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The tone I used gave my promise a lurid connotation that had her sniffing and rolling her eyes as if she didn’t believe me.
“See that you do,” she muttered. “And don’t mention my mother dying around either Papá or Miguel either. It’s a touchy subject. She killed herself.”
That stopped me dead in my tracks. With no idea how to respond, I merely nodded.
Gabby’s jaw bunched and her eyes filled with watery pain before she whirled away and stormed to the door at the end of the hall.
When she reached it, she glanced at me severely. “Stay out here. He’s not big on guests these days.”
I opened my mouth to ask about that, but she merely narrowed her eyes threateningly and slipped into the room.
Except she didn’t entirely shut the door behind her. Using my toe, I eased it open further and rested my shoulder against the doorframe in order to get a look at Papá.
The man inside sat upright in bed on unmade bedding with a TV tray on his lap, which Gabby set his supper on, while he continued to watch the television across the room in a blank daze, completely ignoring her.
“Need anything to drink?” she asked. “Water? Cold milk?”
He shook his head, muttering, “I’m fine,” in a dismissive manner.
He appeared more aged than he did old, as if life had weathered him prematurely. His hair was still black with only slight streaks of silver at the temples, but the saggy way he wore his clothes and hadn’t shaved along with the deep hollows under his eyes said he’d given up. The world had beaten him down.
And Gabby was apparently the one paying the price for his capitulation.
Fisting my hands down at my sides, I breathed in deeply through my nose, trying to control this odd feeling that was swelling in my chest.
It was anger, I realized. But not for myself. It was a righteous, selfless rage I felt on another person’s behalf.
How peculiar.
Papá must’ve heard my indrawn breath because suddenly his gaze was no longer glued to the television. It was turning toward me.
“Who are you?” he demanded, straining past Gabby to see me, his eyebrows furrowing with displeasure.
Hell yes, I thought with relish. Game on.
Chapter 15
Hayden
With a gasp, Gabby whirled around to scowl. “I thought I told you to stay outside.”
“I ignored you, obviously.” Stepping into the room so I could move to the side and make eye contact with her father again, since she’d successfully blocked him from view when she’d spun to face me, I told the man, “My name is Hayden. And you are…?”
“Oscar. What’re you doing in my home?”
“Your home?” Lifting my eyebrows, I let out a degrading snort. “And what have you done to make it in any way yours?”
“Excuse me?” Gabby growled, marching toward me, her eyes flashing with rage. “What the hell is your problem? This man is my father. Have some damn respect.”
I sent her an amused glance. “But he hasn’t earned my respect. From what I’ve seen, he has you hand deliver his meals to him every night so he can sit in his room on his lazy ass, watching television, while he lets you sleep out on the couch. And take care of your brother by yourself. Or maybe you think I should respect the way he’s let you be the only source of income in this residence, because you are, aren’t you? Everything in this family sits on your shoulders.”
Her face went bright red. I wasn’t sure if that was because my rundown of her situation was so accurate it embarrassed her or because I’d upset her beyond redemption for the way I’d just spoken of her dad.
Probably a bit of both.
“Maybe you didn’t notice,” she hissed, poking me in the chest with her finger and trying to nudge me backward out of the room. “But he’s missing the bottom half of one of his legs.”
“Oh, I noticed,” I said, glancing at her father. “I also noticed the prosthetic he’s wearing, which is supposed to aid one with walking after they lose a limb, or am I not correct in that assumption?”
