

I huff. “The more you call me Princess, the more nicknames I try to make out of Warden. ”

“You’ll run out eventually.”

“Maybe,” I shrug, but the idea makes me smile. “But not before you get annoyed.”

“Had a couple of years to get used to it,” he says, reaching an arm around me to push the door open.

“How many years?” I say, my eyes distractedly wandering toward Ricky’s tent to see if he’s still in. Out , I’m guessing from the makeshift door blocking his tent. “You can’t be a day over… 30?”

I’m fairly good at guessing ages, but I’ll admit he’s thrown me.

Military background, security, and bartending experience…

He’s tall too. Strong, with sharp features and a shadow of stubble on his jaw.

His hand guides me out of the path of a passing pedestrian. “31. But Warden isn’t my birth name.”

At that, I look at him, trying to decipher the look on his face.

All seriousness, just like usual .

“Witness relocation program?” I jokingly accuse.

“Adoption unfortunately. The story isn’t quite as cool.”

I blink in surprise, narrowly avoiding another passerby until he grips my wrist and pulls me aside. He huffs at my obliviousness, but I hardly notice. “I didn’t know that. Are you close with your adopted parents?”

He glances down at me, finger flexing where every inch of skin burns into me, before letting me go. “Theresa, my mother, yeah. My dad, Jimmy… Not so much.”

We walk quietly for a few moments, passing the outskirts of the market until the garage comes into view. I open my mouth to ask another question, but he asks, “Are you looking forward to dinner tonight?”

My dad’s coming, so…

“Not the words I’d use for it.” I smile despite myself. As we climb into his car and I buckle in, I can’t help but look at him as the ignition roars to life. “I believe you owe me another question, Warden.”

His hand finds the back of my seat as he throws the car into reverse. I’m torn between looking at him and asking him something real… The banter is easy, but it’s always one wrong step from crossing into territory neither of us is willing to go.

“Usually, that’s when you follow up with a question,” he says, surprising me enough that I gape at him.

“So you’re finally admitting you’ll play?”

He shrugs as he pulls onto the crowded city street. “Going once,” he rushes me, and I smile, racking my brain.

I could go the easy route- Ask him about his profession. He’d answer, begrudgingly because he feels like he owes me. But part of me sees the challenge in his eyes. He’s not the quiet, reserved man he pretends to be.

He’s a talker.

“Coffee…” I begin, smiling as I glance out the window. “Or tea?”

I can feel his eyes narrow at me, and I know he’s thinking Is that really the question you’re going with?

“Neither.”

I expect him to continue, but no. The man speaks in tiny, unfulfilling sentences, but I know for a fact that I’ve seen him drink coffee on more than one occasion.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me?”

“That’s two more questions, Ms. Hughes. You’re accruing quite the debt.”

Satisfaction curls in my stomach, and I cross my arms, looking out the window to hide the fact that I’m smiling. “You fight dirty.”

We settle into an easy silence, and for several minutes, I nearly forget the reason we left early in the first place.

Chesna. The vet. The wedding later.

When we pull into the lot though, all I can think about is the blood stain on my carpet. The same question carves a hollow in my stomach:

How could anyone hurt her?

Inside, a sterile, stagnant scent fills my nose as we walk the egg-shell white halls toward the observation room. I see her striped brown fur first. Just the sight of the swollen red stitches across her belly freezes me.

Chesna sleepily lifts her lids, spotting me and mewling softly. I swallow the lump in my throat before strolling toward her and gently burying my hands in her nape. I scratch behind her ears, kneeling down, quietly soothing circles into her back.

“Ms. Hughes?” I hear the doctor from the door, and after kissing her little head, I stand, walking outside with Crew.

“How is she?”

“She’s stable. The operation was successful, but we’d like to keep her here longer.”

“How long?”

“At least the rest of the week. Possibly longer depending on how she reacts to medication.”

