18. Penelope
“Dad!” I step out of Tate’s hospital room and walk almost smack into Dad.
His eyes flex wide as recognition dawns on his face. “Penelope.” It takes him a moment to put the puzzle together. I’m in a hospital. Worry flickers in his assessing gaze. “Are you okay? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”
Once he’s checked me over enough to be convinced I’m not injured, he looks at the door behind me. “You’re visiting? Who are you here to see? Anyone I know?” He glances over my shoulder, there’s a chart hanging in the wire rack next to the door frame.
Guilt consumes my body like a wildfire. Running through how the conversation is about to go in my head takes a fraction of a second.
I don’t like to lie, but it’s hanging on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I’m just visiting a friend.
Keep it vague.
No details. No names.
I swallow.
He’ll find out the truth as soon as I leave if I’m not up front. He works here, he has access to the name of whoever is in this room. And he’s known me my whole life, he knows me enough to know when I’m lying.
It’s better to be honest. It’s going to hurt him to know who I’m here to see, but I need to be up front so I’m not caught in a lie which will hurt both of us even more. He’s never been one for lies, even if they’re tiny.
Stand in your truth, even if it’s messy.
That’s his motto.
“I’m here visiting Tate Myers. He took a puck to the face during a game the other night, and I was bringing him some things from his dorm room. We’re neighbors.” I’ve given him more information than he needs to know. Because I’m nervous. I’m twisting the hem of my shirt.
“Myers.” His gaze flicks to the file in the rack behind me once again. “Zachary’s son?”
I nod. Afraid to open my mouth again in case I tell him I have a crush on his nemesis’s son. Mostly because that would be a lie too, it’s more than a crush, but I’m not giving it a name because that would be admitting I’m not strong enough to deny Tate’s pheromones or whatever the hell kind of voodoo he’s been working on me through our dividing wall.
“And you were just in there... with Tate... and Zachary?”
I can almost see his brain working to piece things together. “Yeah, Dad. Tate’s Dad just arrived right before I left.” Justifying myself to my Dad because I don’t want him to be disappointed in me feels icky, but it’s also the truth. Mr. Myers arrived, and after a few brutally long and uncomfortable minutes, I left.
Dad’s face is sad, his lips downturned at the corners as he heaves out a sigh. “Okay.”
That’s it? No yelling and screaming? No disappointing tuts or guilt trips? No ultimatums? No ‘you’ll never see that boy again, Penelope Lindstrom’? What the hell?
Instead, he pulls me into a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Something about how he’s reacting makes things even worse. The lump at the back of my throat is growing at an exponential rate, threatening to engulf me. My chin trembles, my eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay, Sweetheart.” He sighs again. “I’ve done a lot of work on myself in the last while, and I need to take responsibility for my own actions. While Zachary’s check on me was careless, maybe even straight up dirty, I don’t think it was malicious. And everything that happened after I woke up in the hospital, well, that was all me.”
What... the hell? Throughout my teenage years all I’ve heard is that bastard Zachary Myers destroyed his life, his health, his career, his family.
Who is this man, and what has he done to my father?
Dad’s eyes glisten under the harsh lights of the hospital corridor. “I know. It’s kind of new for me too.” His cheeks go a shade of pink I’m not accustomed to seeing in my dad’s face. “But my therapist has been pretty clear with me on this one.” He gives me a sad smile. “They both have. I fired the first one when she tried to tell me I needed to accept responsibility for what came after the hit. I thought she was talking shit.”
He winces, checking over his shoulder as though making sure no one heard him cussing at work. “But she was right. I chose to start abusing painkillers. I chose to drink. From what I can tell, Zachary never gave a second thought to that check on the ice that ended my career. Why would he? As hockey players we check people all the time. It’s not something we dwell on. He had no reason to keep up with my recovery, my career, or the dissolution of my life because he wasn’t to blame for it.”
I’m not sure if something inside me breaks or clicks into place. Since his accident, I’ve kept him at arm’s length, even lately. I’ve let things stay awkward and uncomfortable. He hurt me, hurt us all so much that I refused to let him get closer again, because I’ve been so afraid he’d hurt us all over again.
But here... something’s different.
I’m seeing my father through new eyes as he speaks. The growth and healing in the man in front of me is impressive to say the least. I want to know him better. I’m not sure I trust it completely yet, but this is progress. He’s changing, and I want to know more.
“I know addiction isn’t a choice. I know that.” He takes my hand like he needs an emotional anchor in the moment. “But choosing to get better was the hardest decision of my life, and walking that path was harder still.”
Tears stream down my face as my chest swells with a cacophony of emotions, so many words fighting on my tongue to be spoken.
“But what happened wasn’t Zachary’s fault.” He sniffs. “And if you’re friends with his son, then I guess that’s the universe’s way of somehow bringing something good out of what happened to me. I don’t know. But these things don’t just happen.”
