Chapter Twenty-Three
ALLEY
THEN
Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I grab my water jug and push open the break room door.
I nearly run into Zach as I step into the hall.
“Whoa! Leaving without saying goodbye?” he asks, mock offended.
“I was just coming to find you,” I say with a laugh. “You working tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but not until noon. You?”
“Seven a.m.,” I groan.
I hate the morning shift, yet, somehow it keeps landing on my schedule. I’ll have to leave the house by six fifteen and won’t see Jensen until dinner. I’d much rather sleep in, have a slow morning—maybe even some sex—drink coffee together before he heads out at eight.
He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout and opens his arms. Laughing, I step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say as I pull back.
“See you, babe. Enjoy your night.”
“I will. You too,” I reply, walking backwards a few steps before turning toward the elevators.
Once inside, I press the lobby button and lean against the wall. I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. A missed text from Michael lights up the screen.
I blink at it.
Michael
Dad asked for your number today.
My heart skips a beat, a claustrophobic pressure creeping up my throat, squeezing tight.
Why? What did you say?
The elevator doors slide open, and I step out—distracted, my gaze locked on my phone as I type.
Michael
He wants to talk to you, obviously. I told him I’d ask you.
No. Don’t give it to him.
I changed my number a few years after moving to New York. I told myself it was for a local area code, for a clean break from Chicago. But who was I kidding? I know why I really did it.
Michael
He’s sober, you know. Has been for a while.
My grip tightens on my phone, but I don’t react. I don’t let myself. I lock the screen, shove it into my purse, and keep walking.
My pulse picks up—and so does my pace, like maybe I can outrun the anger. The resentment. The hurt.
He stopped calling and texting.
I never gave him a reason to keep trying. I know that. I never responded. Once in a while, I’d get a call out of the blue. A random text—How you doing? But after two years, he just… stopped. He gave up.
I can’t blame him. I gave up on him long before. But I’m his daughter. Isn’t he supposed to try harder? Get on a plane? Make a grand gesture? Keep calling until I finally pick up?
He didn’t.
No. It would hurt a hell of a lot less if he couldn’t call. If there was a reason for his absence. Because knowing he could, and chose not to? That’s what hurt the most. That cut deep.
Yeah, no. It doesn’t matter that he’s sober. How many times has he actually stayed that way?
He wants my number. After all this time.
My jaw clenches, but I keep moving.
Not my problem.
The walk from the hospital to the subway is short, but it feels like a marathon. I descend the stairs, catch the next train, and slide into a seat, tapping my foot anxiously.
I sniff, holding back the tears that threaten to break through. My breathing is sharp and shallow, and my throat grows tight with every stop the train makes.
Swallowing hard, I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling as I type.
Good.
I rode the train with my sunglasses on.
I know. It’s not sunny on the subway. But after I sent that text to Michael, a whirlwind of emotion swept through me, and I felt like I might cry. I didn’t, but I know I looked like I had. I felt stupid.
The sunglasses were the only solution.
My thoughts flip back and forth, circling the same question: did I do the right thing?
Michael seems to have no problem letting him in. He never pushed him away. Never stopped checking in—even when Dad was at his worst.
The smell of New York stings my nose as I pass a sewer, stepping wide over a man passed out in the middle of the sidewalk, like he just decided this was the perfect place to take a nap. I hesitate, slowing my pace, heart snagging in my chest, torn between wanting to help him and scream at him.
My hell. How do people end up like this?
Michael’s text lingers in the back of my mind like a ghost, dragging up memories I’ve tried to bury.
That day crashes into me. My chest squeezes, and my stride slows as I stop, turning around right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Someone cusses at me as they bump into my shoulder, telling me to move.
But I can’t. I can’t move.
I see my dad. Not lying in a hallway this time, but on this sidewalk.
I left him.
God, I left him.
I won’t leave this guy too.
I step closer, my gaze dropping to his pants hanging halfway off his ass, his crack out for the world to see. I stand five feet from him, staring.
He looks to be in his fifties, maybe late forties. Does he have kids? Did he used to have a wife? Did she die like my mom? Did something happen that broke him? Why is he here?
God, I can’t breathe.
The dam breaks. Tears spill down my cheeks, and I swipe at them with the backs of my hands.
Someone stumbles over him and gives him a kick, and I feel it like it was aimed at me. That could be someone’s father.
Suddenly, everything inside me aches. I don’t know if it’s because I feel hopeless for this man… or because I miss my dad so much I can’t see straight.
Another person bumps into me, this one calling me the C word as they pass.
I stumble back, pressing into the side of the building, my breath shaking in and out.
My head tips against the firm brick, and I let the tears come.
I let them fall. I don’t know why it’s all hitting me so hard right now.
Maybe it’s everything—the past, the guilt—the ache of missing people I’ll never get back.
I told myself a long time ago it’s okay to feel. Healthy, even. So I let myself feel it. My eyes squeeze shut, and I picture the good times I had with my dad… and my mom. The four of us. The family vacations, sometimes with Michael’s friends or mine. Sunday homemade ice cream and a family movie.
My dad loved Jim Carrey. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen Dumb and Dumber or Liar Liar.
He’d laugh every single time like it was the first. Those were the good days.
But they were rare. Most of my childhood is haunted by images I’ve tried to forget—of him being gone or coming home late.
Even when he was there, he wasn’t. Not fully, anyway.
My body’s moving before I even realize it. I crouch beside the man. I don’t know if he’s drunk or high, but I’m not going to let him get kicked again. At least not today.
He smells of liquor and dried urine, and the dirt under his nails could start an ant farm.
