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“Perfect.” Moving closer to him, she wraps her arms around him and presses her mouth against his cheek. “Now go and lie down. I’ll bring you some soup in a little bit, okay?”
Dad grumbles something but doesn’t try to protest when I take his hand. We make our way up the stairs in complete silence. The only sound is his heavy breathing that becomes more and more labored with every step he takes.
Neither of us comments on it, but I can hear him let out a long exhale in relief when we finally get to their bedroom, and he sits down on the bed.
Looking around, I spot a glass, so I go to the bathroom and fill it with cool water.
“Thanks,” he says as I hand it to him. He drains it slowly, his hand shaking a little as he holds onto the glass. Once he’s done, I go and refill it again and put it on his nightstand.
“Do you need anything else?”
Dad shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
“Okay then.” With a nod, I just stand there for a moment before turning around and going for the door.
“Your mom’s right, you know.”
I stop, my hand lingering on the doorway. “About what?”
“You have succeeded despite everything. I watched your game last season, and I felt proud, but then I remembered I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t do shit to help you get there.”
My brows pull together as I process his words. “You? Watched the game?” I ask. The incredulity of the situation wasn’t lost on me. I turn around to face him and point at my chest. “My game?”
Dad didn’t watch football games. Hell, I don’t think I remember one instance when I saw the man sit down and watch any kind of sport, God forbid, actually going to a game. I think I was the only kid in my class who didn’t have parents attending my games. Santiago’s tried to come any chance they got, and Rebecca was there all the time. My parents? Not once.
“Yes, I watched your game. You’ve grown into a fine man, Miguel. And I’m sorry that I didn’t do more to contribute to that.”
A knot forms in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it’s like the damn thing is stuck there.
“I’m the man I am because of you.”
Dad visibly flinches at my harsh tone, and a part of me feels bad about it, but that lonely boy who just wanted his dad to come and watch him play is screaming loudly from the back of my mind.
“I know I was hard on you growing up, but you were always so wild, so carefree.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head. “That’s not your fault. I just didn’t know what to do with you. I was raised by parents that lived from the land. It was the only thing I knew how to do. Aaron was the same. He was always so simple. But not you.”
“If you want to tell me once again how difficult and how big of a disappointment I was and how much better Aaron is, you can save your breath. I already know that.”
“You weren’t a disappointment, Miguel. While your mother is right, and we’re more alike in some ways, we couldn’t be more different in others. You always dreamed big, and it scared me. You didn’t just love football; you were obsessed with it. It was your only option; nothing else would ever measure up. And, while yes, a part of me was disappointed because I wanted both my boys to follow in my footsteps, I was also worried about you. Worried about what would happen if you didn’t get a chance to live your dream. What if you weren’t drafted? What if you got injured and could no longer play? There were just so many possibilities, so much uncertainty, and I didn’t want that for you.”
I just stare at him, at a loss for words. I didn’t know what to do with what he said.
“I don’t want anything from you. I just…” He shakes his head. “I wanted you to know that although I don’t have the right to it, I’m proud of the man you’ve become and how far you’ve come.”
“Then why did you tell me to leave?”
Dad lifts his hand and runs it through his hair, letting out a sigh. “I thoughtyouwanted to leave. You were pretty adamant about not coming back in the first place. I thought you’d be gone as soon as the wedding was done.”
“I was planning to,” I admit. “But since coming back…” My gaze goes to the window. The barn is just on the left, with a glimpse of fields stretching out in the distance out front. Miles and miles of fields. “Just because I love football doesn’t mean I don’t like the land.”
“I know.” Dad nods.
For a while, we just stand there, neither of us saying anything. Our conversation didn’t take away the years of hurt and distance, but the wound doesn’t seem so fresh any longer.
Just then, the door creaks, and Mom peeks inside. “Oh,good, you’re in bed. I was getting ready to force you into it if necessary.” Pushing the door wider, she enters, a bowl of soup in her hands, and goes straight for the bed. “I’ve got you something to eat, and then you can take your medicine.” She glances from Dad to me. “I didn’t hear any yelling.”
“There was no yelling,” Dad answers.
