As I open the door, I suck in a breath when I catch sight of Dad. Even after visiting him half a dozen times in the past two weeks, it’s still scary to see him in such grave condition. The friendly giant of my childhood, the wise, gentle god who always knew exactly what to do, now lies pale and haggard in a hospital bed with a dizzying array of tubes and wires and beeping machines all around him. His mortality stalks closer and closer, slow but inexorable—it doesn’t need to hurry, because it knows it will catch its prey in the end—and I have no choice but to stare the beast right in its bloodshot, jaundiced eye.

I hate this.

I want to fix every single thing, make all his pain and sickness go away.

But I’m powerless.

When I sit in the single chair at his bedside, Dad stirs and his eyes drift open. He sits up with a slight effort. “Olivia . . . how are you, sweetheart?” Maybe it’s just my imagination, but his voice sounds a little hoarse.

A gloomy laugh vomits up my throat. He’s lying here looking so weak, and he’s asking me how I am? “Never mind, that’s not important. Are you okay? What happened? How long do they think you’re going to be here?”

The spot where he split his head and needed stitches is now just a faint line above his eyebrow. It’s healed nicely. But it’s the stuff inside that counts. That’s where the sickness I can’t see or fight lurks.

“Slow down, sweetie, one question at a time. I just had another little dizzy spell. Probably from the chemotherapy more than the cancer itself. And they don’t know yet; they’re still running tests. I swear those vampires have sucked out half my blood. But the doctor said it could be anywhere from a couple more weeks all the way to . . .”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Dad lets his sentence trail off, but I know what he would have said. All the way to the end.

Dad shifts a little to lay his clammy hand over mine. “Now, tell me how things are going with you.”

Stubborn old man. But if he wants a distraction, I guess I can’t blame him. And it’ll probably ease his mind to hear about our good fortune. I tug my cardigan over my shoulders since the air-conditioning in this place is always set to frigid, and I lean in closer to Dad.

“I’m not quite done running the numbers yet . . .” Before everything went totally off the rails today, my plan was to finalize everything by lunchtime. “But I think we’re pretty much back on track. My projections have been looking better than ever. I’d say things are in the bag.”

The board meeting isn’t for another few days, so their decision still remains to be seen, but barring any random disasters, Tate & Cane will almost certainly be safe from their swinging ax.

Dad interrupts my thoughts with a gravelly chuckle. “That’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I wanted to know how you are.”

Oh. It takes me a moment to process the question. “I’m fine,” I say with a confused shrug. Exhausted from pulling two weeks of crazy overtime and weak from panic over Dad’s health, sure . . . but a good night’s sleep can take care of that. Or the former problem, at least. “Why do you ask?” Surely he has more important things to worry about.

“Because you’re my daughter, and no matter what happens, you’ll always be my baby girl. And because you don’t sound so sure. Are you happy? How are things with Noah?”

Oh fuck. I have no idea. Where do I even begin?

“I guess . . . I don’t know,” I admit.

“Still?” His eyebrow raises.

“What with your health and all the craziness at work lately, I haven’t exactly had much time to focus on my own life,” I say, defending myself. And Dad’s latest episode has driven everything else straight out of my head.

“That’s no reason to put yourself last, sweetheart. Someday I’ll be gone, and success comes and goes on its own schedule, but you’re the only you you’ve got. And love . . . if you nurture it well, love will always be there to keep you strong. So it’s important to take time to put your own house in order.”

His words hit me square in the chest. Helpless to disagree, I nod. “Okay, Dad. I promise I’ll work on it.”

Not to mention the fact that he’s right, of course. I can’t avoid it any longer. This uncertainty about our relationship has been eating me up inside. And no amount of throwing myself into work has helped.

“That’s my smart girl. Now, go ahead and get on with your day. I’ll be all right without you hovering over me.” He winks at me and I smile despite myself.

With another squeeze of his hand, I kiss him on the cheek and shake my head. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay for a couple hours, Dad. Work can wait.”

The need to be in his presence, to hear his soft breathing, to smell his musky soap smell is almost a physical ache. I don’t even want to think about the fact that there will come a time when I can no longer have those things.

He nods. “Fine by me, sweetie.”

• • •

Later, on my way back from the hospital to the office building, orange construction signs block the road I normally take. I haul the steering wheel over with a growl to find another route. Today, of all possible days, is when the city finally gets off its ass and fixes potholes? Sweet Jesus, I don’t have time for this crap—

Well, really, I have plenty of time. It’s just the patience I don’t have. One more thing and my hair might catch fire from stress.