Page 112 of Broken Daddy

And she wouldn’t be doing any pottery for a long, long time.

“Do you have any questions?” the doctor asked her.

Devi knew it was wrong to lean on him. But he’d offered and she felt so overwhelmed that she couldn’t breathe.

“Croissants,” she said.

“What?” the doctor asked. “She wants a croissant?”

“Um, yes. Maybe later she’ll have one,” Hayes said. “Thank you, doctor. I think she’s a bit overwhelmed and just needs some timeout.”

She nearly snorted at his choice of words. Timeout.

Yeah. Timeout from the world.

Devi stared up at the ceiling. What was she going to do? Her pottery was her ticket out of here. And it was gone. How would she support herself now?

There was no one to help her. There was no way she could afford this hospital bill let alone rehab and a plastic surgeon.

A small sob escaped her.

“Devi, he’s gone. Talk to me, baby. It’s just you and me.” Hayes sat on the side of the bed, facing her.

“I know . . . I know it’s stupid to be so upset over my arm when Derick . . . when my father might be . . . but creating art . . . making vases and bowls . . . it was everything. It was my escape. My happy place. It’s all gone.”

“Hey, look at me. It’s not gone.” He cupped the side of her face, turning her head so she had no choice but to look at him. “It’s just temporary. You’re going to be able to do anything that you want eventually.”

She let out a small bark of laughter. “Should have known. Got so close to escaping. And he ruined it. He ruins everything.”

Devi could hear the bitterness in her voice.

“Who does? Your father? Did he have something to do with what happened?” he asked sharply.

She couldn’t answer . . . she didn’t know what to say.

“Okay, baby. Just breathe. I shouldn’t have asked. You gave control to me. I’m going to take care of you. I don’t take that lightly.”

“What about when I want to come back?”

“Well, then you say parsnip, huh?”

“All right,” she said.

“What I want you to do right now is just relax. I’m going to rub your head. Help you relax.”

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

“Uh-uh, no serious questions right now. You’ve reached your limit. Now, close your eyes. I want you to think about something nice. What else do you like to do besides pottery?”

“Nothing. I don’t have anything else.”

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that. Hmm, what would you like to do?”

How could she do anything with a wrecked arm?

She tried to push the bitter thought out of her mind as he massaged her head.

God. Was it bad that she was so upset over her arm when her father could be dead? But she couldn’t seem to work up much horror or outrage.