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hundred pounds—but Joe would do it. The chief had done a lot for him over the years. Now it was his turn to return the favor.
    “What do you say we get out of here?” Joe asked, standing.
    More muttering he couldn’t understand.
    “You need to sleep it off, Chief. Let’s go before things get any worse.”
    It was too late, though, because at that moment, Faith’s gorgeous face appeared in the doorway and she looked anything but pleased.

    F AITH WAS GOING TO WRING her father’s thick neck.
    He’d sounded more than a little out of it when he’d called her a few minutes ago for a ride. Words slurred, train of thought easily interrupted but he’d managed to say where he was. What he hadn’t mentioned was that Joe Mendoza and Derek Severson were here as well, witnessing the show.
    Her cheeks warmed and she stepped back out of the doorway to the Shell Shack to summon her game face. Glancing down at the exercise shorts and tank top she’d thrown on, she swore to herself. She hadn’t counted on running into her captain. Hadn’t counted on running into anyone. She’d foolishly thought when her dad asked her to pick him up that maybe he’d meet her in the parking lot.
    Clearly, she hadn’t fully grasped the situation. And it wasn’t going to get any better while she wasted time out here trying to figure out how to save face. Wasn’t going to happen.
    Straightening her back, she headed inside, determined to hide her embarrassment and concern for her father. Those were family matters. Private.
    Ignoring her colleague and supervisor, Faith went around to her father’s side and rested her hand on his forearm. “Hey, Dad. How are you doing?”
    The time it took him to react to her voice and turn his head was not a good sign. “Princessss.”
    Fan-freaking-tastic.
    “I was just going to bring him home,” Joe said quietly. “Derek called me. Did he call you, too?” He looked toward the back room, where Derek was talking to the bartender and cook.
    “No,” Faith said, trying to keep her frustration out of her voice. “ He called me.” She gestured to her father, who didn’t seem to register the conversation going on in front of him. “I can handle this. Thank you for trying to help.”
    She felt Joe staring at her as if he had something to say, but he remained silent and she didn’t look at him again. Instead, she turned her attention back to her dad. “How long have you been here?”
    “Little bit.” He took an unsteady drink from the glass in front of him and frowned at the taste. “He’s givin’ me water.”
    The bartender emerged from the back room as her dad spoke, and Faith mouthed a thank-you to the man for cutting him off.
    “I’m here to help you, Faith,” Joe said, still stubbornly sitting on the other side of her dad.
    “We’ll be fine, thanks,” she replied, her jaw stiff.
    Again, the captain hesitated, and she felt frustration coming off him in waves, but that wasn’t her concern. Her dad was.
    “Did you eat dinner?” she asked him, as Joe finally walked out of the bar, turning to glance at her one last time when he reached the doorway.
    The fire chief seemed to think about that for a while, then shrugged. “’Magine I did.” He leaned hard on the bar, as if it was the only thing holding him up.
    “We need to get you home,” Faith said. “What were you thinking, Dad?”
    He tried to focus on her, then turned his squinting gaze to the bartender. And started snickering like a teenage girl in trouble, his large shoulders shaking. “I don’ know, Faithy. You tell me.”
    He’d never been a hard drinker. A lot of firefighters were—their way of dealing with the things they saw on the job. They used alcohol to come down from a harrowing shift or one that ended in tragedy. But not Tony Peligni. He was hard-core and intense—and usually stone-cold sober.
    Faith had been flirting with acknowledging the truth for weeks, but now there was no way to deny it. The breakup of his