Bottles & Blades (Eagles Hockey: Oak Ridge Vineyards #1)

Chapter 31

Thirty-One

Tiff

“Go home, baby girl,” my dad says as he settles back against the mattress, “we’ll be fine.”

I blink because even though I’m in his room, sitting next to his bed, a repeat of a cop show on his TV, I haven’t been absorbing anything of the mystery the Law and Order crew are solving.

“Nancy isn’t here yet,” I remind him.

Nancy is the night shift caregiver, and normally I would be okay with leaving because she’ll be in within an hour.

But after today…

That seems less than wise.

“We’ll be okay, peanut. You said your mom is sleeping, right? You know once she’s out, she’s out for the count.”

God, it’s really shit that his mind is intact but his body is an asshat, fading away, losing strength and vibrancy.

He loved being active—going for walks every day, never less than three miles.

And now he struggles to make it to the mailbox.

My mom, on the other hand, finds it difficult to remember everything except for the fact that she hates me, the dementia causing her to fixate on that, to amplify it.

Bad enough.

But worse that it took us a while to figure it out.

Because she’s always hated me. Because the change was a death by a thousand cuts, slowly getting worse and worse.

Until that first day she hit me.

Sharp words? Yes.

Sharp nails and smacking palms and clenched fists making contact with me? No.

Stefan had seen the aftermath. I’d cried into his arms and he’d helped me get this care plan together.

And now it’s not enough.

I’ve felt the strain for months now, deluding myself, thinking it wasn’t that bad, that I could handle it.

But he’s getting worse, and so is she.

And…

You’re not alone anymore.

I want that to be true.

I want to just let Jean-Michel swoop in and solve all my problems, fairy godfather style.

But he’s already done so much and he has so much on his plate and?—

You’re not alone anymore.

I bite back a sigh as my eyes fill with tears, and fight against the relief that has me wanting to curl up into Jean-Mi’s arms and let him take care of everything.

I’ve fought for my life, for my freedom and independence.

I can’t give it up now.

Except…this feels less like giving up my freedom and more like bolstering it.

Because I don’t have to be strong alone.

“Since you’re not going to leave until Nancy gets here,” my dad says, “how about you tell me about that man out there and why he’s got you so much in your head.”

I still, glance over at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.

“Precious girl,” he says, not buying that in the least.

“He’s a friend,” I hedge.

My dad’s eyes warm. “Bullshit.”

“I hardly know him,” I whisper. “It’s been…” I can’t tell him it’s only been days because that makes me sound even more insane than I feel when I stop and think about all that’s happened between Jean-Mi and me. “It hasn’t been long and?—”

“He looks at you like you hold his entire world in the palm of your hands.”

I inhale sharply. “Dad, it’s not like that.” A lie. “We’re just starting off, and I don’t know where we’re going.” Truth. “And anyway, I want to talk about you.”

“And if I want to talk about him? ”

“Jean-Michel’s a good man and I like him a lot,” I murmur. “That’s all I’m ready to talk about for now.”

He sighs, but he’s my dad, so he lets me off the hook. “Okay, peanut.” Or maybe not, I realize a moment later when he says, “Then let’s talk about those scratches on your face.”

I still.

“Baby,” he says, warning all over his tone, “don’t even try to lie to me. You promised me that if she put her hands on you again we’d talk about it and come up with a different plan.”

“I’m fine?—”

“I heard the commotion—this morning with the nurse at the door, when she made that mess, and when you came over, and I couldn’t do anything but lay here. That can’t keep happening.”

No, it can’t.

“Why didn’t you call me when it went down earlier?” I ask instead of acknowledging that.

“I was going to survey the damage, see what I could clean up first?—”

I groan. “Dad!”

The man can barely walk. What the hell was he thinking, even considering cleaning up that mess in the kitchen?

“Something has to change, peanut,” he says gently. “I know that we haven’t wanted to sell the house, but I think it’s time.”

“Dad,” I whisper.

