Lilac's Chance

Chapter Twenty-Five

A/N: I was so excited for the last chapter of Lilac's Chance that I posted it before I wrote the other half. Oops. So if you've already read it, just scroll through the first half until you find the chapter divide. And don't worry, there's still an epilogue before I hit that 'complete' button!

*****

We stare at each other for long, stuttering moments. Long enough for me to take in the worn lines in his face. Long enough to notice the worried creases above his eyes, the tinge of gray in his hair, the way his legs don't quite lock. Long enough to realize that age hasn't treated him well.

Then again, I'm in a hospital bed.

"Lilac," Dad says, and it's like nothing has changed. His voice is automatically authoritive, owning the situation, and when he looks at Hank, the trainer sighs and angles towards the door.

"No!" I stretch forward, fighting the waves of dizzying pain that wash over me, and grab Hank's hand. "Don't... don't leave me alone."

Hank hesitates, but then sits down again, though he shakes me off. Dad's gaze darkens. "I'd hope to speak to you... privately."

"There's nothing you can say to me that you can't say in front of my boss."

Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "Your employer?" He looks at Hank. "Allow me to introduce myself. Daniel Piperson, Lilian Rose's father."

The use of my birth name is a slap to the face. I haven't heard it in years, thought maybe it was a relic of my elementary days. I'm Lilac, nothing more and nothing less. I'm everything I've created for myself.

Hank merely nods. "Hank," he says shortly, leaving Dad waiting politely for a last name. When none comes forth, the crease over his eyes deepens.

"Anyways." Dad clears his throat, but he's unsettled. Good. I watch as he smooths his tie and coat, hot and out of place in this Texas hospital. "I'm here to discuss your coming home."

I snap. "There's nothing to discuss! I'm not coming home to you and your-"

"Lilac!" It's Hank, and the venom in his voice surprises me. "Hear your father out."

Here, in this hospital of white sheets and hushed voices and healing and death and prayers, I am trapped. I grit my teeth and settle back into my bed. This better be good.

"I- I messed up. And I'm sorry," Dad says, and now he's not in business-man-mode. He's in Dad-mode, the mode that can convince me into my first day of kindergarten, protect me from the monster under my bed, scold me when he knows I'm lying about the cookie jar.

It's been a long, long time since he's been in Dad-mode.

"But it's not just you that's hurting. It's- Willifred. He misses you. Lola and Gin and Harvey- all the grooms, they miss you too. And Skip, Bloodless Day, Lucky Charm- she's had a filly, Shamrock's full sister."

Dad wasn't there the day Shamrock died. He wasn't there the day she was born, or the day she was backed. But I was there for all of it. Even now, thousands of miles from Piperson Farms, I am more a part of it than he's ever been.

"And I miss you. Your mother's worried sick- not a word from you in all these months, just a phone call from a stranger about a car crash? What kind of daughter are you?"

Doesn't a girl need a mother in order to be a daughter? I'm not sure I have or am either.

"And I miss you. You're never home anymore. The past few years, the house has been so lonely without you, without Derek around, and he's coming home soon from university. We could be a family again."