Page 19

19

Lena

O f course, her father had to be home early.

Today, of all days .

She couldn’t think of another time when he’d been home before seven, and yet here he was at five o’clock sharp, standing in the doorway like he’d been waiting for her.

She should have expected this.

She’d been back a couple of times over the last week, to grab things she needed, but always when he was at work. They hadn’t actually seen each other since that day at the hospital. And now, standing in the entryway of her childhood home, she felt trapped in a conversation she wasn’t ready for.

Her father’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was careful. “Madeleine. How are you?”

“Good. Is everything okay, Dad? Why are you home?”

“I was hoping to see you.” His gaze dropped to the bag by her feet. “Are you moving back home?”

Lena nodded. “Tristan’s going back to work tomorrow.” Her father didn’t even blink. “But you probably know that already, don’t you?”

“It’s my job to know that.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to see how you were doing. If?—“

“Dad,” she interrupted. “Tell me you’re not choosing this moment to have a heart-to-heart. Please. I’m tired. And it comes years too late.”

The words came out harsher than she’d intended, but she couldn’t bring herself to take them back.

And for a split second, she saw it—the flicker of something raw in his expression. The kind of emotion her father had always been so careful to keep locked up behind duty and discipline.

Like she’d actually hurt him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t think you have any right to get between me and Tristan.”

Her father’s expression darkened. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I think Lieutenant Devallé?—“

“You can call him Tristan when you’re with me, Dad.”

Her father grit his teeth. “I think Tristan’s a fine man. I just don’t think he’s right for you.”

Her chest constricted. “Because of his job?” Lena asked. “Isn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?”

His mouth pressed into a hard line. For a long moment, she thought he might not answer.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t always there for you, Madeleine.”

That was the first time he’d ever said that out loud.

And it hurt. It hurt because she hadn’t expected it, and also because she hadn’t realized, until now, how badly she needed to hear it.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “Dad…”

He lifted a hand. “It might be my one regret in life. But I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She stiffened.

“This job… the risks he takes, the life he leads,” her father continued, his voice even softer now. “I know what this life does to a person, and to the people who love them.”

Lena’s breath hitched. He was talking about her. He was talking about her mom. Her mom had lived this life—waiting, always waiting. For her husband to come home, knowing that some day he might not.

And afterwards, Lena had spent years pretending the experience hadn’t changed her. But it had changed her. She’d built her entire adult life around making sure she was never the one waiting for someone who might never come home.

And then?—

She thought of Tristan’s touch, of the way his lips pressed against her shoulder in the middle of the night, when he thought she was asleep.

“I understand, Papa. I understand, and I’m not going to lie and say I don’t worry about the same thing. But I don’t need you to protect me,” she said finally, quietly. “Not from him.”

Her father studied her carefully.

“I just want you to be happy, Madou.”