He cuffs my chin. “You’re a good kid, Penelope. You always have been. Caring, kind, empathetic. You’d give the shirt off your back to anyone who needed it, without as much as a moment of hesitation. If you think Zachary’s son is a good kid, too, I trust your judgment.”
I’m dumbfounded, the words battling in my mouth still can’t make their way out into the space between us.
“He’s a great player on the ice.” He stares at my face like he’s reading something super interesting. “If he’s been hurt as badly as you say, he’s going to need to have a good support network around him through his recovery. Just like I did.”
The guilt is stifling, clawing at my throat with sharp, deep talons. “I’m so proud of you, Dad.” They’re the only words that can make their way out around the lump in my throat. My mouth’s dry, but my cheeks are soaked with tears. “You’ve come so far.”
If I’d told Dad I hated Tate on principle, because of him and everything his injury represented to me in my life, it would break him. So I stay quiet.
“I have. And I’m glad you stuck around long enough to see me come out the other side.”
There’s a pang in my heart at the barbed comment about Mom, but I don’t rise to it. We’re having a nice moment, and I don’t need to ruin it. Right now, in this moment, I have my dad back, and it feels pretty fucking nice.
“Don’t let my problems with his dad impact whatever you want to happen between the two of you, Sweetheart. If we’ve learned anything from my accident it’s that life is far too short and can change in the blink of an eye.” He brushes the tears streaming down my face and pulls me into his chest in an enormous, all-encompassing hug.
“You like that boy, don’t you, Pumpkin?”
My skin burns hot. He can’t see my face so it could be easier to lie to him, but is it worth it? He’s just bared his soul to me, it would do us both a disservice to put up a wall in this space so I nod against his shoulder.
“I didn’t want to.” My mumble into the fabric of his janitor’s uniform makes him chuckle.
“That’s just the way it goes sometimes, kiddo.” He squeezes me tighter.
“I w-wanted to h-hate him for you.”
Another squeeze as the admissions tumble from my lips on heavy sobs.
“I can fight my own battles. In fact, as your parent, it’s my job to help you fight yours. But don’t pick battles you don’t need to suit-up for. You don’t need to hold a grudge against a boy for the imagined sins I came up with for his father because I didn’t want to own my own decisions and actions.”
I’m crying in earnest on his shoulder now, and he just holds me for a long minute, letting me get it out.
“I love you so much, Penelope.” His voice breaks with emotion. “And I promise I’m going to do everything in my power to get our relationship back on track. It might never be what it was, but I will do all I can to make amends with you and your brother, kiddo.”
Making amends.
It’s one of the steps of his recovery. And until here and now it’s always felt kind of forced, or a little artificial. I guess that’s why I didn’t embrace it with both hands. I’m not sure what the future looks like, but I think it might be a little better than before.
“Thank you, Dad.”
As he nods, the scruff covering his jaw brushes against the side of my face, and I’m a little girl all over again.
“Thanks for sticking with me.” He kisses the side of my head, and I want this moment to last forever.
Someone clears their throat to my left, without looking I can tell it’s a man.
“Mike.”
I freeze in Dad’s arms. It’s Mr. Myers. My head snaps up, searching Dad’s face for any trace of anger or resentment, only to come up empty.
“Zachary.” Dad steps back from me, extending his hand to Tate’s dad. “How are you? My Penelope was just telling me that your boy is in with a broken jaw.” Dad’s mouth pulls into a thin line. “We’ve seen how bad that can be. He doing okay?”
Mr.-Zachary-Tate’s-dad-Myers—I’m not sure what to call him because I’ve been thinking of him as Mr. Myers to hold that boundary, but right now everything feels like it’s been turned on its head.
“It”s early yet, but I think so.” Zachary nods. “Didn’t put his eye out, or break his cheekbone, or give him brain damage, so I’m thankful for small mercies.” He chuckles. “He’s mostly pissed he can’t play for three months.”
Dad smiles. “Sounds familiar.”
Zachary’s face turns serious. “Can we talk? Not right now.” He gestures at Dad’s uniform. “But some evening, or over lunch?”
I’m not sure what I’m watching unfold right now, but maybe Tate’s Dad wants to make some kind of amends of his own.
“I’d like that.” Dad’s still surprising me. I don’t fully trust it yet, but I’m definitely closer to giving him a chance in the future. He said he was healing, doing growth and self-work, but hearing him say he wants to sit down with the man he’s blamed for destroying his life is as surprising to me as the fact that I just cried in front of Tate’s mom.
Wonders never cease.
I leave the two men to work out the details of their man-chat and make my way back to my dorm. A lot of my energy over the past year has been usurped by holding up my second-hand hatred for Tate Myers.
I guess it’s time to figure out what life looks like if I let myself like him.