17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
DECLAN
I run back across campus to my car, then drive home like a maniac. I pull in and see my brothers’ cars are also there.
I hustle inside and find my dad lying on a couch with an ice pack to his head. “What happened?” I demand the second I enter.
Slade shrugs, looking as if he has just arrived at the spot moments before me. Axel just looks at me, communicating nothing, and my father looks pale and irritated.
“Dad fell!” Roman announces, in a way only a ten-year-old who has always been the center of attention can. “He was sitting with me and we were talking about my school project that I have coming up and how I wanted to do it on Palmer Lexington Industries, then he got up to get the beeping in the kitchen and he fell!” he finishes off dramatically.
Roman, while excited to tell his tale, is also wide-eyed and nervous. “He was not talking for a long time, so I grabbed his phone and texted you guys,” he says, looking around at us for some sort of response.
“You did good, little man,” Slade says, going over to him and pulling him into a hug.
“Yeah, quick thinking, Roman,” I say, chuffing his cheek. I exchange looks with Axel, and he goes over to Roman, whispering something in his ear. Roman releases Slade and latches on to Axel, who stands and takes Roman into the kitchen, Slade following behind them.
My dad doesn’t like fuss or attention. And we all know it. Roman, however, lives for the drama of it all, so getting him out of the room will immediately settle Dad. And once he is calm, I have a better chance of getting more information out of him.
I sit on the coffee table next to my dad. “Let me see,” I say, reaching to lift the ice pack and finding a large lump at his hairline, a small trickle of blood coming from the site. I steel myself because I know my next words are going to piss him off. “We should probably get this checked out,” I tell him.
“Fuck off. I’m not going to the hospital for a fucking bruise,” he snarls at me, expecting that to be the end of the conversation. That’s the way it’s always been. Jude Falco’s word is the end of the line. But things are changing. I know it, and he knows it. And I’ve always been told I am the one who needs to be in charge of things as the oldest son. So now my dad’s word can’t be the last say.
This is going to suck.
I heave out a sigh. “What’s going on, Dad?” I ask, not bothering to hide my exasperation.
“It’s fucking hot in here,” he bitches, turning into the grumpy old man he is whenever we question him, “and my allergies have been acting up. I got up quick for the beeping, and between the heat and the sinus shit I got dizzy and tripped over some god damned thing. That’s all.” I stare at my father, but he won’t meet my gaze. I know how I need to handle this. What I want to do is demand he cut the bullshit and just tell me the fucking truth, but that isn’t going to get us anywhere. This problem is a marathon, not a sprint situation. So me shouting and demanding is just going to have us butting heads.
I decide to take a different approach and lean back in my chair. “I took her out for coffee,” I mutter, a little embarrassed to be telling this to my father but finding the need to change the room’s climate. I know that me giving him a little will result in him being more likely to give some back.
“Who?” my father spits out, still geared for a fight. But I wait and watch as the realization hits him and his features relax. “Oh, Vivian?” he asks, his tone completely changing. “You finally asked her out?” my father asks, sliding his gaze to me with a smile on his face.
I shake my head. “We were meeting to work on a school thing but the library was closed. So I asked her to get a cup of coffee with me.”
My father marinates on that, nodding and smiling happily for a second. “It’s a start. How did it go? Did you set something else up, something more like a date?”
I shake my head again. “Didn’t get the chance,” I tell him. “But I think I want to.”
“What’s holding you back?” he asks.
I shrug. “She’s really closed off,” I mutter, realizing I actually need to talk this out with someone. “She gets really defensive if I ask her anything.”
“Oh, and you’re an open fucking book?” my dad jokes, laughing a little. “Sometimes people have been burned and are really selective of who they let in.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You going to ask her out again?” Dad asks.
“I’m going to try,” I tell him.
“Well then, why didn’t you ask her tonight?” he asks me, baffled.
“I was pulled away unexpectedly,” I say. My dad opens his mouth, I’m sure to ask me by what, and then I watch as the realization comes across his face.
My father’s face shutters again. “I told you I’m fine,” he snarls between his teeth.
“I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not worried about you, Dad,” I say softly, avoiding eye contact. That would be too much, too touchy-feely for the both of us. That isn’t how we Falco men roll with each other. “I mean, you’re my dad, and I love you. So if you tell me that this fall is nothing, and that you having a hard time getting out of my car the other day is nothing, and the excuses you have been giving me for the last few months are the real deal, then I believe you. Because you’re my dad, and I have always been able to trust you.”
Yeah, I hit him right in the Dad-guilt bone. I still don’t look at him and instead study my hands I have clasped in front of me, leaving the ball in his court.
“This situation with Perez and Cruz is weighing heavy on my mind,” he says softly. “I’m stressed about it. I’m getting old, Declan, and my body can’t handle the stress anymore like it used to.”
I take it in. “Cruz is dead, Dad,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but like Perez said, he is a follower. Someone put him up to it, and he was just doing what he was told. So who is really behind that shit?” he questions. He blows out a long breath with a groan. “I am supposed to make you guys a better life than this,” he grumbles.
“Dad, we have a great life,” I remind him.
My dad shakes his head. “I promised your mother that I’d make you guys more than just some goon like I was.”
“Dad—”
“Yeah, you guys run the bars and the numbers, and you maintain the properties and make sure things are done. But I never did get rid of the gambling rooms, and I don’t exactly have a license for those. And when shit gets tight you guys can throw down, and I love that you can protect yourselves, but you shouldn’t have to. You should be sitting pretty, leading from above, not getting your knuckles scraped.”
“I’d rather drink battery acid than sit behind a desk all day and boss people around,” I tell him.
“It’s the respect, Declan,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to put in your time to show people you deserve respect. I wanted to build that for you guys.”
“You have, Dad,” I tell him, but he shakes his head. “Dad, we are proud to be your sons. If we weren’t, we’d have left you on the floor tonight, not be giving you a spa day on the couch.”
It cracks some of the tension and earns me a bark of a laugh from my father. “I guess,” he says.
“Seriously though, can we go get your head checked out? You are on aspirin and isn’t that a blood thinner or some shit?”
“I’ve been off it for a couple of months,” he informs me. “I’m okay, Dec. I just need to hang out.”
I feel like I won most of the battle getting him to open up to me, so I let it slide. “Okay, the guys and I will take care of Roman,” I tell him as I stand and slap his shoulder. “Take the night off.”
He nods and puts the ice pack back on his head. “Tell Roman no ice cream like he served himself the other night. It’s a school night.”
I had almost forgotten about the phone call and open my mouth to bring it back up, but I drop it. He’s been through enough, and his comment about the stress bothering him makes me not want to put any more on his plate. At least for tonight. “You got it, Dad,” I say instead and go in search of my brothers.