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My mind goes on red alert. “You aren’t getting a bedsore, are you? Maybe you should let me check.”
“No. N-no bedsore. I hear you c-crying.”
“Oh, Dad.” Shaking my head, I look down.
“Wanted to c-come check on you, b-but I couldn’t g-get up. Hate that, M-Mo.”
Damn. Most days I’m able to stay strong, to shoulder the stress of my life, but this last week—since that night after leaving Dirty Dicks—has been increasingly tough. Everything has piled up, and all I’ve been able to think about is the look on Rhett’s face and the lies I told to cause it. I’ve been over and over how I could have let Nikki manipulate me like that, and I don’t have an answer. I think only now do I realize the depth of my despair in those days after my dad’s stroke. Anyway, I certainly didn’t mean for anyone to hear me breaking down, particularly my father.
Six years of pain and frustration, six years of thinking it had to be for the best. Six years of running my ass off day after day—and seven days since I’ve seen Rhett. Seven days since he refused to let me tell the rest of my story.
“I’m okay, Dad. I’ve just had a bad week.”
“When those d-dogs were here, you were s-so happy. I haven’t seen y-you that happy in y-years.”
It wasn’t the dogs that made me happy; it was their owner. There was a warmth in my heart, knowing Rhett was back home.
Coop showed up the morning after my argument with Rhett. He didn’t ask what happened and he didn’t make small talk, he simply took Duke and Diesel and left a bigger hole in my life than I’d woken up with.
“I’ll get back there, Dad. I promise.”
“W-want you to be h-happy.”
“I know you do.”
He pats my hand and nods. “I’m here f-for you.”
“I know you are.” I kiss his cheek again, thankful he’s still with me. “Want me to help you back to bed?”
“P-please.”
Getting my father into bed isn’t as hard as it could be. He’s lost a lot of weight over the years, which makes it easier on my back. I keep a gait belt wrapped around his waist, so all I have to do is push his chair next to the bed and make the transfer. He’s got enough strength on one side to help steady himself as I turn him toward the bed.
Once I get him situated, I put the bell on his nightstand. “Ring whenever you’re ready to get up.”
His eyes are closed in a matter of seconds, and I shut off the light on my way out. I close the door and lean my back up against it. With my head in my hands I slide to the ground. I’ve just pulled my knees to my chest when there’s a knock on the front door.
I groan, dropping my head back against the bedroom door.
The front door opens, and Claire pops her head in. “It’s just me.” She spots me on t
he floor, shuts the front door, and drops her purse on the couch. “What are you doing on the floor?” she asks, sliding down the wall across from me.
“Thinking.”
“That’ll get in you in trouble.”
“The way I see it, a little thinking might’ve kept me out of it.”
“Ahh.” She nods. “We’re talking about Rhett. You should go talk to him.” She says this as though it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Because everything is ruined. I broke his heart, Claire. He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, let alone see me.”
“You didn’t break him, Mo.”
