CHAPTER 16 ALEXIS
My call with Gregory is quick, but I figure Danny will be in the shower by the time I make it upstairs.
He’s still sitting on the bed when I walk in. His phone is off and on the bed in front of him, but he’s staring at it like it’s on fire.
“What’s going on?” I ask, sitting beside him.
“My mom called before I got in the shower. My, uh…my dad is in the hospital and I guess it’s not looking good. She said if I have anything to say to him, I should go say it.”
“Oh, Danny. I’m so sorry.” I reach over and take his good hand in mine. “Are you okay?”
“Everyone keeps asking me that, and…yeah. I’m fine. He’s been as good as dead to me for the last twenty years anyway. Or worse than that, even, since all he’s managed to do in the last twenty years is either ask for money or make my life hell.”
I pull the back of his hand to my lips for a quick kiss. “As someone who has lost a parent, I can attest to the fact that there is absolutely no wrong way to deal with this type of thing. Some moments you’ll feel fine. Other moments you won’t.” I shrug. “It’s all normal.”
He presses his lips together and nods. “Thanks.”
“Do you have anything to say to him?”
“I’m not sure,” he admits.
“Do you think you’ll regret it if you don’t make peace with him while you still can?”
His eyes flick from his phone up to mine. “I don’t know.”
“If you’re not sure, then there’s a chance you will end up with regrets. And I don’t want that for you.”
He closes his eyes for a beat and nods. “Then let’s go.”
“You want me to come with you?”
He nods. “I can’t go alone.”
“Of course.”
“Help me shower first?” he asks.
I carefully wrap his arm in a garbage bag and wrap a towel around that, and then I help him in the shower.
A half hour later, we pull out of the driveway to head toward the hospital.
We’re followed out of the neighborhood by three cars again, and I should’ve really thought ahead to the fact that we went to an urgent care yesterday and a hospital today.
I wouldn’t think the paparazzi would be so brazen as to follow us into the hospital to figure out why we’re going there, but you really never know.
Danny is silently lost in thought for the entire forty minute drive there, and I let him think through what he wants to say to his dad. If he needs to say something or get an opinion from me, he’ll ask.
I slide into a parking spot, and I glance over at him. “You ready?”
He presses his lips together and nods. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The three cars that followed us here snap photos of us as we walk from the parking lot into the building, and I wish I had it in me to care about what they’re going to say about us for the highest price.
I hate that someone is making money off my private life as I walk into a hospital to say goodbye to the man who is by law my father-in-law, but it’s part of what I chose when I chose this life.
Danny got the room number from his mom, and we stop at the desk to get directions. The guard working there stares at me with his jaw dropped, but he’s working at a hospital. He knows better than to point out that Alexis Bodega just walked into the room as Danny tells him he’s looking for Peter Brewer’s room.
We find the room, and it’s empty of visitors when we walk in. The man I’ve met one other time is lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, a tube under his nose helping him breathe. He looks weaker than the first time I saw him, which really wasn’t all that long ago.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. There’s no life to his tone. It’s not a demand. It’s not curious. It’s just flat.
“Where are your wife and kids?” Danny asks.
“The wife went to get lunch with the kids. They’re here,” he says, a touch of defensiveness to his tone. “Now what is it you came here for?”
“Came to tell you that for as much as you’ve made my life hell, I forgive you,” Danny says. His tone is a little lifeless, too—as if he’s saying some words he rehearsed but possibly doesn’t mean them.
And I don’t blame him for not meaning them. His dad doesn’t deserve forgiveness for the things he’s done to his son.
“Okay,” his father says.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I don’t think it was that.
“Do you have anything to say to me?” Danny asks.
He lifts a shoulder. “I accept your forgiveness.”
Danny’s fingers flex on his good hand, and I reach over and take his hand in mine, standing firm in solidarity with him. This is a moment for his father to tell him he’s sorry for the way he’s treated Danny, but clearly he’s not.
“I also wanted to let you know that all your files have been wiped. You no longer have that tape. You have no hold over me.”
“Oh, you think I don’t have other copies saved?” he sneers, the most energy we’ve seen come from him in the short time he’s been here.
“When was the last time you checked?” Danny asks.
His father doesn’t have an answer to that, and clearly it was before he got here to the hospital—whenever that was.
“Yeah,” Danny says. “That’s what I thought. At least that video dies with you now.” He doesn’t say it, exactly, but we all know it’ll be soon.
“I guess so. So you outsmarted me. Congratulations,” he says. His voice is weak again, and he coughs at the end, the brutal type of cough that makes me scared he’s going to cough up blood or vomit, but he draws in a deep breath from the tube and it seems to do the trick.
“I thought you’d want to make amends considering where you are. I guess I was wrong, and that’s a real shame, Pete. I gave you a chance. I said what I needed to say. And now…I guess we’ll go. Good luck. Hope I don’t see you on the other side.” Danny spins to leave, and Peter’s voice stops him cold.
“I’m sorry.”
Danny stares straight ahead at the door without responding.
“I should have handled things differently. I should have lived differently. I know that now, and I hope you know how hard that is for me to admit.”
Danny turns around slowly, his eyes meeting mine on the way. He looks shocked. “I know. And thank you for saying it.”
His father nods, and Danny walks over and sets his hand on his dad’s arm. “I wish things could have been different, but I want to leave in peace.”
“What happened to your arm?” his dad asks, as if he just noticed Danny’s brace.
“I broke my wrist.” He clears his throat.
“Shit. How long is the recovery?”
“I’ll probably miss a few games.” Danny shrugs.
“I watched all your games,” Peter murmurs. “I was a shitty father, but I watched every game I could.”
“Thanks,” Danny mutters. Neither of them is used to these tender moments. “I got into ball because of you. You know that, right?”
His father grunts.
“You showed me how to throw a ball, but it was Mom who kept me playing.” He clears his throat again.
“Keep winning,” his dad says.
“I’ll do my best.”
“And Alexis?” his dad adds.
I snap to attention. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry for what I did to you, too. You got dragged into an old fight, and you deserved better.”
“Thank you.” I’m not quite sure what else to say. Get well soon seems inappropriate given what we know. “I’m glad we were able to visit today.”
“We’ll go before everyone gets back, but we’ll be thinking of you,” Danny says.
“Thanks.” Peter closes his eyes again as we leave the room, and for some reason, I feel a sense of relief as we walk out of the room.
Danny took care of the video, and his dad is no longer in a position to share it anyway.
There’s a lot of peace in that itself, but the fact that they had that conversation—whether or not Danny really forgives him—is a step toward giving Danny the peace he deserves where his father is concerned.
“I’m proud of you,” I say softly as we head back toward the Yukon.
The paparazzi are still out there snapping photos, and we rush over to the vehicle to try to avoid as many photos as we can. I navigate toward home, and when we get there, my dad is waiting for us.
“Really? Going to the hospital together the day after urgent care? Did you think this wasn’t going to immediately hit the media?” he demands.
I toss my hands in the air. “I’m so tired of not living my life because of whatever image we’re portraying or whatever explanation you think we owe the world. We don’t owe anybody anything.”
Danny sighs.
“Well, we have to make a statement now,” my dad says.
“No, we don’t. And I won’t.”
“Then I will,” he hisses.
“Do what you have to do,” I spit back at him, and I storm upstairs to my bedroom.
I’m ready to get the hell out of this house. Pronto.
But I never realized the can of worms I’d be opening with my words to my father.