Page 322 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

MAC

“This is a nuisance,” Dad said, shifting on his couch, crossing his arms over his chest…

just like I did. I couldn’t blame him. His broken foot was in a huge walking boot propped up on the coffee table.

He had to wear it for the next three weeks, maybe longer.

“It’s the end of the pickleball season at the community center. ”

He frowned and shifted a pillow behind his back.

From the elementary school, Mallory gave me a ride to the station. There, I grabbed the fire station’s incident command SUV and drove to Dad’s house. I was still on shift and if a call came in, I could leave right from here.

“Thankfully, it wasn’t worse,” I said.

He didn’t need crutches, but he’d have to take stairs carefully. He could’ve hit his head or broken a hip.

“True,” he agreed. “I didn’t even do anything except step off a damned curb.”

“We went on a call yesterday for a guy who threw his back out sneezing,” I said with the hopes of making him feel a little better.

“I can’t drive with this thing,” he complained, shifting his boot back and forth on the coffee table. “That means I can’t take Andy to and from school.”

I waved away his concern. “We’ll carpool.”

“You can’t reciprocate,” he reminded. He was in a mood, and I didn’t blame him. “Carpool means taking turns.”

“I’ll ask Flowers to help out. You know he will.”

“Yes, but Flowers is usually on shift with you. That means more work for his wife.”

I had a feeling nothing I could say to make things better were going to work.

And, he had a point. Even on days I wasn’t on shift, I was on call.

While a big call was rare, they happened, and when they weren’t expected.

I couldn’t leave Andy home alone if I had to rush to a fire and he had to be at school, nor could I take him to the scene. We needed guaranteed coverage for him.

“I won’t be able to do your stairs either.”

Shit.

Keeping an eye on Andy was one thing, but if something happened to Andy upstairs in our house, it would be a problem. Or if there was a fire at night and they had to get out quickly. Dad wouldn’t be able to get to him to offer help, and I was a stickler about safety.

Fortunately, Dad’s house was a rancher. There were only two steps down into the garage and he could handle those, especially since there was a railing.

I sighed. I didn’t realize how reliant I was on Dad helping with Andy until now.

“Then we’ll–”

The front door flew open and Andy barreled in, snow boots clomping on the wood floor. “Grumpy! Miss GG said you hurt your foot. Wow, that’s a cool thing you get to wear.”

I reached out. “Careful!” I called before he was too rough. “Don’t jostle him.”

Andy stopped just short of the elevated leg. Frowned. “I can’t sign it.”

“No, it’s not a cast,” Dad told him. “I broke a little bone on the top of my foot and this is what I get to wear. I feel a little like Frankenstein.”

Andy giggled.

Georgia closed the front door and came into the room at a more normal pace. She took in his foot and my father’s overall appearance. “How are you?” she asked. “I bet your pride took a hit as much as your foot.”

“That about sums it up,” he replied, offering her a smile. He was cranky with me and gave her all the sugar. “But like Mac said, it could be worse. Thank you for collecting Andy.”

“We had fun!” he said. “Miss GG–”

“Hang on, how come you get to call her a special name?” Dad asked him. “Does it have something to do with the chocolate mustache you have?”

Andy licked his upper lip. “We’re bestest friends ‘cause we both like marshmallows in our hot chocolate. Best friends call each other nicknames.”

“What’s your nickname?” I asked him.

Andy rolled his eyes. “Andy, of course.”

I glanced at Georgia who was biting her lip and trying not to smile.

“We went to Steaming Hotties and the lady in the pink shirt gave me extra marshmallows because I was so polite.”

He glanced at Georgia as if seeking confirmation, who nodded. “That’s right. A perfect gentleman.”

Andy smiled with pride as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Can I have a snack, Grumpy?”

“A snack? Do you have a hollow leg?” he asked.

“I think we’re getting pizza again. I’m on shift and–” Shit. Fuck.

Andy.

Dad couldn’t tackle my stairs and Andy couldn’t stay here tonight, even though he had sleepovers often enough. I picked up Dad’s prescription and knew he was on some good painkillers for a few days. He’d be asleep early–and asleep hard–once he had the next dose.

I looked to Dad.

Dad looked to me.

Then to Georgia.

Georgia.