“She’s always been a handful, but now I can’t fucking handle her—” He jerks his hand down his painfully thin body then looks back at me. “Baby, we need to sell the house and use the proceeds to put us somewhere else, somewhere she can get the care she needs and we’re not such a goddamned drain on you.”

“Dad,” I say again, “I want to take care of you. It’s the least I can do after all that you guys did for me?—”

“We’re your parents, baby. It’s our duty and privilege to take care of you.”

So much like what Jean-Mi said earlier.

“And I know I haven’t done a good job with it?—”

“I’m healthy?—”

His hand settles on mine. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He closes his eyes. “I should have left her, should have protected you. But I was too weak and didn’t want to fight that fight.” His lids peel back. “I did wrong by you, peanut. And it’s beyond time that stops.”

“Don’t make me cry,” I whisper.

His fingers find mine. “I love you, honey. You had a shit start to life and I’m so proud of all you’ve become despite it, but now’s the time to go out and live your life without having to worry every minute about us.”

My eyes burn. My throat is so damned tight that it takes serious effort to push my words out.

“You said it was your privilege to be there for me,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “You need to know I feel the same way.” I take a breath. “I don’t want you to lose the house, Dad. You worked too hard for it.”

“You’re more important than the four walls around me, peanut.”

“Give me a little more time to figure things out.”

“You don’t need the stress, baby girl.”

“Dad—”

“You don’t . You should be focusing on your classes, on building your life, not dealing with this shit alone.”

My heart squeezes, but before I can speak, he goes on.

“You need to move forward, move away, do something that isn’t spending all of your time and mental energy taking care of people who won’t be here much longer anyway.”

“Don’t say that?—”

“I’m dying, peanut. You know it. I know it.”

This is killing me. “Dad?—”

“Stop wasting your life looking back at us. Move forward?—”

There’s a knock, and we both look up to see Jean-Michel standing in the open doorway.

“Diego,” he says, moving into the room, drawing me from the chair and holding me tightly against his side. He looks down at me, cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing the tears from my cheeks. “Breathe, buttercup.”

My heart squeezes.

Then he turns back to my father. “I know you don’t know me, not really, and what I’m going to say next is probably going to piss you off.”

Shit. My stomach starts to sink.

“But I’m wading into this argument because I get the feeling that Hernandezes are stubborn as shit, and, if I let it, this can go on all night.”

“Jean-Mi,” I warn.

“Tiff works too hard and sleeps too little as it is, so, let me just make it clear—she isn’t doing this alone. Not any longer. She has me, and she and I will figure out how to give you what you both want and need without sacrificing her well-being.”

My eyes start burning again.

“Tiff is important to me,” he goes on. “And she cares about you, which means that you’re important to me.”

I take his hand, holding tight.

“For now, we’ve talked to Haley, and she’s going to make some changes to your current care arrangements to make things better. We’ll see how that works for you, Tiff, and Roberta and then reevaluate as we move forward.”

He turns his hand over in mine, lacing our fingers together.

“And who’s paying for these new arrangements?”

“I am,” Jean-Michel says before I can warn him off the truth that will absolutely not fly with my dad.

“Not going to happen, son.”

“Diego,” Jean-Mi says, “I have enough money to buy this house a thousand times over. What Haley proposed is a drop in the bucket, and I’m not saying that to be an asshole. I’m stating that as fact.”

“Son—”

Jean-Mi doesn’t stop. “Tiff loves you. She wants you taken care of. And Tiff is my woman. What my woman wants, she gets—which, in this case, means making sure you and Roberta are looked after.”

“I can’t possibly accept?—”

“It’s been taken care of,” he says, “so there’s nothing to accept.” A beat. “Or refuse.” He looks at me, eyes soft, and bends to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll wait up front for you, buttercup.”

Then, as quickly as he appeared, Jean-Michel is slipping from the room.

I glance over at my dad, know that my eyes are wide.

And then I brace.

My dad doesn’t get mad often.

But when he does, he’s like me—nothing then… boom!

Only, when our gazes connect, I find that he’s not furious.

Instead, he’s smiling, and what he says shocks the hell out of me.

“I like him, peanut.”