Dead or alive.
My dad is either dead or alive, and if I'm being completely fucking honest here, I don't know which one I'm hoping for.
Part of me feels like he deserves this. That the years of torture he put us through are finally coming back to bite him in the ass. That this is the universe righting all of his wrongs. But no matter how hard I try to push it down, I can't deny that there's also a part of me that doesn't want him to be dead. There's a part of me that's fucking terrified I'll never get the chance to see him again, to talk to him again, to go off on him for everything he did to my mother, to my brothers, to me.
But worst of all, I can't seem to ease the anxiety searing through me at the realization that no matter how much I might hate him, it doesn't change the fact that I also don't want to lose him — not yet. Not like this.
I try to shake that thought because, for some reason, the idea of not wanting to lose him is even more unsettling than the thought of him already being dead.
I try to focus on something other than the image of my father being zipped up in a body bag. Looking down, Josie's right beside me as we walk through the maze of the ICU. Her eyes flick up to mine. When her lips pull up into a soft smile and she reaches out for my hand, intertwining her fingers through mine, I try to focus on the calming effect of her thumb gently caressing my knuckles.
I shouldn't be here. I don't want to be here. And looking down at the girl beside me, a pang of guilt hits me hard because I sure as hell don't want her to have be here either. Not for this, and definitely not for my dad.
Her eyes drift up to mine, considering me for a long moment, trying to gauge how I'm doing. Aside from filling her in on what the hell was going on, I haven't said much since we climbed onto my bike and I sent us flying down the freeway because I've been silently spiraling ever since. And by the way she's looking up at me, I know that she can tell. She can sense the change in me since that phone call. She can feel the anxious energy radiating from me in waves.
She's wide-eyed, and her cheeks are still warm and rosy from our time in the creek, but I can feel the shift in her energy too. It's softer, warmer — infinitely more soothing — and when I stop a few doors down from my dad's assigned room, that same energy spikes as she squeezes my hand gently before releasing it. When her eyes meet mine, they crinkle in a reassuring smile, and somehow, standing here in the middle of this cold as fuck hallway, the sight warms me. Relaxing me entirely as if I just stepped into the mid-summer sun.
I tuck a wayward strand back behind her ear, meeting her eyes again. Inhaling a deep breath, I soak in her warmth for a few seconds longer before turning and leading her into the room. That warmth doesn't last long, though. The second we step inside, still hidden by the small hallway leading into the room, my lungs freeze as my dad's low, gravelly voice echoes around us.
"I don't need this goddamn tube up my nose. I can breathe just fine on my own."
"Cliff, leave the oxygen on, please. At least until the doctor comes back in to check you out."
I'm paralyzed as the instant reaction floods through my body. First — relief, that he's still alive. And then, a second later, my entire body hums with the same pent-up anger that always seems to flood my veins whenever I'm around him.
I spot my little brothers first. Jordan is sprawled out on the couch under the window, one arm tucked behind his head while he bobs his cleated foot to whatever song he's got blasting through his headphones. He's drenched in sweat and smeared mud, still dressed in his practice uniform — likely because he left mid-football practice to be here.
Mac's perked on the arm of the couch, eyes glued to the hand-me-down Nintendo DS as he nudges his glasses further up his nose with the back of his hand. When the sound of the door clicking shut behind me echoes through the room, Mac is the first to look up. His eyes widen as if he can't believe I'm really here, and when he grins at me, he taps Jordan on the back of the head and points toward me.
"Micah's here."
The room goes painfully still.
And then a chair scratches against the tiled floor quickly, cutting through the silence like a serrated knife. My mom's shocked face pops around the corner, her hand already covering her mouth as she tries to steady her shaky gasp.
Clearly, she didn't think I'd show, either.
She looks worn, completely fucking exhausted, and when she smiles up at me, I'm reminded of why I came. For her. I'm here for her. Her smile doesn't last long, though, because the second she registers the big ass bruise on my face, her face falls. We haven't talked about it, but looking at me now, I know the dots are connecting. Now she knows how I've been able to send her all that cash.
