12. Parker
Parker
The beeping of heart monitors and the rustle of curtain dividers blur into white noise. It’s midday on Saturday, peak chaos in the ER, and I’m the one stuck on call—low man, meet totem pole.
Tourist season’s in full swing, which means alcohol, dumb decisions, and sunburns with a side of drama. We’ve already handled three bar fights, a nasty stomach virus, and one cardiac event since I've been here for over an hour.
I need the distraction. The adrenaline. Anything to drown out the thoughts banging around in my head. I've got a lot weighing on me--my father’s sudden interest in the will, the estate manager showing up next week, and Adair.
Especially Adair.
She’s been radio silent all day. She hasn't responded to any of my texts or calls. I even swung by Citrine and her place, like a total lunatic.
She doesn’t owe me a damn thing.
But it still bothers me that she's ignoring me .
I’m finishing up a delicate suturing procedure on a young guy who thought it’d be fun to juggle broken beer bottles when I hear a commotion. It's small at first, but unmistakable.
My neck tightens instantly. I know that cadence.q
“Ah, come on now, sweetheart. You can’t possibly be stuck behind this desk all day, can you? What’s a man gotta do to get a little tour of the place?”
Leeland Matthews. My father. A man who could sell ice to a polar bear while convincing it that global warming is a suggestion.
I pause, hands hovering above the patient’s arm, and glance toward the reception area through the slightly open curtain.
There he is. Flashing his megawatt smile like he’s running for office. He leans on the counter like he owns it with his charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and an energy that clashes with every sterile inch of the ER.
“Doctor Matthews?” The nurse assisting me clears her throat.
Right. Sutures. Focus.
I mumble an apology and drop my gaze back to the last stitch.
“Is that your dad?” the patient asks, still grinning, his voice lazy from whatever pain meds are pumping through him. “The receptionist called him Mr. Matthews Senior. Also, you’ve got the same nose.”
“Unfortunately,” I mutter, tying off the final knot. “That’s my old man.”
I pull off my gloves, toss them in the biohazard bin, and put a hand on his shoulder, his hazy gaze meeting my stern one. “And, buddy, lay off the drinking while performing circus acts, alright? That's a good way to get yourself killed. ”
I step into the main area of the ER, where Leeland’s holding court. He's got one hand gesturing like he’s mid-deposition, the other tucked casually in his suit pocket.
He’s charming the nurses now, spinning some wild story with enough charisma to make them laugh loudly. My father doesn’t enter rooms. He takes them over.
“Dad.” My voice cuts sharper than I mean it to.
He looks up, and for a split second, something like warmth flickers in his eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by the smug smile he reserves for all the suckers.
Showtime.
“ The Dr. Matthews!” He spreads his arms like we’re long-lost castmates in a primetime reunion special. “My boy, look at you! Saving lives, making me proud.”
I know that’s a load of bullshit. He’s always resented that I didn’t follow him into law. But I give him a thin smile anyway, for the audience.
I grab his elbow and steer him away from the desk before he can get someone to agree to give him a badge and that private tour he keeps asking for. The last thing I need is him poking around and cataloging the ER’s shortcomings for future lectures.
We reach the break room, and I push the door open and gesture for him to come inside. It’s small and sterile, the overhead lights buzzing faintly above a sad excuse for a coffee machine. Leeland’s nose wrinkles like he’s stepped into a crime scene.
“This is where you unwind?” he asks, as he studies everything on the walls and shelves. “No wonder you’re always so tightly wound.”
“Not everyone needs a penthouse to function,” I mutter, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Why are you here?”
“Aren’t you happy to see me, son? ”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Like, specifically.”
He waves a hand, dismissing the question. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I did tell you, son, when we spoke the other day. I figured if I showed up here, I’d catch you in action. I made a call and found out you would be on the schedule.”
Always making calls, sticking his nose in everything. His eyes flicker, but his entertainment isn't about me, but what's happening behind me. He's enjoying how others watch us.
“I’ve got to say, this hospital has a certain charm. It's quaint but wealthy, like something out of a medical drama with a budget.”
I glance at the nurses, who are now fully pretending not to listen.
“You couldn’t have waited until I was off? This is a little disruptive.” As soon as I say that, I wish I could take it back. That's exactly what he wanted, to see me ruffled.
