—which is when the damned phone rings again. And it’s still Chloe.

Chloe would always rather leave a voice mail. Always. She wouldn’t keep calling back if this were any ordinary call.

This is important.

Something’s wrong.

“Silver.” I turn to Jonah and repeat the safe word. “Silver.”

Instantly he releases my arms. His expression shifts in an instant, no longer the angry, brutal master. Now he’s Jonah again, and I’m me. “What’s going on?”

“My sister. She never calls twice like that.”

I head toward the sound of the ring. My legs are still shaky; my breathing is still too quick. I slump to my knees on the floor before I unzip my duffel. Although the ringing stops in the instant before I grab the phone, I immediately hit the key to return her call. She picks up instantly. I say, “Chloe? It’s me. What is it?”

“Thank God I got you.” Chloe doesn’t sound sarcastic. She’s totally sincere. This is bad.

“What happened?” I whisper. “Tell me.”

“Dad had a cardiac arrest. Tomorrow they have to do open-heart surgery. They don’t know if he’s going to live.”

Twenty-eight

I was shattered before Chloe called. Now I’m—I don’t know what I am.

“It’s after seven o’clock,” I say as I put on my underwear, yank on a bra. “I couldn’t get to the airport before eight or eight thirty. They never have leftover seats anymore, especially not for the flights at the end of the day.”

Jonah has refastened his jeans. He holds his hands out the way a groom might try to soothe a skittish horse. “You can fly out first thing in the morning. We can buy your ticket over the phone.”

I shake my head. “That’s too long.”

“They have to operate right away,” Chloe said. “He’s scheduled for a valve replacement first thing in the morning.”

There’s no way I could spend the morning up in a plane, phone shut off, waiting to land so I can find out whether my father is alive or dead.

“Wait,” Jonah says. “Are you going to drive it?”

“I’ve driven from Austin to New Orleans before.” It’s eight hours, usually—but late at night I can make better time. I might be able to cut that down to six. I could get to my house before dawn. Then maybe I could see my father first thing in the morning, before the surgery.

Jonah doesn’t look convinced. “That’s one hell of a drive.”

“You meet the most interesting people that way.” My laugh sounds strangled in my throat. “So don’t knock it.”

“Vivienne.” He steps closer to me. “You’re shaken up and worn out. Driving through the night—you could fall asleep at the wheel.”

“While I’m freaking out about my father maybe dying any second? I seriously doubt I’m in danger of dozing off.” I yank on my sweater, step into my jeans.

Jonah’s hand closes over my shoulder, a gentle touch that seems to flow into me like a slow, deep breath. “At least eat something,” he says softly. “It won’t cost you ten minutes, and you’ll be in better shape for the drive.”

I can’t imagine a snack would make any difference in how I feel. But I realize Jonah’s trying to be helpful. To at least act like the lover he might someday be for me.

When will that be? After all your secrets are told. So, never. My illusions have been overshadowed by harsh, cold fact.

“If you can give me something to take with me, that would be great.” I kneel to pull on my socks. “But I have to get out of here.”

By the time I’m ready to go, Jonah has a plastic grocery bag filled for me—a chicken sandwich, a banana, even a plastic bottle of orange juice. Provisions for his hostage, I guess.

“You’re positive you’re ready to drive?” he asks.

I nod. I’m ready because I have to be.

“Your family—” Jonah hesitates for a long moment. “Are they going to take care of you?”

He’s seen between the lines. As little as I’ve told him about Chloe and my mother, he already knows they don’t have my back. Not even a crisis like this is going to seal the rifts between us.

Jonah’s a perceptive man. That doesn’t change anything.

“You don’t talk about your family. I don’t talk about mine. We figure how much we can share, and how much we can’t. Aren’t those the new rules?” I pause and take a deep breath. “Thanks for the food. And—this setup was great. Some other time.”

He simply nods. The man is no better with good-bye than hello.

When I sit behind the wheel of my car, lingering soreness reminds me of how perfectly Jonah fucked me only minutes ago. I was exhilarated. I was shaken to the core. But all of those emotions have been wiped away. Only dread remains.

I’m on the verge of losing the last adult person in my family who hasn’t betrayed me.

•   •   •

“Sugar, you aren’t acting like yourself,” my dad said so many times that spring and summer. “We need to take you to the doctor. I think you have mono.”

“I don’t have mono,” I would say. “I don’t need to go to the doctor.”

Even if I’d been miserable with strep throat or stomach flu, I wouldn’t have gone to the doctor then. For months afterward, I was convinced that my next medical exam would somehow reveal I was no longer a virgin. That wouldn’t make Mom believe me about Anthony. Instead she’d have assumed I’d slept with a boy from school, told me I was fast, grounded me for months. Then I’d never be able to leave my house. I’d be stuck staying in, having to sit on that sofa and pretend I hadn’t been raped there.

My father had no idea about what Anthony Whedon had done to me. My mom didn’t share my “lie” with him, and Chloe wasn’t the type to admit to anyone that she was worried about her little sister “flirting” with her boyfriend.

And, of course, I never said a word to Dad myself. He wouldn’t have been as unkind as Mom or Chloe—but he wouldn’t have believed me either. I’d heard the things he’d said when he heard news stories about a girl found unconscious in an athletic dorm, or someone trying to prosecute the five guys who videotaped what they did with her while she was passed out. If a girl gets that drunk—if she goes to a young man’s dorm room—she knows full well what’s going to happen. She wouldn’t have done any of that in the first place if she wasn’t looking for sex. Now she’s been caught and doesn’t want people calling her a tramp, so she’s making up stories. Ruining those poor boys’ lives.

I hadn’t been in a dorm. I hadn’t been drunk. I had been watching a movie on my own sofa. But I sensed there were other excuses to be made for Anthony, excuses that would come too readily to my father’s tongue.

Hearing those words would have destroyed what little sense of security I still had. The surest way never to hear them was never to tell, and I didn’t.

Instead I clung to him tightly. To some extent, I’d always been “Daddy’s girl” while Chloe stayed closer to Mom, but that summer I spent more time with him than ever before or since. Although I never cared much about sports, I pretended to develop an interest in the Zephyrs, so he’d take me to the home games. We’d sit up in the stands, cheer on the antics of the team mascot (a guy in a nutria suit, called Boudreaux), and eat peanuts. I still remember Dad sitting next to me, one hand holding his beer, the other around my shoulders. In moments like that, I almost felt like a little girl again.

Not quite. But almost.

I can’t lose my dad. If I do, then the slender thread that binds me to my family will snap. As insane as Mom and Chloe make me sometimes, even though I’ve never forgiven them for taking Anthony’s side and never will—I don’t want to be completely alone in the world.

Then I will never, ever be able to make it up to Libby . . .