The Punk Who Hurt My Daughter

Andrew

I cocked my head, listening as the shower spray hit the tiles around me. Was that …?

Killing the shower, I jumped onto the bathmat and yanked my waiting towel from the hook. Tearing ass out of the bathroom so fast I slid slightly on the floor, I careened into my bedroom. The phone, sitting on my bedside table, still rang. I hadn’t missed the call.

Gasping, I snatched it up—and blinked in surprise to see Lanie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered, heart thundering in the base of my throat.

She hesitated. “Hi.”

I gulped. “Hey.”

It had been three days since she left the hospital, and I wondered often if I’d done the right thing by sending her away. I’d thought I had it all figured out the other night, but the more I mulled over it, the more I realized I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

“How is Raven?” Lanie asked.

I could barely draw the breath to answer. “The same.”

“Oh,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Yeah.” I looked down, noting the wet spot I was creating on the carpet. “How are you