Page 70 of Saddle Storm

He looks over but doesn’t hold my eyes.

“He said he came looking for me that night.”

“What night?”

“You know what night, Dad,” I snap, then immediately settle down. “The night I got pregnant.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Dad.”

“Yes, he came by the house. And it didn’t matter that he thought he had his shit together—you still deserved better.”

My heart shatters as more of this comes to light and I’m breathless. “Better than what I got?” I try not to yell. Dad’s weak heart is still on my mind, but I can’t help the crack in my voice.

He tosses his hands up in the air. “How was anyone to know that’d happen? Your mother and I were doing the best we could to keep you safe. That boy was nothing but trouble.”

“What did you say to him?” The desperation in my voice is demanding and its years of insecurities, feeling alone and worthless building in my throat.

“What does it matter now, Storm?”

“Because he’s back. And we’ve been spending time together and he’s so good with Max and me and . . . I’m scared.” I know my words don’t make sense to him, but he doesn’t seem to question it.

There’s a beat of silence as he stares at his hands. “Heard he’s injured.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

He looks up at me. “Injured players get better, Storm.”

I don’t answer as I stare back at him.

He shifts his gaze away. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I can remember.” He considers it for a moment. “Which time?”

“What—what do you mean? There were other times?”

I don’t know how long I sat with him after he told me everything. That the falling-out between him and Connor was about Silas and me getting close. After I went out to the lake with him and his friends and got pneumonia—which could have happened to literally anyone in any winter.

But I didn’t leave him after that. I wanted to make sure he was okay. That my need for the truth didn’t set him back somehow.

I sat there feeling both enraged and selfish until Rose texted me she was on her way back to pick me up.

“I’ll see you later, Dad. Get some rest. I’ll bring Max over next week?”

He nods. “Storm?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know?”

I shake my head.

He nods again. “I think about that night all the time. If I’d told him you were at that party, he’d have gone back and maybe—your life could have been different.”

I repeat his earlier protest. “No one could have known that.” I smile softly.

He picks up his remote, no longer looking at me. “You going to tell him?”

I look back and shake my head. “I don’t know.”