“I’ll stay,” the nurse offered. The entire emergency department already knew what they were dealing with here. News traveled fast.
After a long moment, Fiona’s grip loosened, and Caleb slipped out of the room. On the way through the familiar labyrinth of hallways, he braced himself for what was coming. It didn’t matter how many times he’d had to do it, these notifications never got any easier.
A water-logged woman stood at the triage desk, her hands white-knuckling the edge as she clearly struggled not to scream at the nurse on duty. “I was told she’s here. I need to see her.”
“Ma’am, as I said, if you’re not family—”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Her father is not involved. I’m her godmother. I am the next closest thing to family.”
“Emerson Aldridge?”
The woman whipped her head around at the sound of Caleb’s voice. The carefully rehearsed words bled out of his brain as panicked blue eyes met his. The relative chaos of the waiting room faded away as he fell into those eyes, soaking up the sense of recognition, even though he knew he’d never seen her before.
It’s you.
Startled by his own thought, he snapped out of his stupor and closed the distance and nodded to the nurse. “I’ve got this, Janette.”
“Where’s Fiona?”
“I’ll take you to her. C’mon.” He gestured toward the double doors, and she hustled toward them. “I’m Caleb Romero—the one who called you. You need to know right off that Fiona is okay. Minor injuries.” It was the only comfort he’d be able to offer her tonight.
A little of the terror etched on her face faded as they pushed through the doors. But Emerson was sharp. “Could you not reach her mother?”
This was the part he hadn’t wanted to tell her over the phone. Navigating her into one of the empty rooms off to the side, he shut the door. Emerson didn’t move toward any of the chairs. Her whole body drew taut, and he recognized that, deep down, she already knew what was coming.
Tunneling a hand through his hair, Caleb sighed. “Fiona’s mother was in the car. She didn’t make it.”
Like a puppet with suddenly cut strings, Emerson collapsed. It was instinct to catch her, to pull her against his body, as if he could somehow offer protection from the truth. She sucked in a ragged breath, and he waited for the scream of rage and pain. But she didn’t make a sound as she wilted into him, her hands curled to ineffectual fists against his chest. Her silent, potent grief swamped them both for long minutes. Caleb felt a little like a voyeur. He didn’t know this woman. But he knew this pain. So he held her, until she found the strength to stand again.
“You were there?” The question rasped out, as if her vocal cords had been torched.
“I saw it happen. I pulled Fiona out. There wasn’t—” He stopped himself. The driver’s side of the car had taken the brunt of the impact. She didn’t need that horror in her head. “Her mom was already gone.”
Emerson closed her eyes, absorbing that. Maybe she’d take comfort in the fact that death had been all but instant.
“Thank you for saving Fi.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Does she know?”
“Yes.”
She visibly armored up, pulling herself together for the sake of the child in a way that impressed the hell out of him. As she straightened, she seemed to register she was still pressed against him. A faint tinge of embarrassment brought color back to her pale cheeks.
Caleb forced himself to drop his arms and step back. “Are you up to seeing her now?”
She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. “Take me to her.”
The moment they stepped through the door to the room, Fiona broke. Emerson didn’t hesitate, edging onto the bed and pulling the girl tight into her arms as she sobbed, even as tears tracked down her own cheeks.
Eventually, the unintelligible cries turned into words. “I don’t want to go to my grandparents. You know what they’re like.”
Emerson’s face went fierce. “Not a chance in hell, baby. Your…” She swallowed. “Your mom made provisions. You’re with me.”
Everything in her posture and expression said she’d go to war for this kid.
Some tension in Caleb released. They had a long road to go, but he had a feeling these two would be just fine.
Chapter 2
4 Years Later
Emerson braced her hands on the kitchen counter and summoned every ounce of Mom-sternness she could manage. “Child, you have got to pack.”
Fiona swiped a Coke out of the fridge and shrugged with a nonchalance that had Emerson’s blood pressure rising. “Eh.”
She was a good kid. A great one, in fact. At no point during the dreaded high school years had she given Emerson more than a few silver hairs, and those had readily been dealt with by her stylist. There’d been no worrisome brushes with boys, no drinking, no excessive partying, and she’d been an exceptional student, all of which Emerson was eternally grateful for. But this whole college thing just might be the death of her. Or Fiona. She wasn’t sure which.
Tamping down her frustration, she trailed her goddaughter down the hall, past the dining room that had been turned into a staging area, full of neatly ordered—by Emerson—piles of bedding, towels, bathroom gear, a microwave, shoe pockets and other detritus associated with freshman living, all packed, labeled, and ready to go. By contrast, the upstairs bedroom Fi swung into looked like a bomb had gone off. She had yet to pack any clothes or toiletries or the personal pictures and knickknacks that were a mark of home. Emerson didn’t know if this was typical teenage procrastination or a sign of Fiona’s true reluctance to go off to college.
She worried about that. Despite the fact that the kid could’ve gone out for Best Teen of the Year at any point, worry about Fi had been Emerson’s default state since she became guardian to her best friend’s child. Every day had been joy and grief as she saw Micah’s eyes looking back at her. She’d done right by her goddaughter, fulfilling to the best of her ability the promise she’d made senior year of high school, when Fiona had been born and Micah’s parents had disowned her. But she’d never stopped questioning whether it was enough, whether she’d gotten it right.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Emerson sent up a prayer. Micah, give me patience for our girl. “Fiona.”
Fi flopped into the lipstick-pink moon chair that was one of the few surfaces in the room not currently draped with clothes. “There’s time.”
“Honey, move-in day is tomorrow.” It wasn’t as if she was ready for the girl to move out. A part of Emerson still wanted to wrap her in cotton and shield her from the world. But facts were facts. This was happening. All the paperwork was signed, the scholarship awarded. Fiona Elizabeth Gaffney was matriculating as a freshman tomorrow.
Thick, gold lashes hid her eyes as she shrugged again. “Yeah, but I’d rather spend the time with you. It’s our last night together.”
Twin surges of love and frustration shot through Emerson. She’d made Fi the center of her world. It was what they’d both needed. But moments like this, she wondered if she’d gone too far in that direction. Had they become codependent? Had she hobbled Fiona’s natural progression to independence? Was she pushing her baby bird out of the nest too soon?