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I'm sorry, Emma, this isn't working. I think we both need to take a step back and keep things professional from now on.
I know the words are going to hurt her, which is the last thing I want to do, but I need to do this. I put the phone on the bed next to my father and study the man I’d once thought so strong. I never thought I’d see him like this, confined to a hospital bed, unaware that life is slowly seeping from him.
My phone lights up with another text and I read the words on the screen without unlocking my phone. What are you talking about? Are you okay? What’s going on?
I can feel her concern oozing from every word. But right now, I don't have the energy to manage her expectations alongside my own, especially with my emotions running so hot and high.
I know I should respond, but I don't know that I have the energy. I owe her an apology for breaking up over text - it’s a terrible thing to do to someone. But right now, none of that matters. Nothing matters but trying to find a way to enjoy the last bit of time I’ll have with my father.
The screen goes dark and I shut out the world, focusing on the man who’d turned my life upside down when he got into an accident, and now threatens to turn it all upside down again. I look at his face, tracing his pale features, trying to commit every detail to memory. I try not to think about the fact that with his eyes closed and his chest barely rising and falling, he already looks like he's gone.
Pain lances through me like a sword plunged through my heart and I inhale a ragged breath. Putting my head down on the bed, I blink, thinking about everything he’s said and done, all the hateful, hurtful comments, and the apologies, the way he’d refused to excuse his behavior, but let me know he regretted who he was and how he treated me.
I want to apologize to him for all the ways that I let him down. I hate that I spent so much of my life leaning into being a disappointment to him. How many choices did I make simply to hurt him? He might not have been a good dad, but I certainly wasn't a good son. And now it might be too late to truly make up for all of that.
I try to draw in a deep breath around the catch in my chest. Even though I have never been a religious man, I try to make a deal with God, promising that if he spares my dad, I’ll use my life to do good. I argue with the part of me that says there's no way he can die now.
Rage boils in me along with sadness and I stand up, pacing the room as if I can pour my energy into him and prolong his life. I think stupid things, that something I do might save him, that this is all a bad dream I need to wake up from, that soon I’ll have to face the silence where my father’s voice and words used to echo. I’d always held out hope that one day he’d return to his office at the firm. I’ve had dreams where I walk in and talk to him about Emma, and he gives his blessing. And now, I know I’ll never get that... nor do I need it, because she’s in my past now, and my future has no room for her or anyone else.
As I pace, I watch the drip of the IV, the faint pulse in his neck, the nearly absolute stillness of him as he lies prone.
I hate that I’d been so stupid as to think he’d live through this. I should have trusted my gut that first night. I should have prepared myself for this. I got comfortable. I got weak. And I missed things I should have noticed. Details that could have saved his life... if my thoughts hadn’t been clouded by a beautiful, blue-eyed blonde.
And as I watch him, I wonder if he’ll ever wake up again. Can he hear me?
“Damn it, old man, you made a promise.” I say in the space between us. There’s not so much as a twitch in his face to indicate he heard me... or that he even knows I exist.
Maybe he’s below the level of dreams. Perhaps he’s so far out of reach he can’t hear me talk. Maybe it’s already too late, and my time with him is up and now he’s simply a shell waiting to die.
The unfairness of it all slaps me in the face and I drop back into the seat at his side. Taking his hand again, I ignore my phone buzzing.
I just want to be alone with my dad.
Chapter Twenty-six
Emma
I can barely draw a breath.
How could he just end things and worse, end them through an impersonal text?
It's been several days since he dumped me, and I'm still trying to pick up the pieces of my emotions and broken heart.
He hasn't come back to work yet, but I assume that he has been talking to other people about his plans. But I'm not the one that's in the loop anymore, and that kills me. I wonder if he's okay. I wonder why he chose now, of all times, to break up with me.
Did Sterling get to him? Or did he tell his dad about us, only for his dad to tell him he’s making a huge mistake? The last option is the most probable.
I should have prepared better for this. Instead, I feel absolutely blindsided. The timing just doesn't make sense - his dad must be the reason. But I can’t imagine why Anton wouldn’t want us together. Would the man really make work a priority over his son’s happiness? And if Anton knows, why wasn’t I fired?
There are so many questions that keep circling my mind, but I have no answers for any of them.
Every text that I send to Clifton goes unanswered. Every phone call goes to voicemail. I keep replaying our time together, trying to see if there was something I missed, some reason that he ended things so abruptly and without warning. He didn’t even send a goodbye text. Had I done something to upset him?
And what did he mean by just keeping things professional? Does that mean that even our friendship is void?
I try again to take a deep breath as I stare at the paperwork in front of me. But even this case doesn't seem as important as it should. My whole world has collapsed inward, and I don't know what to do or how to move forward.
I thought everything was perfect.
