Wyatt didn’t hesitate, always willing to be of use to his father, even if the man never loved him. He loved him for what Wyatt did—but not for who he was. He fetched the glass of water from the bedside table and placed the soft plastic straw against his father’s lips. He noted the sheen of lip balm coating his lips, preventing them from cracking.
He watched his father’s throat work as he drew in the water and sighed, settling back down into his pillows, already spent from that slight movement. Wyatt carefully placed the water back and glanced back to see a pair of bright blue eyes looking back at him.
“Dad,” Wyatt said with a nod.
“You’re here,” he rasped.
Wyatt was unsure if it was surprise or indifference in his tone.
“Yes, sir, I am.”
His father’s stare impaled him on the spot, making him feel like a kid all over again. But he wasn’t a kid anymore.
“Why are you here?” his father asked.
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Wyatt replied, glancing at the oxygen tank.
“You don’t need to be here,” he said sharply. “I don’t need… you… with this.”
Wyatt exhaled. His father never needed him, and his mother didn’t want him. He was invisible to them both. His father only saw him as another ranch hand who ate at his table and cleaned out shit from the stalls.
Maybe it had been a mistake coming here.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Wyatt said slowly. “I’m sorry if I was ever a burden to you. I didn’t mean to be. I think the only thing we have in common is our stubbornness and love of horses,” he choked, clearing his throat. “I… I can bring a horse around, if you want?”
His father’s gaze wavered. “I can’t ride anymore.”
Wyatt nodded, “Can you walk?”
“No.”
Wyatt glanced down at the hospice bed, frowning, wondering if it was anything like a hospital gurney and if he could roll it out.
“I got a wheelchair,” his father grumbled. “Nancy knows where it is.”
“Okay,” he turned on his heel, and his father’s voice stopped him.
“You don’t—you don’t have to do this.”
Wyatt read his father’s face and knew in that instant, he did.
“Yes, I do.”
Wyatt strode down the hall to find Nancy, Carol, and John in the kitchen, drinking iced tea and sitting around the table.
“Could I get his wheelchair?” Wyatt asked Nancy.
She jumped up, head nodding. “Yeah, but we were told he shouldn’t leave the bed without a nurse…”
“Well, good thing your nephew is a doctor, then,” John said, also getting to his feet, his steady warm eyes holding his.
“I’m gonna bring a horse around,” Wyatt informed them. “We’ll lift him out of the bed when we get back.”
Nancy and Carol stayed, and John followed him out the door.
Wyatt blindly followed the trail behind the estate to the massive working horse stable. He heard the birds chirp, felt the heat of the sun on his face, and yet his heart ached. It ached for the parents who couldn’t give him the love he deserved. Ached for the father who wanted to see a horse more than his damned son.
“You okay?” John asked.
