I hit the next button, skipping to the message after hers, but it was someone for my dad.

I don’t know how long I stood there.

She hadn’t left me. She’d called. She remembered me.

She was gone for the night because things came up. That made sense.

The three little pieces, which had started to splinter apart again, started to settle back into place. They were still intact.

I took a calming breath.

My hands were sweating. I rubbed them down my lounge pants.

They still cared.

She still cared.

A soft knock came from the door, and I looked through the window.

Ryan had arrived.

I was barely sleeping when I heard a soft thud.

Sitting up, I felt Ryan’s arm tighten around my waist, and I paused. His breathing was still even. I hadn’t woken him. Gingerly slipping out from underneath his arm, I crept out of bed.

There were two nightlights set up in the hallway, one at each end, so I could walk toward my parents’ bedroom without needing to turn a light on.

Shivers moved down my spine as I padded away from my room.

Thud!

“Shit.”

I paused. That was my father. Frowning, I moved closer. Their door wasn’t closed. It was open two inches. One of the lamps was on, and as I peered inside, my dad walked past me, heading for the bathroom.

The bed was made. No one was sleeping. Instead, piles of clothes were all over it with a bunch of boxes set around the room. Some were open, and some were already closed. They had been moved closer to the door, as if ready for pick-up.

My dad came back out of their bathroom, his arms full of toiletries. He dumped them into one of the boxes and tossed some of his shirts on top before closing it.

“What are you doing?” I moved inside, opening the door wider.

My dad cursed, whirling around. He ran a hand over his face. “Holy shit, Mackenzie. Warn a dad next time, would you?”

I ignored him, focused on the boxes. “What are you doing?”

Were we moving?

I knew we weren’t.

That wouldn’t have made sense.

“Oh, honey.” A whole new voice came from him—the one I’d heard when he told me we were moving to Portside.

I started shaking my head.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“She’s . . .” He took a breath, looking around, and his hand went to his hair. “I can see how this looks, but—”

“It isn’t that? You aren’t moving out?”

My eyes met his, and I knew it was happening.

I could feel Willow behind me, but she was quiet. For once.

“No.” His shoulders slumped suddenly. His hand fell to his side. A look of sadness flashed in his eyes.

I didn’t feel sorry for him.

A foreboding dread sat at the bottom of my sternum. It wouldn’t move so I could breathe easier. It was blocking everything, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

“What are you doing? No bullshit, Dad.”

He gazed around the room once more and gave me the strangest look, like he was seeing into me.

“I’m moving out.”

I didn’t know if I should be relieved or sad. I was neither. I just was. I nodded, looking away.

This made sense.

Grief tore families apart. Didn’t a brochure tell me that one time?

I hugged myself, half turning away. “Are you leaving Mom or are you leaving us?”

He didn’t respond at first, and I knew the answer.

I wanted to turn completely away, give him my back, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I could feel his gaze.

“I’m moving closer to Robbie.”

So he was just leaving Mom and me.

I knew Robbie was at a school and that he seemed to be enjoying it. I knew it was probably good for him not to be living in this dead house, but that was all wrong too. He should be at home. My mom should be there too. My dad shouldn’t be leaving.

I shouldn’t be left alone.

“Mac?”

And the award for best timing ever went to Ryan.

The floor creaked from down the hallway.

“Who is that?” my dad demanded gruffly. “Is that a boy?”

I wanted to roll my eyes. I refrained. Barely. “You’re leaving us. What do you care?”

His mouth closed with a snap, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. I could see him thinking about it, and that was when I noticed the graying hair at his temples. There was more around his ears. The bags under his eyes were epic, and I could’ve sworn his wrinkles had doubled since this summer.

My dad wasn’t an old man, but he was close to resembling one.

“Mac?” Ryan’s whisper was a lot louder. He was right outside the door.

“Who are you?” my dad demanded.

Ryan opened the door and looked at him but had no other reaction. He knew what he was walking into.

“Ryan Jensen, sir. You work with my father.” His shoulders were firm, and he didn’t slouch as he spoke. He wasn’t going anywhere.