Page 27 of Contempt

There was a flash of something in his eyes—some emotion she couldn’t place, but maybe that was because it was a mixture of a lot of things. And then, just as quickly, a small smile stretched his lips.

“Lucia,” he murmured.

The nurse was quick to pack up the rest of the things, and then she left them to have some privacy without saying a word. Lucia was grateful.

She came further into the room, and closed the door behind her. She waited her father out as he slowly put on his jacket, and with careful hands, buttoned up the first two buttons. She took that chance to look him over—to check for the changes she might have missed since the last time she had come home to visit.

Lucia didn’t know what she expected to see—she didn’t want to see him frail, and sick. That was one of the things she had been most sure of when she decided to come home. That wasn’t the man she knew to be her father. He wasn’t weak, and he wouldn’t show weakness. She didn’t want him to look weak, either.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

Mostly.

He did look like he had lost a bit of weight, and his movements were slower than they would usually be, considering. Still, his skin color was the same golden tan it had always been, and his eyes didn’t seem dimmed. He looked tired, sure, but she bet chemo was fucking tiring. It likely made him sick, and exhausted. According to John, their father was doing three rounds a week because this was an aggressive attack on the sickness after surgery hadn’t corrected it like they thought it would.

“Do I get a hug?” her father asked.

Lucia looked up from his hands—she’d been focused on the way his fingers deftly worked the buttons into the holes of his jacket. “Of course, Daddy.”

She crossed the room without hesitation, and found warmth in her father’s embrace. For a moment, the time and distance spent apart slipped away. All it took was the tightening of his arms around her shoulders for Lucia to remember every single little thing that she loved and adored about her dad.

“Missed you,” Lucian murmured into her hair.

“I know, me too.”

He cleared his throat, and loosened his hold just enough for Lucia to look up at him. “You look good, you know.”

Lucian laughed. “Lots of medication, nothing more.”

Yeah, she bet.

How much of it made him sick, too?

“John said you haven’t told anyone outside of mom and—”

“And I don’t plan on telling anyone until it’s all done,” Lucian interjected quickly. “It’s not hard to keep it quiet when at this age, I don’t have to be anywhere. No one is controlling my work or life. Jordyn helps, and tells people I’m … busy with something else, should they call.”

Lucia frowned openly. “But why?”

“I just want to focus on getting better right now.”

That didn’t make sense to Lucia.

She also wasn’t the one with cancer.

Lucian tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and his fingertips slid down her cheek with a soft touch. It was strange to her because just a couple of weeks ago, the thought of being in the same room as her father would have sent her rage spiraling again. And yet, here she stood, hugging him, and wishing she could make him better.

God, she wanted him to be better.

“Don’t cry,” her dad whispered.

Was she?

“I’m sorry,” Lucia said quickly, wiping away the tears that had escaped. “I don’t want to upset you, or anything.”

Lucian laughed. “You’re here, Lucia. You can’t upset me.”

But she had.