Chapter 3
Grant hit the door again.
The frame cracked but held.
Together, we rammed it with an old linen cart. The top hinge tore away. Grant forced himself through before the opening was wide enough.
The metal edge cut his palm.
Blood ran over his palm, but he kept moving.
I followed him into a storage passage where the water reached halfway up my calves.
Sophie sat behind an overturned chair. Bunny was pressed against her chest. Her empty inhaler lay in her lap.
She was trying to breathe without crying.
Grant reached her first.
“Sophie.”
She pulled away.
“I want Mom.”
I dropped beside her.
“I’m here.”
Her fingers closed around my sleeve. Her breaths were short and sharp.
Grant took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“We need to get her upstairs.”
I tried to lift her, but my shoes slid on the wet stone.
Grant held out his arms.
Every part of me wanted to refuse.
Then Sophie coughed and folded against me.
I handed her to him.
“Keep her upright.”
He lifted her carefully. She weighed almost nothing against him.
On the way back, the damaged door shifted. Grant turned so the loose metal struck his shoulder instead of Sophie.
By the time we reached the stairs, blood ran from his hand.
He never loosened his hold.
Paramedics met us at the top.
One placed an oxygen mask over Sophie’s face. Another asked what had happened.
“The fire door failed,” Grant said. “The old wing should have been secured.”
The security chief looked at him. “The repair was on the deferred list.”
“Who approved the delay?” I asked.
Grant answered.
“I did.”
He had protected the ballroom renovation while leaving the fire doors for another quarter.
His choice had almost trapped Sophie underwater.
The paramedics placed her on a stretcher.
Grant moved closer.
Sophie opened her eyes.
“You said I didn’t have anything to do with you.”
His face went still.
“I was wrong to say that,” Grant said.
“You don’t know me,” Sophie said.
“No.” His voice was quiet. “I don’t.”
“Then why were you mad at me?” Sophie asked.
He had no answer.
Sophie looked at me.
“Did he leave you when people were watching too?”
I could not lie.
“Yes.”
She turned back to Grant.
“Then you can leave me too.”
Her eyes closed as the paramedic adjusted the mask.
Grant reached for the stretcher, then stopped before touching it.
The paramedic asked him to move back so she could secure Sophie.
Grant did not seem to hear.
“Sir,” the paramedic repeated.
He stepped away at once.
They rolled Sophie toward the ambulance. Grant followed as far as the open doors, rain running from his hair and his injured hand hanging at his side.
“Which hospital?” Grant asked.
“St. Anne’s,” the driver answered.
Grant reached for his car keys.
“Do not make this about following us,” I said.
“I need to know she is safe,” Grant replied.
“Then wait until I tell you.”
His hand closed around the keys. For seven years, Grant had answered fear by taking control. This time, he put the keys back into his pocket.
I climbed into the ambulance beside Sophie.
The doors began to close.
Sophie opened her eyes and looked through the narrowing gap at Grant.
“I won’t make you be my dad.”