“Patience isn’t my strong suit,” he says with that trademark grin. “You know that.”
Do I ever? But this isn’t about him not being able to wait. He’s here like this to catch me off guard. To watch. Assess. Dig.
He sits in a chair at the break table and leans back, resting an ankle on his knee, tapping his ring against the armrest like a metronome for manipulation. “I'm still trying to understand why Roger made that odd clause.”
My spine straightens before I can stop it. “Dad, you know how Roger was. Everything was a game.”
Leeland lifts a brow. “Doesn't it piss you off? I mean, why meddle in your life like that?”
My mouth goes dry. That's rich coming from him. “ How do you know about that, anyway? I was told this was a private probate—sealed until verification.”
He shrugs, all faux modesty. “I did a little title work for Roger years ago. Land parcel in Vermont. He was worried about some conservation language and whether it’d impact his ability to transfer it down the line.
When he died, I wanted to make sure it didn’t get tied up if he hadn’t prepared a will. ”
"Why do you even care about all of this? Why are you here?"
He shrugs again, unapologetic. “Information is leverage, son. You of all people should understand that.”
He lets the silence hang, like he’s waiting to see how much that rattled me.
It rattled me.
“Anyway, are you ready? Three days until the estate representative shows, right?”
His smile is casual. His eyes are anything but.
There is no denying it now. I nod, slowly. “That’s right.”
A moment passes. Then, because I know he's lining up his next question, I cut him off before he can ask it.
“It’s handled, Dad. I already told you, I’m married to Adair, the paperwork’s in, and everything’s proceeding as it should. It's nothing more than verifying.”
He hums like he’s bored by the logistics. “Sure. Married. Living the dream, right? Whew, boy! That was fast.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Leeland and my mom split before I turned two. She died ten years later. The cancer was fast and brutal. I thank my lucky stars every night that at least I had her influence when it counted, before I ended up living with him full-time .
Leeland’s never been the marrying type.
“Fast timeline. High stakes,” he adds with a shrug. “You were always impulsive with personal decisions. Remember your senior year? That start-up you almost launched to rent scooters on campus?”
I bristle. “It was a pitch for student-friendly transportation, not a start-up.”
“Exactly.” He smiles like he’s proved something. “You jump headfirst and think about consequences later. I hope this doesn’t end the same way.”
The implication sinks in. It isn't loud or sharp, quiet erosion. It's my father's superpower.
“We’re fine,” I say.
He leans back, satisfied. “Of course you are. I’d hate to see all of this, you know, unravel. Especially so close to the finish line.”
He lets the words sit there. He's not leveling accusations, or even any questions about the validity of it. But he injects enough doubt to make it seem like I need him to pull this off.
I set my water bottle down harder than I mean to. “I don’t need you micromanaging this, Dad.”
“It’s not micromanaging. It’s professional concern,” he says, light but sharp. “This is what I do for a living. Let me help you."
“Look, I appreciate the concern,” I say tightly, “but I don’t need you dropping in to do anything here. Once we meet with the estate manager, we should be done. Adair and I are showing him around the island, and then he heads back to Vermont. Anti-climactic, fine, we're good.”
Leeland raises an eyebrow, hands lifted like I’ve accused him of something serious. “Don't cut your nose off to spite your face, son.”
God, I wish I had the strength to punch him in his smug face. I want him to leave. He pauses. Clears his throat.
“Adair. That's a cool name. Tell me about her.”
Typical. He pushes me to rage and then pulls back before we go over that cliff. “She’s great. Smart. Ambitious. Independent.” I meet his eyes. “And not your concern.”
“Relax, Parker,” he says with a tight smile. “I’m curious. I want to know my son's wife. That's the real reason I came, after all. To welcome her into the family.”
Uh-huh. Sure.
“She's very busy. I'm not sure we can make that happen, with so little notice, and all."
I think about the fact that I haven't seen or talked to her all day, nor do I even know where she is. My dad will sniff that out in a minute if I let him get too close.
His eyes gleam like a dog that heard the treat jar. “Oh, she can't be tied up twenty-four seven.”
“No, you're right. But I know she's tied up the rest of the day and tonight.”
