“All clean,” James said. “Unless you want me to get your upper half.” He raised his eyebrow again.
I laughed. “I think I can handle that.” I took the soap back and dropped my head to make sure he couldn’t see me crying. For some reason my arms were tired too. The soap felt like a brick in my hands. “Who was number three on my dad’s speed dial?”
“Some doctor. You said you didn’t want to go to the hospital. So I think he’s having the hospital come to you.”
That was sweet of him. And I was already emotional, so it just made me cry harder.
James tapped the bottom of my chin so I’d look up at him. “Come here.”
“Come where?”
He patted his lap and then opened up his arms. His shirt was soaking wet, clinging to the muscles in his chest and arms. “Let’s be miserable together.”
Misery did love company. But instead of crawling onto his lap, which it seemed like he wanted, I rested my head against his shoulder. He pulled me closer. And we sat like that until the water ran cold. Him just holding me.
***
I pulled on the pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top that my dad must have left for me. They fit me perfectly. The pajamas were fuzzy and warm and comforting. There were cute little squirrels on them. My mom had loved squirrels. We used to name the ones in our yard. Had she always loved them? Did my dad know that about her too? Was that why he brought me these?
A knock at the door made me jump. “Yes?” I knew I was safe here, but I still pictured Isabella on the other side of the door with a gun.
My dad opened the door. He smiled at my pajamas. “I’m glad they fit. Is there anything else you need?”
I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn’t sure what would make me feel better. But I had a million questions. Was Kennedy okay? Was James still here? Where the hell was Miller?
But before I said anything, Dr. Wilson appeared at the door.
“Dr. Wilson’s here to check out your injuries,” my dad said. “Do you mind if he comes in?”
I shook my head.
“You should be sitting down,” Dr. Wilson said as he walked into the room. “I heard you had quite the night.”
You could say that. I sat down on the edge of my bed. For some reason, I felt uneasy around him. The last time I’d seen him, I’d been terrified. But my dad came into the room too and sat down on the bed next to me. Him being here too was reassuring.
“The bottom of her feet are cut up pretty badly,” my dad said. “There’s another cut on the back of her ankle and her knees were badly scratched. Is she going to be alright?”
“Let’s take a look.” Dr. Wilson pulled some things out of his bag.
“And James mentioned that she was having a panic attack. He said she couldn’t catch her breath. Is that common for someone her age?”
Normally, I would have been horrified by someone talking about my health. But I was exhausted. And something about the way my dad did it made me feel cared for. He knew I was still shaken. I needed him here.
Dr. Wilson put his stethoscope against my chest. “Take a deep breath for me, Brooklyn.”
I followed his instructions.
“And another.”
I took another deep breath, glad that my lungs seemed to be working again.
“Do you have panic attacks often?” Dr. Wilson asked.
I shook my head. Not until today. I was pretty sure I’d had one while I was dancing with Rob, when I was worried Isabella might be planning on killing me. And then again in the lobby when I was worried about Kennedy. I guess Isabella had a way of making me freak out. “No. Just today.”
Dr. Wilson nodded. “Have you been under a lot of stress recently?”
“Isabella tried to have her killed,” my dad said.
“Ah. Well, that would do it.”
I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do. Dr. Wilson didn’t have much of a reaction to the statement though. Why wasn’t he horrified? I swallowed hard. Oh. Because he was my dad’s doctor. He probably dealt with things like this all the time. Maybe even things like this that had happened because of Isabella.
He pulled the stethoscope down around his neck. “Your heart is racing right now. Are you nervous that I’m here?”
“No, I’m worried.” I turned to my dad. “I’m worried about Kennedy. Have you found her?”
“She’s safe. When Donnelley brought Isabella and Kennedy home, he pulled me aside right away and told me what happened. Isabella gave Kennedy a pretty strong sedative, and I was hoping she’d wake up before we had this conversation. Last I heard, she’s still unresponsive. But she’ll wake up soon.”
Dr. Wilson nodded. “I was just with her before I came here. I’m sure she’ll wake up in a few hours.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, suddenly even more tired. Kennedy was okay. She was safe.
My dad patted my knee, keeping his hand there to comfort me. “Right now all you need to know is that Miller is guarding her room. She’s perfectly safe. And I promise to tell you as soon as she wakes up.”
I tried to hide how relieved I was. Miller was safe. I’d been worried about him too, but I couldn’t ask my dad about him without raising suspicion. “And Isabella?”
“I’ll deal with her myself.” My dad looked back at Dr. Wilson, as if that was the end of the discussion.
Deal with her how?
“Is there anything we can do to make the panic attacks go away?” my dad asked.
“I’d rather start with preventative measures. Maybe you can start keeping a journal when you have panic attacks? Find out what’s leading you to…”
“It’s Isabella,” I said. “I can’t breathe when I think about what she’s planning. I’m scared all the time.”
My dad looked so defeated. “But we’ll keep a journal just in case. Yes, princess?”
I nodded. I didn’t want him to look so sad. And when he called me that, my chest ached a little less. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Good, good.” Dr. Wilson pulled out some bandages from his bag. “I’m going to get you all fixed up.” He looked at the cut on the back of my ankle. “Actually that might need stitches. Let me take a better look.”
My dad held my hand as I got my stitches. And when I got my tetanus shot, he didn’t mind at all when I squeezed his hand so tight that it must have hurt.
“That should do it,” Dr. Wilson said as he placed the last bandage along the sole of my foot. “Try to take it easy the next few days. No stress.”
“That won’t be a problem,” my dad said. “She’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future.”
The foreseeable future? What did he mean by that? I had school on Monday.
“Very well. Make sure to keep that journal, Brooklyn. I’ll see myself out.” Dr. Wilson’s shoes echoed in the empty hall.
“Does it still hurt?” my dad asked.
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about specifically. My cuts? My heart?
But then he reached down and inspected the bandage on the back of my ankle.
I knew what he needed to hear. And I knew it would help if he heard the truth. “Everything hurts a little less now than it did before.”