The Sheikh's Stolen Bride-To-Be(25)

"I love you too," he murmured. "Don't forget to come home."



My heart clenched. It was going to be my first time away from the little  guy. Sure, I wouldn't be forgetting to come home, but the sentiment  still tugged at my heartstrings.



"I won't forget," I murmured, pushing myself to my feet. "I'll be wishing I was home the whole time."



I padded quietly out of his room, flicking off the light on my way out.  The nightlight sent an effusive glow over Sam's face. He looked like an  angel. My little angel.



I had another hour before I had to leave for work, and I figured I'd  grab a quick dinner and finish packing. I had no idea what I'd need for a  weekend in Las Vegas. My friend Sarah, whose bachelorette party it was,  had said to wear something sparkly, but I hadn't owned anything sparkly  since before Sam was born.



My father, Bill, was out in the kitchen, which surprised me. He'd been  fast asleep in front of the TV when I'd gone to put Sam to bed.



"You're alive," I commented.



He made an amused snort. "So my doctor keeps assuring me. Where do you keep the snacks around here, kid?"



I raised my eyebrow at him, but he continued rooting through the cupboard.



"Are you asking me where Sam's snacks are?" I inquired.



Dad nodded, peering at the contents of the cupboard from beneath his  wispy, graying eyebrows. "Sam told me you've been giving him applesauce,  and now I've got a mighty hankerin' for it."



I laughed and swung open the cabinet next to the one he was looking in.  With a flourish, I pointed to the modest bounty of snacks inside. "Don't  eat all of them. Sam will want some snacks for the road."



"So will I," Dad commented. "He takes after me more and more each day."



I patted my dad on the back and started fixing myself some dinner. I  would have just made a couple slices of toast, but Dad always paid  special attention to what I ate when he was around. He would leap at any  sign of trouble, and he considered toast for dinner to be especially  troubling. I put on a pot of water to boil some pasta instead. I would  need the carbs.



"I don't want to go on this stupid trip," I said.



My dad, now leaning against the counter, eating a little cup of  applesauce, grunted. "I won't have this fight with you again, Skyler.  You've got to go."



I frowned. "I wasn't going to fight. I'm just venting a little. That's normal isn't it?"



"What would be normal would be you actually being excited to go on a  trip with your girls," Dad reminded me. "When was the last time you went  out and had some fun, honey?"



"Sam and I went to the movies last week," I said. "We had a blast."



"And when was the last time you went out without your kid and had some  fun?" he asked, pointing his spoon at me. "I shouldn't have to specify  the fun without your kid part."



"What? We have fun together," I said, defending myself. I placed the pot  on the stove and turned on the heat. "Sam's a cool kid."



"And so were you," my dad said. "But I still went out and did stuff  without you. Your mother and I used to leave you and your sister with a  sitter while we got drunk and went salsa dancing."



I glowered at him. "You know I'm not going to go do that. Not least  because I don't have anybody to get drunk and go salsa dancing with."



"You will," he said. "Or you would, if you started putting yourself out there again."



I let out a frustrated sigh and grabbed a tin of pasta sauce out of the  cabinet, busying myself with opening it so I didn't have to look at him.



After a couple moments, I heard him put down his applesauce container and walk over to me. He placed a gentle hand on my back.         

     



 



"You don't have anything to prove to anyone, sweetheart."



I glanced up at him. "What does that mean?"



My dad's gentle blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he gave a slight  smile. "All I mean is that it's okay to not want to do this on your  own," he said. "You don't have to stick it out like this just to prove  you can."



I was already too emotional from having to leave Sam. I didn't want to  add to that stress by talking to my dad about how freaking lonely I got  sometimes.



"What do you guys have planned with Dawn for the week?" I asked, changing the subject.



The concern on my dad's face didn't ease, but he took a few steps back  to give me some space. I watched him rinse out the empty applesauce  container and toss it in the recycling bin.



"Sam wants to go to the Golden Gate Bridge, of course," Dad said. "Other  than that, Dawn said she'd have a full roster of activities planned for  us."



I chuckled. "I suppose it would have been worrying if Dawn had nothing  planned," I said. "But please try and get a little rest while you're  there. It seems unfair that you're going on vacation but you'll  basically have to be working the whole time."



He shot me a cheeky grin. "Maybe you're not the only one who likes hanging out with Sam. Ever think about that?"



"Touché."



The pot on the stove began to boil, so I poured in some rotini and grabbed another pot to heat up the sauce.



"Listen, kid." My dad came over and draped his arm over my shoulders. He  was a slight man, but still much bigger than me. His arm was heavy. "I  want you to have fun on this trip. Do something crazy. Don't let being a  mom mean you can't enjoy being Skyler."



I snorted. "I just don't think I enjoy the same kinds of things I used  to, Dad. What if I end up being a big wet towel on the festivities?"



"You won't," he assured me, kissing the top of my head. "You're a good kid. You're raising a good kid. You deserve a break."



With a sigh, I untangled myself from him and stepped over to the sink to  pour myself a glass of water. After taking a couple gulps, I wiped my  mouth with the back of my hand and smiled.



"He is a good kid, isn't he?" I said. "I think that's what makes leaving harder."



"But he'll still be a good kid when you get back," Dad said. "And you've  got years and years of time ahead of you to spend together. You've only  got this weekend in Vegas. Besides, it might be good for you two to get  some time away from each other."



I narrowed my eyes slightly. "I know you're probably right, but I still  don't like the thought of him needing time away from me at five years  old."



"You overthink everything." Dad plucked a wooden spoon out of the jar on  the counter and started to stir the bubbling pasta sauce. "It makes you  miss the important things."



"No," I countered. "It makes me extra conscious of the important things.  Like how I should be spending the money I'm spending on this trip on my  son."



Dad rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, his lips spread into a wistful smile.  "You remind me of your mother," he said. "She used to worry about your  sister and you twenty-four seven. It was even worse before you were  born-the first child is always the scariest. She would go and check to  make sure Dawn hadn't stopped breathing in her sleep until she was three  years old."



It hurt to see how much my dad still missed my mom. She'd died ten years  before of breast cancer, and he hadn't so much as looked at another  woman since. Not that I knew of, at least. Granted, for the past five  years he'd been a little preoccupied helping me raise my son.



Ah, another stab of guilt. How refreshing.



"Okay, okay." I wrapped my arms around Dad, inhaling his peppery smell.  "I'll go have an amazing time, and I'll try not to call more than twice a  day."



"Once."         

     



 



"Huh?"



My dad pulled back, a twinkle in his eye. "Don't call us more than once."



"You're killin' me here, Dad."



His deep laugh filled the kitchen. "Sure, kid. Sure." He patted me on  the back. "Now get some dinner in you or you'll be too hungry to save  lives tonight."





TWO





My eyes drooped heavily, making me stand out in the group of otherwise fresh and bright faces.



"Jeez, Skyler," Sarah said, patting me on the back. "Are you going to make it today?"



I nodded and forced a smile. "I just need to get my second wind. I'll be fine."



I was no stranger to working long shifts without sleep. Now standing at  the airport with a giggling gang of bachelorettes, I tried to think of  this as just another shift at the hospital. In many ways, it wasn't so  different from what I'd been up doing the night before: making sure  people were happy, keeping an eye on numbers flashing across the  screens, and making sure nobody died. Except in this case, the numbers  on the screens were our flight details and the one who was at risk of  dying was me.