Dating After the End of the World - 7

In stunned disbelief, my father bounds toward me, arms spread, ready for an embrace. He nearly tackles me off my feet and squeezes tight, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away again. I inhale his familiar scent, a mix of sawdust from his woodwork and earth from spending too much time outdoors. It smells like home.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, the tears from his eyes transferring to my neck, where he has pressed his face deeply into the side of mine.

“Dad, I can’t breathe.” I barely push out the words.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, setting me back down on solid ground.

I inhale the cool night air, refilling my lungs.

Dad grips my shoulders, looking down at me and studying my face. It’s as though he’s trying to make sure it’s really me and that his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. “I can’t believe you’re here. I . . . I looked everywhere for you.”

“I know. JJ told me.” I can see the pain I caused him. It’s written all over his face, clear as day. But does that make me the bad guy? Or are we closer now to even, at least in my book?

My cousin clears his throat. “I’m gonna get back to patrolling, Uncle Dale, so you two can talk. Glad you’re here, Casey.” He tosses me a smile.

Dad drops his hands from my shoulders. “Thanks, JJ.” He nods, sending him back off into the night before his gaze returns to me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m fine.”

He folds his arms across his chest. It’s that typical Dad stance, which I know will be followed by a slew of questions.

“How’d you make it here?”

“I drove.” I slide the combat knife from the sheath secured to my thigh and hold it up, the blade glimmering from the spotlight. “But this helped.” I smirk.

His face brightens, and he grins proudly. “Hate to say I told you so.”

“No, you don’t,” I say, returning the knife to its sheath.

Dad smiles. “Is anyone with you?”

I let out a small sigh and shake my head. It’s the truth, because no one is with me, but I won’t tell him about Nate. A gust of wind sends a shiver down my spine, chilling me to the bone, and I reflexively jolt.

Dad notices and puts his arm around me, pulling me into him. “Let’s get you inside,” he says, guiding me up the steps of the porch. Before we enter the house, he pauses and places a finger against his lips. “Everyone’s asleep.”

“Who’s everyone ?” I whisper.

“Well, you saw JJ. Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Julie are here too, as well as your cousin Greg. He brought a girl with him, Molly. Elaine’s here too.”

I smile. “Elaine made it?”

“Of course. I made sure I got to her first.”

Elaine lives a mile down the road, our closest neighbor, and she’s been there since I can remember. She was like a mother to me . . . I mean, a much older mother. But she did her best to fill in the large hole in my heart. As I reflect back on all the moments she was there for me, I realize now, in my spite toward my father, I deprived Elaine of things I had no right to. A sadness wells up in me like a backed-up drain, because like my father, I haven’t seen her in a long time either.

“Anyone else?” I ask, quickly trying to swallow the sadness brought on by my own guilt.

“Tessa and her mom, Meredith. They made it here too.”

“Tessa’s here?!” I blurt out before remembering the time of night.

He nods.

That makes me smile. She and I have been friends since we were little kids, although we’ve lost touch ever since I went into residency. Completely my fault, not hers. The hospital became my whole life, so it’s been what feels like a lifetime since we’ve last talked, let alone seen each other.

“Then I’ve got the Carter family staying out in the cabins.”

“Who?”

“You’ll meet them tomorrow. They’re good people, and they needed help, so I took them in.”

We continue into the dimly lit house, where the only light comes from the glowing embers of the fireplace set in the corner. The large open-concept living room, kitchen, and sitting area are furnished with several couches, chairs, and tables. There used to be only one of each, but he’s clearly added more to accommodate the extra people. His bedroom door to the right of the living room is closed, and I wonder if it’s still his or if he gave it up. On our way through the kitchen, he grabs a glass bottle of water and a granola bar.

“In case you’re hungry or thirsty,” Dad says, handing them to me.

I pocket the granola bar and unscrew the cap from the bottle, drinking nearly half of it in several gulps. I didn’t realize until the water hit my sandpaper tongue, sitting on top of it for a brief second before absorbing in like I was a neglected houseplant, that I haven’t had anything to drink since before the burners burst into Nate’s place.

“Thanks.” I hold up the bottle.

“No need to thank me, Casey. I’m your father. My job is to take care of you.”

“I’m twenty-nine, Dad.”

“I don’t care if you’re fifty. You’ll always be my daughter, so I’ll always take care of you.” He picks up a lantern from the island counter and ignites it. “I’m sure you’re tired, so let’s get you to bed. We can talk more tomorrow, when you’re well rested.” The lantern provides enough of a glow to see in front of us as we walk up the stairs off the kitchen. The flame licking at the glass creates a dance of light and shadows on the walls, a macabre kaleidoscope of black and white.

I follow him down the hallway to an open side room that used to just be a sitting area but looks as though it’s been converted to a bedroom with no privacy, since steps off it lead up to the third floor.

“JJ sleeps in here,” Dad says.

These stairs are much narrower, so he takes them slow. “I left your room open . . . sort of,” he adds as he stops in front of my bedroom door.

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

“You have a bunkmate, but it’s just temporary until I can finish another cabin.” Dad turns the handle and pushes open the door, allowing me to enter first.

“Is it Tessa?” I ask, feeling along the wall for the light switch. Once my hand finds it, I flick it on, and my childhood bedroom comes into view. It’s large, around fourteen feet by twenty feet, and looks nearly the way I left it, except for the presence of a second bed pushed up against the far wall beneath the bay window.

A man lies sleeping on his side with a blanket covering his lower half. His wide, muscular back is on full display, and his hair is cut short, military-style. There’s a tattoo of the Navy Seal insignia on his shoulder. Is Dad trying to set me up? Because, wow, this guy is . . . My thoughts are cut off when he rolls over. His brawny arm covers his eyes for a moment before he pulls it from his face, revealing those vomit-green irises.

“Ughh . . . turn the lights off,” he groans.

As soon as I recognize him, I see red. No fucking way. This can’t be happening.