He stands up, like he’s heard everything he needs. “Then I'll stay as long as I need to, so I don't interrupt her complicated schedule. Maybe that will allow me to meet with the estate manager with you. I want to get a better sense of how everything’s going.”
He knows exactly how to manipulate things. He said that precisely to get his way because he knows the last thing I want is for him to be at the meeting with us.
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Please don’t. The last thing any of us needs is you hovering over this.”
“Hovering?” he repeats, all faux-offense. “I’m here to support my favorite son.”
“I’m your only son.”
“Exactly.” He smiles. Then the smile fades, a little. “ Which is why I’m not going to sit back and watch you lose everything over a poorly staged performance.”
A lump so large forms in my throat that it's almost hard to swallow.
“You almost sold it, Parker,” he adds, voice low and surgical. “But married in thirty days? No trail, no engagement, no whispers until now?”
He shakes his head. “I dismantled it in an hour.”
The silence stretches.
“Who knew you had it in you?” he says, smiling again. “Hell, maybe I’m not the only one in this family who deserves an Oscar.”
I say nothing. Because what’s left to say? He adjusts his cuff. Smooths his tie.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, almost warm. “Your secret’s safe with me. But you might want to do a little digging of your own—on your wife.”
The words land like a slap. I don’t flinch. “What are you talking about?”
He chuckles softly, like I handed him the mic. “Come on, Parker. You think I wouldn’t look into her? You show up married out of nowhere, and I’m supposed to believe it’s love?”
My pulse spikes.
“Especially with hundreds of millions on the line,” he adds, voice syrup-slick and self-satisfied.
I hate myself for asking. “What exactly did your ‘digging’ turn up?”
He shrugs, like the whole thing bores him. “She’s not thriving. Her wellness café is bleeding money, and the product line’s stalled. She's desperate enough to start sniffing around LA and Florida for investors. You weren’t the only pitch she made, Parker.”
Something cracks sharply and hot in my chest. That makes it all make sense, why she always seems so defeated whenever Citrine comes up. She's been too proud to tell me.
“You don’t know anything about her,” I say, too evenly. “So she’s hustling. Welcome to being a small business owner in the modern era. Big find, there, Dad.”
He grins like he’s already won. “I know enough to see why she said yes.”
I step toward him, jaw tight. “So what? She should get something out of this. Why are you telling me this? What do you want?”
He leans back like he’s already closed the deal. “To help. That’s it.”
Bullshit.
“If you’re going to fake a marriage to get the money, fine,” he goes on. “But don’t do it sloppily. I can coach you through it and help you make it airtight to sell the story. I can make the estate manager your biggest fan.”
“Of course,” I mutter. “There it is. The angle.”
“This isn’t about me,” he says, but the gleam in his eye says otherwise. “It’s about not fumbling a once-in-a-lifetime inheritance because your emotions got tangled in your strategy.”
He paces now, smooth and certain, like he’s delivering closing arguments to a jury that’s already decided.
“Let’s say it’s enough to build a legacy. Or destroy one. And your girl? She’s in over her head. If she slips, you both go down.”
He stops and turns to face me.
“I’m offering you insulation, Parker. A buffer between you and failure. Let me in now, or I’ll stay on the sidelines and let the cracks show. It will be painful, because I want you to succeed, but if you won't let me in, I won't have a choice. ”
"Dad, stop."
“When it falls apart, and it will, trust me, you’ll wish you’d had someone like me in your corner.”
I stare at him. The arrogance. The calculation. The audacity .
I hate how part of me knows he’s not entirely wrong.
But then I picture Adair and her stubborn fire, her grit. I can hear her laugh when she’s exhausted but still pushing through.
“You don’t know Adair,” I say quietly. But there’s steel behind it. “You're not giving either of us enough credit.”
Leeland raises a brow.
“You’re not out of the woods because there’s a ring. This is a six-month performance. You may trust her, but I don’t. And if I can poke holes in this, so can the estate manager. So let me get ahead of it for you.”
“I don’t need anything from you,” I snap. “And I sure as hell don’t need your script.”
“Actually, you do. But I’ll give you time to accept that.”
He walks out without another word.
The door swings shut behind him. I stand there, jaw tight, fists clenched, heart pounding like I lost a fight I didn’t realize I was in until it was already over.