“What conversation?”
“The one about your father dying and you keeping it from me.” He lifted his glass and set it down with such force, I couldn’t help my flinch.
“I didn’t—”
“You didn’t tell me and you could’ve.” He hit the wall beside him with the side of his fist, the drywall splitting beneath his force. “That’s the only thing you can say here. You didn’t tell me and you could have. You could have saved me from having to find out in that conference room with every other person in there as if I was just some investor or employee.”
“I can see how that would hurt, but—”
“But what? There is no excuse for you not telling me, Presley.”
“It wasn’t for me to tell,” I yelled finally. The wild rage in his eyes made me take a step back, though I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t physically lash out on me. “When would I have told you?”
“You had every opportunity to tell me, so don’t come to me with that bullshit,” he yelled, taking a step toward me. I took one toward him.
“He didn’t want me to tell anyone,” I yelled back. “I couldn’t tell you.”
“Couldn’t or didn’t want to? How long have we been fucking now, princess? Too long to keep a secret like this,” he said, answering his own question. “It makes me wonder how many other things you’re capable of hiding from me.”
What? I gaped wordlessly before I spoke. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“If the shoe fits.” He shrugged.
“You’re an asshole. I’ve never lied to you about anything. I couldn’t tell you this one thing and you call me a liar?” I closed my fists to keep from shaking as I faced off with him, but it didn’t work. If anything, it made me angrier.
“You could’ve told me when we were at Mom’s house or when we were having dinner or breakfast. You had every opportunity and I had every right to know.”
“He’s not your father. He’s mine.” The words ripped out from deep within me, leaving a scratch in their wake.
We stood there, scathed yet unmoved. Somewhere throughout our argument we’d drifted physically together yet emotionally apart, the tug and pull of the rope between us wearing thin. I wouldn’t budge though, not about this. I wouldn’t take the blame for it either.
“He’s . . .” He seemed to be holding back as he shook his head and glanced away. “I had a right to know.”
“Why? Because he’s spent more time with you than me these last few years?”
“Yes.” His gaze found mine again. “I never abandoned him. I’ve been here when you were too busy sorting out your personal shit. I was there when you chose your husband over him.”
“Fuck you.” I slapped his chest as hard as I could with both my hands, hoping to shake the unyielding. He staggered back slightly.
“Get out.”
I blinked. “I . . .”
“Get out.” He brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose as if I were a nose bleed he was trying to control. “I don’t want to look at you right now.”
When he met my gaze again it was full of distrust. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but the truth was that if I was on the other side of the coin I’d be upset as well. I grabbed my bag.
“You know what?” I took the key to his apartment off the keyring, where I’d mixed it with mine, and slammed it on his kitchen counter. “Fuck you, Nathaniel.”
I cried on the train ride home. I cried on the walk from the station to my apartment. I cried on the elevator ride up. I cried harder when I exited on my floor and not my father’s, because someday soon I wouldn’t have to go up there for anything at all. When I reached my bed, I threw myself in it and sobbed harder still, my throat, head, and eyes hurting with each tear. I felt like I’d lost today. I’d lost a man I was pretty sure I was in love with. I was losing a man I’d loved my entire life. I’d gained freedom from Adam, but even that felt like a loss. I cried until I felt raw from the inside and my face felt numb. Then, I showered and went upstairs to see my dad.
He took one look at me and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked, even though it felt good to hear those words. My shoulders started shaking again as fresh tears started. “For dying? For leaving me with a mess I don’t know how I can even begin to sort through?”
“There will be no mess.” He pulled back and looked at me. “I’ve taken care of everything so you won’t have a mess to deal with.”
“How much longer are they giving you? What are they saying?”
“It would’ve helped if I’d given up cigarettes.” He smiled.
“That’s not funny. Why are you smiling?”
“I’m already a prisoner of my fate.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I’m not going to play by the rules.”
“That makes no . . .” I stopped talking. He’d already succumbed to the fact that he wasn’t getting any better. I hadn’t been put in that position so I didn’t know how I would react to it myself. I couldn’t judge him for doing what he chose to do, but I could be angry at him for not trying to stick around. “I don’t want you to die.”
“I don’t want to die either, but that’s life, Presley. We’re born, we live, and then we die. Boring people merely exist. I’ve lived. I consider myself very fortunate.” He hugged me again, putting his chin over my head. “Rosa’s going to be coming by every morning before work. I told my physical therapist to stop coming by for a week.”
I stiffened. “Dad.”
“I want a break for a week.” He pulled back. “How ’bout a movie? The Big Short is on tonight. We never saw that one.”
I sighed heavily and followed him to the living room. Where Dad and I had differed in just about everything else—baseball wasn’t my thing, fishing wasn’t my thing, and the list went on—we’d found mutual interests in movies and books. We loved horror, crime fiction, and anything that kept us on the edge of our seat. The Big Short definitely wasn’t horror in the classic sense, but holy shit. We continuously exchanged WTF glances throughout. When it was over, I leaned my head on his shoulder, wishing this never had to end.
“We should watch another movie.”
