Luke. The safety of him caused sunlight to find her in the fog, to bathe her skin with warmth.

“I don’t care if you’d rather go and be with Chase and your father. Please don’t do that to me. Do you hear me, Finley?”

She rose out of the depths and walked along the white sand beach of her Caribbean island. She’d spent hours and hours here. Resting on this beach. Admiring the hills, the lush green vegetation, and the monkeys dangling from the vines. The first dog she’d ever owned, Rajah, ran up to greet her, then trotted beside her like always.

“I’m selfish enough to demand that you stay here with me.” Luke’s voice broke. The force of his emotions sent the palm trees swaying. “I’m going to make it right,” he said. “Everything that happened with the treasure hunt and the gold and those men. You don’t have to worry about any of it because I will handle it. I promise you.”

He hadn’t left her.

“Please come back to me. Finley. Please.”

I’m coming.

He hadn’t left her, and she wouldn’t leave him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Around noon the following day, Luke looked up from the chair in Finley’s hospital room to see his mother enter. Like that night at the garage, she’d brought coffee cake.

“Wow,” she said, coming to a stop. “She’s received a lot of support.”

“Yeah.” Since word had gotten out about her injury, a stream of visitors had come through. The ICU only allowed five visitors at a time, so Luke often stepped into the waiting room so that someone else could take his spot. At this point, flowers, balloons, and cards occupied most of the flat surfaces in the space. The kids in Akira’s after-school program had hand-drawn a banner for Finley. Trish and Kat had made a poster with pictures of all the dogs currently living at the Center.

“How is she?” Mom asked.

“The same.”

She placed the cake on the side table, then stood next to Finley, murmuring encouragement. “We’re praying for you. You’re doing great, you know. Everything’s all right here. Just keep fighting. You’ll be back to feeling like yourself in no time.”

Everyone said the same things to her. It always came out awkwardly, because no one was used to talking to someone who couldn’t talk back.

Light-headed with exhaustion, Luke rose to his feet. He swayed, then propped a shoulder against the window’s wood trim to steady himself. The hours had hollowed him out, so it took him longer than it should have to realize Mom had quit talking. Instead, she was studying him with so much compassion that he honestly couldn’t take it.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I am.” Since returning to the hospital yesterday, he’d only been home for twenty minutes to shower.