Chapter 43 #2
“You know I never wanted to be as hard on you as I was,” he says after taking a sip of whiskey. “As I am.”
“Free will is funny like that, though,” I jab softly.
“I know. But I guess after your mom died, I didn’t know what to do.
I was in so much pain; I didn’t know how to protect you.
So I thought if I made you tough, your mother’s death would be the worst thing you ever went through, and you could take on the world after that. It’s why I got you into boxing.”
“You mean it wasn’t so you could knock me around?” I ask, only half joking, but he laughs.
“No, it wasn’t. Honestly, I was proud of how good you got at it,” he says, taking another sip of whiskey and wincing before sucking his teeth.
“Is that why you never come to my matches?” I ask. Even if he is considering waving a white flag right now, it’s going to take a lot more than that to make up for everything.
“I didn’t come to your matches because I am an egotistical asshole. At the end of the day, I’m still not good at taking your mother’s advice about working together,” he admits. “Considering everything that’s on the line right now, I think we need to do just that.”
I take a sip of my whiskey before attempting to respond to that. “So, what are you proposing?” I ask after the alcohol has had a chance to coat my nerves.
“I’m releasing your inheritance,” he says, and my eyes flash up to him. “Make a bid on that company. A good one. Golden Rule is the best deal you could make in your career, but I don’t need to tell you that.”
“I will,” I nod, still not quite believing what he’s saying right now.
“What changed your mind?” I ask, and my dad takes a breath and lets it out.
“This might sound crazy, but sometimes, when I’m alone in the house, I think about your mom. I can see her. Hear her. It’s like she’s still there. Like she never left. Like she’s sitting across the table from me, sipping her coffee with a stubborn smirk on her face.”
“What’s she say?” I ask, my heart tight in my chest.
“To stop being an asshole and consider what my son is going through,” he answers, and I look up at him. “You wanna know why I tied your inheritance to marriage?” he asks.
“To make my life harder because you knew that getting married was never on my bingo card?” I ask, and he chuckles.
“To make your life better by adding marriage to your bingo card. I think…that using tough love on you made you tough towards love. And that was never the intention. Your mom would hate me for it too because she was love personified.”
“Yes, she was,” I say, my words feeling strangled in my throat.
“Make the bid. Take the job. Marry the mother of your child,” he says, taking a sip.
I rub the back of my neck. “That last part might be kind of tricky,” I tell him.
“How so?” he asks.
“Because I haven’t talked to her since the day of the fight.”
“Why the hell not?” he asks.
“Because she lied to me. About being pregnant,” I state, lifting my glass for another sip.
“So what?” he blurts out, and my hand stops before the rim touches my lips. I set the glass back down.
“So, she’s pregnant with my child and didn’t tell me. And I don’t know when she planned on telling me. Considering our agreement and the money involved, I don’t know what her intentions were.”
“Bullshit,” my dad says. My gaze darts back up to him as he shakes his head. “I call bullshit. You’re just making excuses.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growl. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
“Because you’re scared. You’re both scared,” he says, and when I don’t respond, he goes on. “The way I see it, you two never intended to fall for each other. The plan was to pretend to be in love so you could get married, pull one over on me, high five and call it good. Am I wrong?”
“No,” I mutter. “That was the plan.”
“But falling in love with her for real wasn’t the plan.
And everyone from me to you to your friends watched it happen.
The two of you were the last to admit it.
And then when things got hairy, it all derailed.
I don’t think you’re mad that she’s pregnant.
Or even that she kept it from you. I think that when all the shit hit the fan, you realized you were at risk of losing everything.
And the idea of losing everything plus the baby you just found out about was too much.
So you threw a wall up in an attempt to protect yourself, and in the process you barricaded yourself from the people you love.
Am I wrong?” he asks, and my head is throbbing.
He’s not wrong. That’s one of the most infuriating things about my father.
When he pulls his head out of his own ass long enough to consider other people, he’s not the worst person in the world.
It’s just hard to put faith in that because he usually has about a two-second rebound before his head is back in his ass again.
I’m starting to think therapy would have been a good idea after my mom died.
“No. You’re right,” I admit, and he nods.
He doesn’t say anything; he just nods. “Two things happened in that moment that his fist met my cheek. One, I knew he was wearing brass, and I was fucked. And the other was I saw Mila’s face, and it was filled with fear because she knew.
That’s a look I never want to see again, and I’ll never forget it.
Then, when she hit the ground and her body hit the concrete with so much force…
that’s a feeling I never want to feel again. ”
“So talk to her,” he says. “Fix things.”
“I don’t know if it’s that simple,” I say.
“Sure it is.”
“But what if I've already messed up too much?” I ask. “What if it isn’t fixable?”
My dad just smiles. “I’m here, aren’t I? In terms of things you put money on never happening, I think hell is looking a little less frosty right now. I say go for it.”
And with that, I pour each of us another finger of whiskey that we drink in silence. It’s not because things are tense, but because for the first time in years, they’re not.