“Which one?” His phone rang as he flipped through channels. “Oh damn it. I have to take this. Rain check?”
“Sure.” I stood up, stretching. “I should get some sleep anyway.”
I kissed and hugged him good night before walking out and checking my own phone, which I’d been checking every ten minutes anyway. Still no calls or texts from Nathaniel. By the time I’d fallen asleep, I’d convinced myself that Nathaniel was done with me. I was the spoiled brat, the unfit princess in his mind that he could easily live without. I don’t want to look at you right now. Well, as far as I was concerned, he didn’t have to.
Thirty-Two
I was sitting across from some random guy who was telling me how he made his own dog food. I hadn’t signed up to be a part of the event, but Morgan saw me and fed me to the wolves anyway. She said she needed to fill in the space and didn’t want it to look dead, so there I was. The buzzer went off, and I waved at dog food guy before going to the next victim. I looked across the room and shot Morgan a glare. She laughed it off. After that guy, I stood up and walked to her.
“I would absolutely love to continue being part of your experiment, but I promised my dad I’d go by his apartment before he goes to bed.”
“Oh come on, Pres.”
“The deal was that I sit across from one guy for a picture,” I whisper-shouted. “I spoke to three.”
“How was it?”
“Terrible. Does anyone actually meet their match on this speed dating?”
She shrugged. “People get married at first sight nowadays. Anything is possible.”
“Yeah, but do they stay married?”
“I don’t have answers.” She shrugged again. “Have you spoken to Nathaniel?”
“No. He hasn’t called or tried to reach out to me, and
I just can’t . . .” I shook my head. “I’m still too angry.”
“Give it time.” She put an arm around me. “Worst case, you can always sign up for my app.”
“Thanks.” I laughed and hugged her back. “I’ll see you later. I have to go get a liter of Coke for my dad, so I bid you a good night.”
“Farewell, Madame.”
When I got to his apartment, the lights were mostly off. I set the Coke in the fridge and went in search for him, hope dwindling when he didn’t respond every time I called him. Finally, I went to the rooftop and found him sitting there, not smoking a cigarette, though he held one unlit in his hand.
“You know how you’re allowed to sell bottles of beer to go?” Dad asked. I didn’t know that, but it made sense if the container wasn’t open. “You should start filling growlers in your location.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Maybe half off on Thursdays or something. Give people an incentive to take ’em.”
“Dad.” I sat beside him and turned my body toward him. “You’re slurring your words.”
“I’m fine.” He waved a hand. Even that looked like slow motion. “Victor was telling me about this new law that was passed that said you could own a brewery and a beer bar.”
“Okay?” I didn’t even know we weren’t supposed to. “Wait, does that mean what we’ve been doing is illegal?”
“No. Nate owns the brewery.”
“Half of the brewery,” I reminded him.
“Well, who’s to say what half he owns and what half he doesn’t?” His eyes glimmered, but only half his mouth moved into a smile.
“I’m going to call the paramedics.”
“Give me a minute. Let’s go downstairs.” He stood up slowly.
I stood quickly to help keep him upright. He hugged me as we walked toward the stairs and I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to or if he knew he’d fall over if he didn’t. Downstairs, I helped him sit on the couch and took my phone out and called nine-one-one. I paced the room, eyeing my father cautiously, as I waited with the dispatcher on the line.
“I’m freaking out,” I said.
“Stop freaking out,” Dad said.
“It’s okay to freak out,” the dispatcher said. “But stay calm.”
“How the fuck can I freak out and stay calm?” I wailed.
“Presley Rose, please stop,” Dad groaned. “You’re starting to sound like your mother.”
“Oh God.” My eyes widened. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He laughed, and laughed, his shoulders shaking. “I love you, kid.”
And then I started to cry with the dispatcher on the line and my father smiling at me like this was no big deal. Thankfully, the paramedics got there and I hung up the phone and threw my energy in telling them about his past strokes and how he hadn’t quit smoking and how he refused to let me go to the doctor with him. In the back of the truck, I continued my rant.
“He’s so stubborn and he thinks I’m useless and I’m so done with all of this,” I cried.
“You’re my most valuable player,” Dad said. “My very own MVP. You think I would’ve made it this far without you? Negative, Ghost Rider.”
“Dad, stop making jokes. I’m still freaking out.” I looked at the paramedic who was setting up an IV. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Dad started shaking uncontrollably.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Oh my God.”
“He’s having a stroke. We need to get his vitals—”
“Oh my God.” I kept chanting this over and over.
When we got to the hospital, they shot out of the truck, wheeling Dad into the building faster than I could ask what was happening. I was escorted to a waiting area, and then called to a smaller room inside the emergency unit and told to sit and wait for the doctor. My leg bounced as I waited. I hadn’t called anyone. I was too shell-shocked. Who would I call anyway? Mom was sleeping, Nathaniel wasn’t speaking to me, Adam and I were divorced, Morgan was on a date, and Jamie was out of town for work again. As time stretched, I felt so alone. I could call Rosa. I could call Victor. I didn’t though. I waited. I’d call once I was let into Dad’s room. I’d call when I went home for a change of clothes, because surely I’d be spending a night or two at the hospital.
