a leaf in a windstorm. My eyes are blinking and in focus, but I don’t see anything. My ears are working but no sounds register. When I exit the front doors of Bristol House and spot Hunter and my father standing off to the side, I assume they’re not real. A figment of my imagination, a product of my shock. So I keep walking with my arm around TJ.
“Demi.”
I stop. Because that did sound real. That sounded like my father.
But the cops are now closing in on us, distracting me from my dad. TJ looks as shocked as I feel, panic swamping his eyes when one of the officers tries to lead him toward the ambulance.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” he protests. “Demi.”
“Yes, you do,” I say quietly, giving him a tight squeeze. “You need to talk to somebody about what happened tonight.”
“I talked to you.”
He did, but I’ve done as much as I can. The fact that he seriously contemplated suicide and took action to try to implement it, is beyond my capabilities. Plus, he has no choice but to go to the hospital. They’ll probably admit him into the psych ward and keep him under observation for seventy-two hours to ensure he doesn’t harm himself or others.
“I’ll come and see you the moment I can,” I assure him. “I promise.”
That gets me a weak nod. He’s in a total daze as he follows the cop toward the waiting ambulance.
I turn around, and the next thing I know, my father’s huge arms envelop me whole. I was already having trouble breathing. Now I’m choking.
“Dad, please,” I wheeze desperately. “I can’t breathe.”
It’s with great reluctance that he releases me and sets me on my feet. I blink and then I’m being hugged again, not as violently as before but with an equal amount of emotion.
“You have no idea how worried we were,” Hunter says hoarsely.
Dad makes a guttural noise as he nods in grim agreement.
“I don’t understand,” I say slowly. “Why are you here?”
“Someone snapped a picture of you on the roof and a bunch of people are tweeting about it,” Hunter explains.
“No, not you.” I stare at my father. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you in Boston?”
“I came to…” He stops for a beat, and Hunter smoothly finishes his sentence.
“To see you.”
My dad smiles wryly. “No, kid, I don’t need you to cover my ass.” He shrugs. “I came here to tell him to stop seeing you.”
“Dad.” My jaw drops.
“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I just…” He drags a hand over his bald skull. “You’re my baby girl. You’d just had your heart broken and I didn’t want it to happen again. Nico hurt you, and then I saw who you went out and picked right afterward?” He tips his head at Hunter. “Rich boy, hotshot athlete? In my experience those two qualities indicate a player. Seemed like a recipe for another broken heart,” he growls protectively, “and I wasn’t gonna let that happen to you.”
“I’m sure you had the best intentions, but Hunter’s not a player. And like I told you earlier, we’re together now, and you’re just going to have to deal with it. You could either make this hard on everyone, or you could accept that this is my new boyfriend. And yes he’s a rich hockey player, but—oh my fucking God!” I suddenly burst out.
“Demi, language.”
My upset gaze swings toward Hunter, and for the first time in five minutes I realize he’s wearing the lower half of his hockey uniform. “What are you doing here? What time is it?” I scramble to get my phone out of my pocket. “It’s eight-thirty! Your game started at eight!”
“Yeah, I know.”
His careless shrug triggers another rush of panic. “Then why aren’t you playing? What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Language.”
“Dad, I swear to God!”
Hunter’s lips twitch as he reaches for my hand. “Babe. Do you honestly think I would just suit up and play hockey while you’re standing on a ledge a hundred feet off the ground—”
“Fifty feet—”
“—A thousand feet off the ground, with a dude threatening to jump? One, that speaks volumes about how little you think of me. And two…well, I don’t have a two, okay? One is bad enough. Fuck’s sake, Demi.”
“Language,” my dad chides.
Hunter dons a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sir.”
“You need to get to the arena,” I order. “We need to get him to the arena.” And then I’m hurrying past them. “Where’s your car, Dad?”