"Dad," the moment I saw him I threw my arms out and ran straight towards him, although I made sure to slow down when I reached him in order not to jolt him as I hugged him. He was sat upright in his bed with one of the nurses from the hospital laying out an arrangement of pills on his bedside.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded sitting down beside him and automatically wrapping my hand around his. It was weird how easily these actions came now, like I'd done them my whole life.

"He discharged himself," the nurse shot my dad a disapproving look that told me he'd gone against popular advice. He'd only been in hospital a week and although he'd been extremely lucky with the bullet missing all his organs and major arteries it had still gone into his chest and had required serious surgery. I'd been into visit him a couple of times this week and he'd been in and out of consciousness every time; he didn't seem like someone ready to leave the hospital.

"I'm fine," he insisted, "I'm on bed rest and I have all the drugs I need to keep me comfortable. I'm just taking up bed space there and it's better for me to be here. I need to keep an eye on the boys, this place would go up in flames without me."

"We've managed this week haven't we?" I objected but my dad only raised a disbelieving eyebrow, he was half right. A first year had managed to spill water onto a plug socket causing a minor explosion. But that had all been handled now.

"I'm feeling much better honestly," he reassured giving my hand a squeeze but I could feel each bone under his skin as he did so. He'd lost a lot of weight, the skin on his face was taunt and he had a gaunt haunted look about him, "I'll be back to work this time next week."

The nurse gave me a pointed look that said the complete opposite.

"Two weeks bed rest, no lifting anything heavy or working, only do the minimum," she instructed sternly, she gave me an imploring look, "make sure he keeps to that. I'll be back every other day to check on the wound."

"I'll keep an eye on him. Thank you very much," I smiled gratefully. I sat and listened attentively as the nurse went through the plethora of pills dad had to take each day. Fortunately, they were all written on a sheet she gave him otherwise I doubt either of us would have ever remembered.

I walked the nurse to the door where Mitch, Nico and Grey were all hovering trying to took unobtrusive and asked if they could show her out. It didn't take more than a second for them all to understand I wanted a private moment with my dad and once they were gone I firmly shut the door before returning to my perch on the side of his bed.

"Cut the bullshit," I told him firmly, "how are you really feeling?"

"Drugged up," he admitted, "tired and weak but I'm not feeling any pain."

"I guess that's an improvement, though I think it has a lot to do with the sheer amount of drugs you're on rather than actually being better."

That made him crack a smile though it pained me to see how weak it was, and it hurt even more to realise I'd done that to him. It was my fault he was confined to his bed unable to do the job he loved.

"Let's cut the bullshit Cara," he mimicked me now, his expression becoming serious once more, "the person who shot me. You know them?" It was less of a question and more of a statement.

"I don't know who his is," I replied truthfully, pausing to consider my next words carefully, "but I know he's the one who killed mom."

What I didn't say was that I knew who he worked for, I knew the person my mom had pissed off enough to have her killed. The person she'd beaten at cards, taking their entire $3 million biddings, which unfortunately was enough for them to want her dead. I knew who'd ordered the gun man to come after me, someone desperate enough to kill to keep their secrets hidden. I'd never tell my dad all of that.

"He escaped Cara, he could come back," dad sighed seriously, "I've got to think about how to protect you. It's clearly not safe for you here."

"Dad," I soothed, "you're not allowed to worry about anyone except yourself right now. I'm fine and I'm not going anywhere. I'm safe here."

"What if he comes back?" Dad insisted. I forced my expression to remain certain and calm as I lied straight to his face.

"I don't think he will, he got what he wanted, to scare us," I lie. Not a single bone in my body believes he won't come back. His boss isn't done with me yet, I'm still a liability. And as much as I want to turn around and run from this as far as I can possibly get to limit the collateral damaged here I know they'd only come after me. And if the Silent Boys have taught me anything it's that many is better than none.

"I just want to protect you, it's my job," dad sighed heavily, his heave sounding like he had the weight of the world pressing down onto his chest.

"You do protect me," I emphasised, "you took a bullet for me remember?" I reminded him with a tiny smile, "now it's my turn to take care of you. And you need to rest."

I could see his eyelids growing heavy as the effects of all the medication he was on dragged him towards sleep as much as he was trying to fight it.

"Love you Cara," he whispered before his eyelids finally gave way to the tiredness flowing through him.

I squeezed his hand tightly in mine as I replied under my breath, "love you too dad."

I stayed holding his hand for a minute; watching his chest rise and fall in a deep sleep to reassure myself that he was still alive. My mind still couldn't quite comprehend just how lucky he was, and the thought of what could've happened if he wasn't so fortunate made me heart stumble. I couldn't bare to think about it.

I left him passed out, tucked up in his bed like a young child and left the room needing to be away from his frail looking body that stabbed me with guilt every time I saw it.

"Cara," the voice was quiet and steady in order not to shock me but I still flinched at the noise after sitting in a peaceful silence for so long. Sawyer was leaning against the walls beside my dads door clutching a steaming mug. He looked slightly sheepish as he held it out to me, "coffee, to sustain your good mood."

At a time when I felt like doing anything but smiling Sawyer managed to coax a genuine one out of me.

"Thanks," I took the mug, "for more than just the coffee."

His soulful eyes told me that I was welcome.