My stomach sinks at the thought, but I shake my head. It doesn’t matter how much it costs. We’ll keep her here as long as we need. I can manage a couple more weddings if I need to.

“Is she…” I swallow the heaviness in my throat. “Is she going to be okay once she heals? She’ll be able to play and live… normally?”

The doctor nods. “She made it through the first night. The hard part is over now.”

Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”

Dinner comes quickly enough. Dad brought steaming noodles with a tangy sauce that lingers on my tongue as I twist another mouthful around my fork. We haven’t said much, which is unusual because Dad usually always has a million things to say.

Sometimes, it’s about work. Money. A new business proposition or a new client. He talks about the business like it’s a mutual effort. He always has, ever since we moved to Westos from our small island village near Prevya.I was only two at that time, but for most of my childhood, he told me of the things he sacrificed to be where we are now.

It hasn’t been easy living here. The war between Westos and Prevya ravaged a hole in the realm. While my village hadn’t been a part of it, we might as well have. We were downcast like Prevyains.

Building a life here was an uphill battle, and I owe my Dad a lot. But he has more than a few faults.

For a while after Mom died, I thought he might very well drown himself in debt. There were more than a few times that I picked him up from a casino. Paid his tab. Asked people to keep quiet about his gambling. And hoped for the best.

But he’s better… or at least, he’s the best I’ve seen him since Mom passed. His firm has been thriving, and… and things should be fine. Yet he’s still hiding things from me.

Do I bring it up? Do I wait for him to come clean? What could he possibly not be telling me?

“How’s the soda?” he asks from the other side of the table.

Usually when we have a meal, he’ll also bring a new bottle of sparkling for us to try. It’s been a tradition of ours since before I can remember. Today, it’s something light with a hint of blackberry.

“It’s nice, but I still like Bavarti better.”

It’s our communal favorite. In the two years since we tried it, I haven’t found anything better.

He hums in agreement, swirling his glass. “How’s Chesna?”

I drop my fork, frustrated because it’s clear that if things go his way, we won’t talk at all. “Dad, are we going to talk about what happened?”

He shrugs, adjusting his glasses as he leans back to look at me. “Let’s talk.”

“Someone broke in and almost killed my cat.”

“You didn’t tell me someone was leaving you letters.”

“I thought they were harmless,” I defend, but I shake my head as I center myself. “Someone attacks you at the train station and now someone’s leaving letters and breaking into my place. You really think that’s just a coincidence?”

“Well, you are my daughter,” he guffaws, louder this time. “I told you before I hired Warden that people are crazy! They’ll do whatever it takes to have we have have-“

“They didn’t take anything though, did they, Dad?”

“Olivia!” he shouts, and I flinch. It’s the only time he’s ever raised his voice at me. He sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He continues, softer, “I don’t mean to yell. I just… You are so important to me. I don’t…” he shakes his head sadly, and a pang of guilt hits me. “I don’t know why it happened. But I promise… I’m doing everything I can to fix this.”

None of it makes any sense, but through my confusion I know a few things: I know I want to believe my dad. I want to trust him. I want to feel safe. Because I just don’t understand why he’d feel the need to lie.

Despite my push-back, he’s doing everything he can. My own stubbornness, my own pride, has only made that harder. I was the one who didn’t move in. I was the one who didn’t want the bodyguards.

“I love you, you know that?” he mutters, and with the wet sheen to his eyes, I can’t help but wonder if since Mom passed, keeping my distance has made things worse. “Everything I’ve done… I’ve done to keep you safe.”

I don’t stop myself from standing and rounding the island to wrap my arms around him. I hug him tight, and when I feel him sniffle against my hair, I only squeeze tighter, pouring everything I can’t say into him. “I love you too.”

When he draws back and wipes a single tear away, he smiles as he adjusts his glasses. “Let’s just… Let’s finish dinner. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, and despite the fact that Crew can probably hear our conversation through the paper thin walls, I do my best to put on a brave face.

I’ll deal with everything else as it comes.