I nudge his shoulder. “Hey.”
Nothing. Obviously. I know how this goes. I’m not going to wake him up or talk sense into him. I can’t fix this. All I can do is get him out of the way.
I step behind him and put my nursing skills to use, wrapping my arms under his armpits.
His weight sags against me, dead and heavy.
My feet plant firmly on the sidewalk as I use my legs, pushing with my body to drag him closer to the wall.
My palms press into sweat and grit, and the strain bites at my shoulders.
A tear falls.
And then another.
I get him out of the way the best I can, my breath catching in my throat. I whisper a prayer for him, just a few words, soft and shaky, and turn to walk the rest of the way home.
I’m emotionally wrecked by the time I get home, and all I want is to melt into Jensen’s arms. I need a hug.
He’s asleep on the couch again. That’s the third time in two weeks I’ve come home to find him passed out in front of the TV. He must be stressed or worn down, because Jensen never naps. And he’s always been a night owl.
Weird. It’s only six thirty. Maybe he’s fighting off a bug.
I walk to the sink, rinse out my water jug, and slide it into the dishwasher. I hover for a second, debating whether to start dinner or wake him.
I really need to talk to him.
Crossing to the couch, I sit beside him and gently brush my thumb across his forehead. “Hey,” I whisper.
His eyes crack open, and after a few seconds, his brows furrow. “Hey,” he says, his gaze finding mine. “What’s wrong, babe?” He reaches for my hand, gripping it tight.
I lose it. All over again.
He sits up, pulling me into him, his lips pressing to my forehead. “Hey. Hey.” His hand moves in slow, soothing circles along my back.
“Michael texted me… my dad…” My words come out in sharp, broken sobs. “He’s sober… and he wants my number.” I shake my head against his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. “I don’t know what to do.”
Jensen’s chest rises and falls with a long breath. “Babe…” He exhales slowly, like he’s choosing his words. “That’s… a good thing. Right?”
I nod.
He stays silent for a long moment—just holding me, rubbing my back, pressing soft kisses to my hair. He lets me fall apart without trying to fix it. He’s just… there. Solid. Steady. Comforting.
And I know I’ll be okay. I’ll figure this out, not because he’s saying the right things, but because I have him. He’s my strength when I’m weak. My calm in the storm—my other half. He always knows how to show up when I need him most.
I tighten my arms around him, pressing in closer. I could stay right here with him forever—just the two of us.
I breathe in deep, steadying myself. I already feel a little better just having his arms around me.
The tears still come, though. There’s no stopping them, no swallowing the ache back down. I don’t know if it’s my dad, the guy on the sidewalk, or hormones. Maybe it’s everything.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Jensen says quietly, his voice deep but soft.
“I don’t know.” I sniff. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling, but I just had a full-on meltdown on the sidewalk because of a homeless man.
” I laugh-cry, because it sounds ridiculous even as I say it.
“He was passed out. People were tripping over him. I couldn’t just leave him there, you know?
So I moved him. Dragged him out of the way the best I could. ”
Jensen pulls back, cradling my face in his hands.
His thumbs brush under my eyes, catching the tears before they fall.
The corners of his mouth lift, and he lets out a soft chuckle as he leans in to press a kiss to my forehead.
“Of course you did,” he says. “You know that’s why I love you so much.
You’re such a good person. You have a heart of gold.
” He chuckles again, shaking his head as if he’s both proud and unsurprised. “No one else would’ve done that.”
“God.” I laugh through a new wave of tears, the sound breaking as it slips from my lips. “I feel so stupid. What is wrong with me?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head again, firmer this time. “Absolutely nothing.”
He watches me for a moment, his thumb brushing slow, rhythmic strokes across my cheek. “You wanna talk about your dad?”
Fresh emotion rises like a tide in my throat, catching hard just from hearing his name.
Jensen doesn’t wait for me to answer. His hand slides down, wrapping around my own, his fingers threading between mine.
“I think you need to see him, Al,” he says gently.
“I know it’s not my place, and I’d never push.
It’s your choice. I’ll support you no matter what, but…
” He lifts my hand and presses it to his chest, right over his heart.
“I think you’ve been questioning it for a while now.
I know you think about the wedding. About him not being there. I know that’s been killing you.”
I nod slowly, mulling over his words. “Dammit,” I whisper, pressing my forefinger into the corner of my eye as the dam threatens to break again. “You’re right.” I meet his gaze. “I know you’re right. I just… don’t want you to be.”
“Ah, babe. I know it’s hard being married to someone who’s always right.” He tries to keep a straight face, but the corner of his mouth betrays him.
I laugh through a sniffle. “Jerk.”
I nudge him, and he catches me instantly, crushing his mouth to mine—earnest, devout. He kisses me like he’s trying to stitch me back together with his lips alone.
God, how does he love me this hard?
His tongue teases mine, slow and deep, and then he nips my bottom lip before pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. “You could see him when we go for New Year’s. If you’re ready. I’ll go with you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip. “Yeah. Maybe.”
I kiss him again, climbing into his lap, his mouth a kind of comfort that always soothes the storm. His arms wrap around me, hands sliding down to my ass, and I break the kiss.
“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” I whisper, hovering just above his lips. “I can’t do life without you. I don’t want to.”
He cracks a small smile, eyes locked on mine. “I’d never leave you. It’s you and me, babe. Always.”
The next kiss is harder. Deeper. Hotter. He pulls back just long enough to meet my eyes and say, “For fucking ever,” before claiming my mouth again like it’s a promise he intends to keep.