While Isaiah watches the world, Logan watches me. He seems to understand I don’t want to be touched, I don’t want to be coddled, that I need to be a bit numb when walking through that door. But I like that he’s beside me, standing strong, staying silent, just being there...ready to catch me when I fall.

Because I will fall. I always do. With the choices I’ve made in my life, my path is nothing but crumbling cliffs.

In the past, I picked myself up and dusted myself off with no help and I have to admit it’s more than nice to know that I don’t have to tend to my wounds alone anymore. Nice to know that I could possibly be living a life that no longer causes wounds that bleed.

It’s taking too long. My number should have appeared by now. My blood starts to whoosh in my ears. He’s refused me. My father’s refused me. It’s as if a trap door is being pulled out from underneath me.

“Abby,” Logan says. “It’s your number.”

Relief rushes through me, and I have to remember to suck up my reaction. Dad deserves more than to see my fear and my pain. He needs to see I can stand strong on my own two feet.

I glance up at Logan and he stares down at me. Every caress, touch, and kiss of encouragement I need is shining in his dark eyes. “Go on. We’ll be here waiting when you’re done.”

No doubt that the two of them will be in the same spot. Isaiah searching for the threat to us, Logan waiting for me.

* * *

The guard opens the door for me and the multiple conversations in the room assault my ears. I walk into the room, counting the tables before me and when I find my assigned table, my heart skips a beat.

Orange jumpsuit, red hair, blue eyes, a rugged beard hiding his reaction. Standing there, staring at me as if he’s seeing a ghost is the man who saved me all those years ago. It’s my father.

Logan asked me once how Daddy knew I was his child for sure and I basically answered I didn’t care. I don’t care, but I know and so does Daddy. I’m not his. Not when my mother was fair-haired with a light complexion. Not when I don’t physically resemble him in the least.

I overheard him once speaking to Grams after they tucked me into bed. I crept down the stairs, just needing to hear the sound of his voice again, when she had asked him if she should be concerned about whether my real mother or father would ever come hunting for me. He told her no, that he would protect us both, and I always believed him.

It’s hard not to run to him, difficult to will my feet to move at a normal pace. The urge is to rush him, wrap my arms around him, beg him to break free of this place and take care of me again. But he can’t break free. There’s a good chance he’ll never be free. My father is paying for his sins.

Less than two feet away, my father holds out his arms and I don’t hesitate to fall into him. He hugs me tight, his hand petting my head, and he kisses my hair then says in my ear, “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I whisper. “I’m healing.”

“In danger?”

“Yes.”

There’s a clearing of a throat and my father and I break apart. Inmates and visitors are only allowed a brief embrace, even if it is a father welcoming a daughter. We both sit, him on one side of the corner table, me on the other.

Dad glances around and I track where he’s looking. Everyone seems lost in their own conversations, but I don’t pretend to understand his world, just know that for every action there is a reaction.

“The whole world is exploding right now and it’s over you.” Dad leans in to make this conversation private. “Last I heard, Linus thinks Eric has you.”

I search Dad’s face and while he’s always worn cool and collected, even when he’s on the verge of a murderous rage, I don’t spot what I had expected—a masked anger over the kidnapping.

“I’m not with Eric.”

“Didn’t think you were. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Eric told me to tell you that he saved me.”

Dad doesn’t flinch. “Anything else?”

“And he told me to tell you thank you.”

Dad’s lips twitch up.

It’s a disgusting sensation as part of me swims in confusion and dips in betrayal. “You knew Eric was going to kidnap me.”

“I told him to get you out of town.”

My fingers draw in for a fist and then I force flex them out. “He blindfolded me and hog-tied me then threw me in the back of a car.”

That flash of craziness I originally expected finally appears, but Dad retains his cool. “But he got the job done, and you’re sitting here safe.”

“And Eric’s your enemy,” I whisper-shout.

Dad edges forward to give us more privacy. “And boundaries are shifting. You’re smart, Abby, and I expect you to keep up.”

“They have TV’s in here, right? I mean, when you aren’t sitting around plotting out the world outside these walls, you must watch it. Does it ever sink in when watching the Disney Channel that people don’t normally have their daughters kidnapped? That instead of working through coded messages through other people that you do something crazy like talk to me directly? Normal fathers talk to their daughters.”

“I’m not normal and neither are you.”

“No shit. And here I thought my father sold cosmetics door-to-door. You know, someday, I’m going to have a job where I can come home and sip lemonade on the front porch and watch people mow their yards and I’m going to have goldfish and bunnies and I will no longer have to have conversations about me being saved by a kidnapping. But for now, this is where we are at so how about you fucking humor me and tell me what the hell is going on?”