The door opened. A doctor stepped inside. I stood up. It was tiny in there, barely room to move, let alone for two people to stand comfortably, which was probably why he hadn’t closed the door behind him.
“I . . .” He started, then stopped. “Are you here by yourself?”
I nodded.
“Do you have anyone who can come keep you company?”
“I’m fine.” I shook my head, lifted it all brave and defiant. I didn’t need anyone. “How’s my dad?”
“We tried to stabilize him. I worked on him for fifteen minutes straight but there was nothing I could do. I’m sorry.”
“Wait.” I sat, my knees giving away. “What are you saying?”
“He’s gone. I’m so sorry.”
I focused on breathing, but even that was shaky. My eyes filled with tears and then spilled over. I blinked rapidly. “But he was okay. He was . . . he was alive.”
“He had a stroke and then a seizure, and he became unstable and we couldn’t resuscitate him,” the doctor said. He continued explaining, but I couldn’t hear him over the whooshing in my ears. When he finally stopped talking, I wiped my face and took another deep breath. “I need you to verify that it’s him.”
“You don’t know if it’s him?” I shrieked, standing up again.
“I know it is him, but for legal purposes—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I screamed. “Fuck your legal purposes. Take me to my father.”
He did. I wished I hadn’t screamed at him about it. It wasn’t his fault that a patient with what seemed like little will to live had been brought in and died. He hadn’t been responsible for my father not taking care of himself or the way he’d chain-smoked even after he’d been continuously told not to. He wasn’t responsible for the strokes or the seizure and from where he was standing in the side of the room with his head bent down, I knew he felt the immensity of this loss nearly as much as I stood there staring at my shirtless, dead father. Somehow, I kept it together. I looked at the man I’d been talking to hours earlier and swallowed as I nodded and whispered, “That’s my dad.”
But it wasn’t.
My dad was full of life, full of sass and energy and love. He’d never been someone to simply be still, so the man in the bed wasn’t . . .
And yet, he was.
With agony in my heart, I approached the bed, not having any clue how I was supposed to absorb this. His skin was cool to touch. I gripped to edge of the bed so I wouldn’t fall to my knees as the desolation enveloped me. I vaguely felt the tears as they fell from my eyes to Dad’s skin as the doctor walked near the door. How could you leave me, Dad? I haven’t had enough time with you. I’m so sorry for the years apart. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, but I realized that I was simply too late. But I clung to him regardless, not wanting to leave him alone in this cold, sterile room. I thought back to his words, and even as I sobbed, I was thankful we’d had those moments. My very own MVP. You think I would’ve made it this far without you?
“I wouldn’t have been able to make it without you either, Dad.” My voice was barely a croak. For the last time, I touched my dad's cheek, somehow feeling strength that only he could give.
At the sound of a throat clearing, I turned toward the doctor. I thought I heard the words, "It's time. I'm so sorry," but before I could process anything else, I turned and looked at my dad one more time. "I love you, Dad.” Before walking toward the doctor, who escorted me out of the room with a hand on my shoulder as he told me they’d transfer the body to the morgue and then to the funeral home of my choosing.
He’d be in touch and again, he
was so sorry. I nodded again. I didn’t have words. I’d come to the hospital with my father fully expecting to leave with him, maybe not today but in a few days. I hadn’t considered I’d be leaving him behind for good.
Thirty-Three
I was completely numb. I still hadn’t called anyone. Calling Nathaniel crossed my mind, but I resisted. I didn’t want to hear his voice right now. He’d turned his back on me, he’d screamed and kicked me out. He hadn’t reached out to me again. The more I thought about him, the angrier I became. I knew soon enough I’d get over it, but right now he was the last person on earth I wanted. I thought about calling Victor or Nicole, but I didn’t want sympathy right now. I didn’t want to have them fly over here and comfort me. I wanted to be alone with my grief for a little while.
I sat on my father’s couch the rest of the night, replaying what happened. When the sun rose a few hours later, my eyes were still open, but nothing had become clearer. I heard the door open and saw Rosa as she walked toward me. My eyes met hers, unfocused, hazy with exhaustion and sadness. The reality of what happened just hours ago slamming into me all at once—real and relentless.
“Gone,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Dad’s gone.”
“Gone?” She frowned momentarily, and all at once reality hit her too. She propelled forward, wrapping her arms around me as she started to cry. “Oh God. No. Please no.”
I sat there. I didn’t know why I couldn’t feel anything. Rosa helped me get up and go to my apartment. She waited for me to shower and change. She even called my mother for me since I hadn’t.
“I don’t want to stay here.”
“You don’t have to.”
She helped me pack a bag and told me to go to my mom’s apartment. I never went there unless she was in town, but Rosa said she was on her way and would be here by tomorrow morning, so I went willingly. Before I left my apartment, I set my phone on the kitchen counter and left it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to look at anyone. I just wanted to be left alone until my mom got there.
The Consequence of Falling: New York Times Bestselling Author Page 18
