Dad was proud. I couldn’t put him through that.

So, first things first:

1) Lock up guns.

2) Talk to Cooper.

3) Pick up Randi and drive her and my dad to Seattle.

4) Somehow not get killed by Talia when I get back.

I could do this—Team Garrett for the win, and all that good shit.

“Dad, can you start packing for Seattle?” I asked when we reached the top of the stairs. My father frowned, staring pointedly at the gun in my arms.

“Why is that out of the case?” he said, shaking his head. “Your mom will blame me if she sees you with that, Tinker Bell. You know better.”

“We were just putting it away,” I replied quickly. “She asked us to make sure all the guns were locked up while she was out, remember?”

He seemed confused, then nodded his head.

“Sounds like her.”

“Are there any more around the house? Maybe in your room?”

“Yup, I got one in the bedside table,” he said. “I’ll go get it.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Twenty minutes later all the guns were accounted for. Not that we had a ton of them, but for most of my life Dad had hunted—providing almost all of our meat growing up, actually—so he had several hunting rifles in addition to the shotgun, not to mention the pistol next to his bed. They were all safe and secure in my grandfather’s cabinet now, using an old bicycle lock. I’d put the only key on a string around my neck until I figured out somewhere to keep it. Maybe a safe-deposit box?

Exhausted and knowing I still had a ton to do before we could leave town, I headed back downstairs, stopping dead when I saw Cooper in the living room. He was leaning against the back of the couch with his arms crossed and a determined look on his face. Huh. At least he’d been easy to find.

“So . . .” I started, wondering what the hell I should say.

“So?” he asked, raising a brow. “That the best you got?”

Sadly, it was.

“This is awkward,” I said softly. “Um, we should probably talk about what just happened.”

“Ya think?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the stairs. “Your dad just went from absentminded to dangerous as hell. This is a problem, Tinker.”

“Are you going to call the cops?” I asked, feeling sick. Cooper raised a brow.

“Do I look like the kind of guy who goes running to the cops?” he asked, and I wondered if it was a trick question. I mean, he had the criminal-biker look down perfect, but who was I to stereotype? My dad was the one with the gun.

My chest tightened as the full reality of the situation hit.

I’d gone to work this morning and had my life threatened by a crazy woman with a machete, and it wasn’t even the most fucked-up thing that’d happened to me so far that day. Suddenly I felt dizzy.

“Breathe,” Cooper said, lunging toward me as I started to sway. He caught my arm, pulling me down to the couch. Then we sat down, and he pushed my head between my legs, which helped.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” I moaned, wondering if a person could splinter from too much . . . too much whatever the hell was wrong with me? Grief? Stress? Just too much, period. “It’s so much worse than I ever imagined.”

His hand rubbed my back, something I should’ve discouraged but it felt really good to lean on someone else, even for a few minutes. I still couldn’t believe what’d happened. Since when did my father start pulling guns on people?

“What does his doctor say?” Cooper asked, his voice a low rumble that I felt all the way down my spine. Shit, I needed to sit up and move away from him right now, before I did something stupid, like lean in and let him bear some of this endless weight for a while.

Yeah, because having a man fixes everything, right? my brain sniped. How’d that work out for you and Brandon?

Apparently I wasn’t so good at the whole learning-from-my-mistakes thing because I stayed right there and answered him.

“He hasn’t been to the doctor, at least not since Mom died,” I admitted.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because he’s a stubborn old bastard,” I said, forcing myself to sit up and look Cooper in the eye. “Because it didn’t really seem that bad, and every time we talked about it he put me off, and I guess I was in denial. This is a big deal, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, his face full of pity. Goddamn it, I didn’t want his fucking pity. I wanted his—

Um. No. We wouldn’t be going there.

“I have medical power of attorney,” I said. “I mean, as a backup. I got one for each of them when they did their wills a few years back. I’ve always known I’d have to force him if he ever needed help—that’s the kind of guy he is—but I guess I just kept chickening out.”

“Hey,” Cooper said. “It is what it is, all right? He took care of you for years, now you take care of him. That’s how it works. It’s not always easy, but you can do it. You need to start by making a doctor’s appointment. Probably shouldn’t be leaving him alone anymore, either.”

“Fuck,” I said. “Fucking fuck fuck! And now I’m headed to Seattle. At least Randi’s coming with us. Maybe it’s for the best—our family doctor here is older than Dad. I think the only reason he still has an office is there’s no one to replace him. Guess I’ll start making some phone calls.”

“Hey,” he said. “Come here.”

Cooper opened his arms, and I considered for a minute. I knew exactly what I should do—stay away from him and his stabby girlfriend and whatever other baggage he might still have hidden in his illegally tenanted apartment. But I was tired. Really tired. Instead I found myself sort of leaning forward and collapsing against him. That’s when I noticed my cheeks were wet—I’d started crying without even realizing it.

Then Cooper pulled me into his lap and the tears broke free.

I cried for my dad and my mom and my baby and the fact that things were never, ever going to be the way they should’ve been. I cried because a crazy lady had threatened me with a knife and because the whole damned town thought I was a whore. Finally, I cried because the first guy I’d liked in ages was probably a criminal—definitely an asshole—except at the moment he was being really, really sweet. There was something so damned unfair about the whole situation.