Swear (Landry Family 4)

“Wait,” I say, shaking my head. “Let’s hold up a second.”

He just laughs.

“Ford, what I said the other day doesn’t change.”

“Everything’s changed, Ellie.”

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Oh, baby, it so has,” he grins. “That space bullshit is over. I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m going to be all over your shit like white on rice.”

I press a finger to his lips. “We have a lot to talk about besides whatever ideas you’re cooking up.”

“Plans, Ellie. Not ideas. Plans.”

I know this is a losing battle. There’s no winning with him when he has that look in his eye. Still, I’m not ready to give in even if it means a fight. I’ll be heard one way or the other.

“Just remember your plans are yours. They don’t necessarily involve me.”

“You are ridiculously adorable,” he laughs. “So, I’ll call G and have him get some moving trucks over—”

“Stop.”

“This is happening.”

I roll my eyes. “This is not happening. I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket.”

“Clearly, I know what to do with eggs,” he winks. I slap him on the shoulder and he laughs heartily. “Seriously, though—trust me, Ellie.”

“I have a hard time trusting anyone,” I whisper.

“I know you do. You’re a smart girl. But you and I were brought together again, this time at a point in our lives where we can use the lessons we’ve learned and go forward. Together.”

I look at the floor, my worry taking over the joy again. “Let’s talk about the together part.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“What about Barrett? Are you going to take off again?”

I look in his eyes. The way his soften shows me he sees the fear in mine. “Ellie, listen, I—”

My phone interrupts him, ringing like crazy on the coffee table in front of us. It’s my dad’s cell number. I hold up a finger and grab it.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Is this Ellie Pagan?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Honey, this is Shirley Templesman from Savannah General Hospital. Your father had an accident this evening. You need to come down here as quickly as you can.”

Ellie

IGNORING THE LOOKS FROM THE people I whiz by, I fly around the corner to the Intensive Care Unit. My hand trembles as I press the button repeatedly to open the double doors. At an ant’s pace, they break free.

The room numbers are on little blue panels hanging from each doorway. I try desperately not to run around the curved hallway until I find the one I’m searching for.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Can I help you?” A nurse stands from behind a counter. “Visiting hours are over.”