I wore my hair down today. Paired a new black wrap dress with a crisp, hot-pink blazer and heels an inch taller than I normally wear. I want to tell myself I dressed like this to intimidate Luther.
I know better.
Seamus shifts in his chair. My eyes immediately flick to him without permission. Fitted gray sweater. Black jeans. Silent confidence pours off him in waves. He still looks tired—yet significantly less stressed than he did a few weeks ago.
When he catches me eyeballing him, he smiles and I swear something lodges in my throat.
Stop it, I tell myself.Focus.
Ethan glances at his watch. “Alright. I’ve got to head out. Cy got us tickets to a concert at Neumos and we’re going to dinner first…”
He turns and leaves the room with a wave.
I shout after him. “Tell him thanks a million for stealing you away in the middle of a victory lap.”
Ethan looks over his shoulder. “You’ve got this without me.”
Silence settles again. Seamus’s eyes track me as I pretend to collect papers, to organize notes that are already neatly filed. Anything to keep from meeting his gaze.
My phone buzzes against the table, saving me.
Until I glance down at the screen.Mama.
My heart drops. She never calls me at work. I swipe to answer. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Marcella, it’s your father,” she blurts out, high and tight.
I freeze.
I see in my periphery concern instantly darkens Seamus’s expression.
“What about him?” I’m already grabbing my bag.
“He’s okay. He’s home. I guess he had one of those—what do they call it? A TIA? The doctor said it wasn’t a stroke, but it could’ve been. They said it was a warning. He needs to rest. See a specialist—”
“I’m on my way.” I jump up. “Are you with him?”
“It’s fine,mija—” she starts to protest. I don’t let her, reiterating my intention and hang up, heart hammering.
Seamus stands too. “I’ll drive you.”
“What?” Shocked, I shake my head. “No, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to.” He steps closer. “You’re upset. The road is going to be slick. Let me make sure you get there safely.”
Something breaks in me at the steadiness in his voice. At the idea of someone other than my immediate family looking out for me. I nod once. “Fine. We’re taking my car.”
I glance out the window. Outside, the rain comes down in sheets. Seattle at its most biblical.
We take the elevator to the garage and my Audi hums to life as Seamus settles into the driver’s seat, folding his large frame into the space with surprising ease. I clutch my purse tightly in my hand, envisioning the worst and mentally chastising myself for blowing family time off for so many months.
We don’t speak as the car crawls through down I-5 rush hour traffic toward Tacoma. I stare as the rain streaks down the passenger window in steady, hypnotic rivulets. The wipers swoosh sheets of water from the windshield and I’m grateful to have Seamus focusing on the road while my mind jumps all over the place.
“She said it wasn’t a full stroke,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “She said he was up and talking.”
Seamus nods, glancing at me briefly. “Sounds about right. If it was a TIA, those usually resolve quickly. The biggest concern is what it means for his risk going forward.”
“You’re not helping me feel better,” I sigh.
