Page 89 of Unforgettable Player

His shoulders crumple and he makes a huffing sound, like the air has been knocked out of him.

His elbow slips on the desk before he can get purchase and hide his face in his hand.

I march across the office, side-stepping piles of dusty books and scattered notes full of Post-it Notes and highlighted texts. They look just like my deranged study notes. I do exactly the same thing he does when things get hard. I hide in books. I try to make it better with work.

“Dad.” I wrap him in a hug and my stomach drops the second I feel how bony he is through his cardigan. His clothes are so loose, I never realized just how much weight he’s lost since Mom died.

He lets me hold him, keeping his head in his hands as his body is wracked with sobs.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“No.” He sniffs, wipes his face and pulls away from me. “I’m sorry.”

When he looks up at me, it kills me. His skin is sallow and his cheeks hollowed out. I miss my smiling dad. The man who could talk for hours on any subject without running out of steam. Who Mom complained ate too fast and too much. Who carried me on his shoulders and had a sparkle in his eyes.

“I need you to try, Dad. I can’t do this on my own.” I swallow, swiping the back of my hand across my eyes. “I can’t lose you and her.”

He takes in a shaky breath. “What do you want me to do? I don’t know what to do.”

A wave of responsibility washes over me. For a second, it’s too much. But then I remember Scout telling me she’d help. I remember Connor bringing me food and cooking pasta in my kitchen. I am not alone.

“You need to speak to someone. A therapist or a grief counselor. Maybe go to a support group or something. Whatever you think will help. Maybe you need medication, Dad. I don’t know. I just know you can’t go on like this. We can’t go on like this.”

He looks down and swallows.

“Mom wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life hiding away. She loved you and she’d want you to be happy.”

More tears spill over and he wipes his face with his sleeve.

“I can make you something to eat. Some soup or something. You could take a shower and we’ll just sit for a while. You don’t have to say anything. Just try. For me.”

He looks at me again, that pain is still there, but I can see him forcing himself to hold my gaze, to take in my face.

“You look so much like her.”

I smile.

“She was so beautiful.”

I nod.

He touches my face and I close my eyes, letting myself imagine a day when my dad can comfort me again. When I can have him back.

He drops his hand and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll go and take a shower.”

“I’ll make you whatever you want to eat. What do you want?”

He stands up, squeezing my shoulder on the way past. “Anything. Whatever you want to make, I’ll eat.”

Dad is freshly shaven and in clean clothes when he comes into the kitchen. I have some tinned soup on the stove because I couldn’t find anything else to make, but it’s better than nothing.

“Smells good,” Dad says.

He still looks and sounds exhausted. Still lacking that spark. But I’m taking baby steps here.

“Take a seat, it’s almost done.”

He takes his old seat at the table, his gaze flickering over to the empty chair where Mom would have sat.