“I know you think I’m the bad guy—” he began.
“Youarethe fucking bad guy, Dad,” I interjected sharply.
He bristled, making a conscious effort to avoid escalation. “I guess you could say I am, but watch your language under my roof.”
It took everything in me not to scoff or roll my eyes at his request, but I refrained.
“My choices over the years haven’t always been the best,” he continued, “but I did try my best. Your mother is the most important, most incredible person in my life, so when I say I’mlearning not to self-sabotage—to destroy my world, and hers—I mean it.”
He wasn’t about to get emotional, but I could tell this conversation was difficult for him by the way his hands fidgeted at his wrists and his eye contact was nearly non-existent.
“I’ve known about Mila since her mother was pregnant with her. Then when I came clean, I really did start working on myself. I know from your perspective it probably doesn’t feel that way—I know that. And maybe I didn’t deserve your mother’s grace and forgiveness, but damn it, she gave that gift to me.” He turned away, giving me his back as he tried to compose himself.
“Dad—” I started, but he turned back and raised a hand, stopping me.
“No. I need to get this off my chest. I need you to hear it. I—I’m not as good as your mother. She has this way of seeing the world so clearly. It never came as easily to me, and it still doesn’t. When I found out about Mila, I hunkered down, stuffed everything inside, and did what I thought I was supposed to do. I paid child support, offered care when I could, and eventually she didn’t need my presence anymore—but I never walked away from my responsibility.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“Then the years passed, and you got sick. Terminal. My boy—who had the world at his fingertips—had everything stripped away from him. And you know what? I didn’t handle that well. I had bragged to my friends about how you were going to be the next Wayne Gretzky, the next big thing. You were so damn talented, so set up in life, that I thought I didn’t need to worry. And now?” His voice faltered. “Now I don’t know how to pivot into the dad you need. I don’t know how to pivot into being the dad Mila needs, either.”
He dropped his head, exhaling a breath he must have been holding back, barely keeping himself from falling apart.
Silence settled between us, thick and heavy. And in that quiet, I started to understand pieces of him. He didn’t know how to relearn a skill he’d never known. My grandfather had never been part of our lives—I assumed that had something to do with how my dad had been raised. According to my mom, he’d been a harsh man.
Maybe this was my moment to show him some grace.
I sighed, allowing my vulnerability to show. “I thought you were ashamed of me,” I said quietly. “Ashamed of my sickness. Ashamed of your dying son.”
My throat cracked on those last words, the fear and hurt finally surfacing—feelings I’d never shared with anyone.
He shook his head, disappointment written across his face—but not directed at me. It was directed at himself. “I have only ever been proud of the men your mother and I raised. And I’m proud of the daughter I missed out on. I’m trying to be better—for all three of you. I really am trying, Asher.”
I could tell he meant it. My father—not the sentimental type—was trying. It wouldn’t be enough forever, but for now, it was all I needed. I stood as he approached me, holding out his arms. The hug he offered was one I hadn’t felt in years.
I squeezed into him, and he patted my back. When we pulled away, we still carried our emotions, locked down inside as best we could.
“So,” he started, attempting to clear the air, “who’s the girl?”
* * *
When I arrived at Lennon’s apartment, I knocked on the doorand straightened my shirt, a wave of unease washing over me as my nerves bundled into knots. Maybe they already were. She had a way of stirring emotions I hadn’t realized even existed.
I was ill—but this was the first time I was truly living. Lennon was breathing life back into me. It was invigorating, and maybe this was exactly what I needed to survive, if surviving my prime was ever even possible.
The door swung open, and there she stood with her brows furrowed, a scowl tugging at her pouty lips. She wore an oversized tie-dyed t-shirt and black biker shorts, her messy blonde locks pulled into a top knot that slouched to the side in the most adorable way. I realized then that I wanted to see her like this more often.
If I didn’t already have heart issues, I might have been concerned by the way my heart was fucking beating out of chest right now. She was breathtaking.
“Lennon,” I said, the words tumbling out of me. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about how fucking right we are—every part of it. I can’t see you with anyone else. That guy flirting with you almost sent me over the edge. It made me realize I needed to tell you, you know? I want to be with you—not just for some fucking group assignment. I wantyou, Lennon. All of you.”
By the time I spit out my declaration, I was out of breath. The air felt sucked from my lungs, dizziness creeping in as I teetered on the brink of fainting. I braced myself against the nearest wall just as Lennon reached for me, wrapping her soft arms around me to keep me upright.
She chuckled gently, guiding me toward the couch. “Easy, tiger. Let’s just take a seat, yeah?”
As I sat down, Nova bounded toward me. That perfect puppy was a light all on her own, and I smiled as I scratched behind her ear. When I looked back at Lennon, my blood seemed to run coldthroughout my body, even as heat radiated down my spine and sweat beaded across my body.
Studying her face, I saw it clearly now. She wasn’t feisty. She wasn’t ready to fight me. She just looked sad—defeated, lost.
