What happened? He glanced down at the bruise forming along his bicep. The guy pushed me when I tried to block his camera. Why didn’t you say anything? Jack shrugged.
As long as you and Lily are safe, I can deal with a bruise. Emma looked at him, her eyes welling again. In that moment, she realized something.
Jack didn’t protect her because of who she might be. He did it because of who he was. They returned to the house just after sunset.
Jack parked a block away to be cautious, scanning for cars that did not belong. Emma sat beside him, silent, her nerves tight. The porch light was off.
Something was wrong. Jack motioned for her to stay in the truck, but Emma had already opened the door. It’s okay, she said.
If someone’s come, I need to face it. They walked together toward the house, and then they saw it. A black town car idled in front of the driveway, sleek and gleaming beneath the streetlamp.
Two men in dark suits stood by the porch. The front door was open. Jack quickened his pace, instinct kicking in.
He stepped in front of Emma protectively, just as a third man emerged from inside. He was older, tall, with silver hair impeccably combed back, and a heavy presence that filled the space like thunderclouds. Emma, he said coldly, get in the car.
Emma froze. Jack didn’t. You her father, he asked, voice level.
I am Winston Harrington, the man said, his eyes sharp. You’re the man who’s been harboring my daughter. I’m the man who gave her a couch when she had nowhere else to go, Jack replied.
Winston took a slow step forward, scanning the house with distaste. This, this place, this life. It’s beneath her.
You can’t possibly think she belongs here. She made that decision, Jack said. Not me.
You can’t keep her here. I’m not keeping anyone, Jack said, his tone harder now, but I’m not handing her over like she’s a briefcase either. Winston’s eyes narrowed.
You don’t know who she is. I don’t care who she is, Jack shot back. I know what kind of person she is, and I know she’s safe here.
Emma stepped between them, her voice steady, though her hands shook. Dad, stop. You’ve made your point, Winston said, gesturing to his men.
Now come home. This is home, she whispered. No, he said firmly.
This is where you ran to, not where you belong. Jack turned to Emma. You don’t have to go, but she was already looking at the car.
Her eyes were wet. I think I do. No one’s forcing you, Jack said.
Yes, they are, she replied, voice breaking. Just not with words. He understood.
The pressure wasn’t physical. It was the weight of a life she’d tried to escape, crashing down again. She stepped back from him, slowly, like she was afraid of what would happen if she moved too quickly.
He didn’t follow. She turned toward the car. One of the bodyguards opened the door.
Winston said nothing. His job was done. Emma paused at the edge of the sidewalk, her back still to Jack.
I’m sorry, she said softly, not turning around. He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
The door closed behind her, the sound like a final chapter being shut. Jack stood on the porch as the car drove away. Tail lights, bleeding into the night…
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