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I may be drowsy, but I was instantly put on alert.
A chair scrapes the tile as it’s moved. Whoever it is, they aren’t here for me. Passing my bed and going straight for Finn’s.
Most of my body may be out of use right now but my ears are working perfectly fine.
It takes a moment before the words come out but as soon as they do I know who they belong to. The richness of his voice barely contained under the stress of his worry.
“Finn,” Abram breathes out. The weight he carries in his name alone is burdensome. Coated with regret.
An emotion I’m not unfamiliar with.
There’s more movement and then a crinkling sound like he’s rested his elbows on the matching plastic sheets I also have.
Did I mention I’m not a fan?
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. I should’ve been here. I should have…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. How could he when that thickness blanketing his voice is now choking back a sob?
The sound is as nervy as it is gut wrenching. Sure, Abram might not be as callous and cold as my father, but he’s a person of respect in our world. Someone to be feared.
To hear someone so powerful and strong affected is humbling. Hearing someone you’d admired growing up fall to such a worthless state of fullness is tragic.
Abram’s throat clears and I imagine it bobbing up and down.
“I should’ve done a lot of things differently. I should’ve been there more for both you and your sister. Tried harder.”
The words are like torture, and they aren’t even meant for me.
Raw, his voice is so scratchy.
“I may have a lot of regrets in life but being your dad was never one of them. Because it doesn’t matter to me what a piece of paper says. You aremyson. When I got the call… oh god…” Another choked-back sob.
A sting of jealousy shoots through my chest. Finn doesn’t realize how lucky he is if he’s even hearing any of this at all.
His biologics are a nonnecessity, whereas my life wasonlycreated for the one fact. I only exist as a transaction to continue a tradition.
He’d been spared, whereas I am shackled to a legacy I didn’t ask for.
There’s a whimper, only it’s not from Abram. The rustling of these dumbass sheets crunch as Finn stirs in his spot.
“You’re being such a baby, Dad.” Finn whines groggily. “I have a concussion and a broken arm, which by the way, are less painful than you talking so loud.”
“You called me dad again.” Abram says in awe, completely ignoring the snark. That smile I don’t have to see to know is there on full display.
More shuffling.
“You’re acting cheesier than a pizza right now,” he continues to complain. “Can you get me a pizza?”
I hear Abram’s relieved snort of laughter and I too have to bite one back, because that is the most Finn thing to say possible. Only he would care about getting food in spite of everything that happened to us tonight.
Is it still nighttime? I have no clue.
“You know, you’ve always been my son.” The pledge with which Abram says this makes that thing underneath all these bruises jump.
Finn doesn’t answer right away and it’s like I can feel the weight of Abram’s nerves as if they were my own. Waiting, as the room fills with heavy soberness.
The bed squeaks, dipping as more leverage is put on one half, and then… “I know,” Finn whispers but it sounds clogged. Muffled like when you hug someone.
My theory is confirmed when I hear the small pats as someone taps back.
