Seeing Clay standing there, my stomach flutters then sinks. My dad has never liked any man I’ve dated or spent time with. He’s always found them lacking and usually he was right in his assessment, but I need to believe that Clay is different; I want him to think that Clay is different. But I know my dad, and asking him to give Clay a chance would be like asking the moon not to pull the tide to shore.

“Hey,” I whisper, letting my dad go then hesitate for just a second before I walk to Clay and take his hand.

“Were you done?” he asks gently, reaching up with his free hand to touch my cheek with the tips of his fingers.

“I can’t remember him,” I say quietly, and his face softens.

“It’s okay.” He squeezes my hand.

“My dad is here.”

“I see that.” He smiles softly.

I nod, then rub my lips together before I turn to face my father who I can feel watching us. “Dad, you remember Clay, right?”

“I do.” His jaw clenches as he looks between the two of us and that sinking feeling in my stomach suddenly feels like a lead weight.

“He’s been taking care of me through all this,” I try, hoping that will soften him up. “I—”

“If you’re done here, I’ll get you home,” Dad cuts me off.

My chest gets tight. “I’m staying with Clay,” I tell him quietly and I feel Clay’s hand around mine jerk.

“Kid, do you think that I’m going to let you go home with this man after I just flew across the country to make sure you’re okay?”

“Saturday, I can come over for breakfast and we can talk,” I say softly, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Willow.”

Oh lord I know that tone; I remember it from when I was a teenager. It’s the tone he would use right before he got pissed.

“Dad, I appreciate you showing up, but between Miles and Tucker working to figure out what happened to Carly, and Clay making sure I’m okay, I’m good. If you had called, I would have told you that.”

“Mouse,” Clay says, grabbing my attention.

I glance back at him. I don’t even know when I stepped in the space between him and my dad.

“How about you go take your dad out to dinner, then come to me after you two have had a chance to catch up.”

“I—”

“That’s a great fucking idea,” Dad agrees, cutting me off again.

I drag in a deep breath hoping for a little patience.

“I love you, Dad, but I don’t want to go to dinner.” I look between both men. “I want to have a glass of wine, take a shower, and crawl into bed.” I turn my attention to Johnny who’s been sitting quietly watching this train wreck. “I really appreciate you taking the time to sit with me, and I wish I had more to offer but I really think that your depiction is exactly what I can remember right now.”