She blinks a few times, shaking the shock, and when she waves me forward, I hesitate. I'm stalling like a little bitch, but even just standing here unmoving is taking a lot of effort because every cell in my body is telling me to turn around and walk out of this room — to get on my bike and peel the fuck out of here. That being here right now is a mistake.
I can barely see the foot of the bed from the small hallway, but when I finally man up and take the final few steps forward, I see him immediately. He's strapped up to a million different wires and a small breathing tube that's hooked under his nose, which he's currently fiddling with like he's annoyed that it's even there. His eyes widen when they meet mine, and then they narrow quickly.
"Mikey, come in, sweetie." Mom motions me forward, but I stay where I'm at as I hold his stare. My mom's energy spikes anxiously as she looks between us. "They were able to get him breathing again in the ambulance. We're very lucky that they got there when they did. They sent him down for a few tests when we arrived. The nurse just came by and said the doctor should be in shortly to go over the results."
I nod, not breaking my dad's stare. He looks fucked. Pale, shaky, and damn near translucent on his arms. I can tell he's lost a lot of weight — a lot of muscle — making him appear frail in the small hospital bed. Which, for a man who looked nothing but fucking terrifying my entire life, is jarring to see. His lips press together tightly, trying to decide whether or not to make a dumbass comment. As expected, when he leans back in his bed and nods at me, I can feel it coming before he opens his mouth.
"So...the prodigal son returns."
My mom tenses as her eyes close like she's praying this won't turn volatile. While I should be able to promise that I won't end up knocking the shit out of my old man in a hospital bed, I won't make a promise that I know I can't keep.
"You finally man up, son? Come to apologize?"
The adrenaline rushes my system like a reflex. As if my body is already preparing for him to swing. He's not going to. Not like this. But even seeing him frail as fuck, damn near withered away right in front of me, I can't hold back my own bite.
"My bad. I thought you were already dead."
My mom's soft gasp echoes around the room seconds before my little brother, Jordan, snorts and sits up on the couch. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he says, "Ah, I've missed this."
"You've been here for two seconds, Micah. Do not start this nonsense already," Mom snaps, narrowing her eyes as she looks up at me. "And you." She points to Jordan, who's grinning up at her from the couch like the hellion he is, already accepting his fate of getting reamed out. "Do not egg him on or I swear to God I'll ground you until graduation."
"I'm seventeen. You can't ground me," he counters lazily, leaning back onto the couch.
Dad looks over to him and raises a brow — the same look that used to send a shiver down my spine as a kid because it meant you were about to get your ass beat if you didn't get your shit together. He can't beat the shit out of anyone now, but the look still shuts up Jordan. When Jordan looks back over to me, he grins as if to say, I've missed getting in trouble with you, but when his gaze flicks down, his eyes widen, brows raising appreciatively as he spots Josie standing behind me.
"Who's your girl?" He asks, nodding at her with a dumbass grin.
Her cheeks warm a little as she takes a step to stand beside me, smiling politely at my family. Everyone's staring at her, shocked that I brought anyone, let alone a girl.
"Josie, this is my family. My older brother Trey, my little brothers, Jordan and Mac, my mom, Lily, and —" I hesitate. I don't want to introduce Josie to my piece of shit dad, but when he raises a challenging brow like he knows exactly what I'm thinking, I glare back as I say, "And this is my dad, Cliff." I look back to my family, narrowing my eyes at them in a silent plea for them not to make this weird. "Everyone, this is Josie. My friend."
That last part was mostly for my mom, who's smiling like someone just handed her a fucking winning lotto ticket. Probably because, until now, she's never seen me with a girl. I've never brought a girl home to meet my family. Not my high school girlfriend, and definitely not any of the girls I've casually fucked over the years. She asks me about my dating life every time she calls me, and since I don't want to tell my mom that I'm more interested in fucking the girls in my bed than dating them, I tend to give her the same answer every time — I'm too busy to date right now, Mom.
But now that she's practically beaming at Josie, I know I'm going to hear about this the next time she calls — or rather, the next six hundred times she calls.
I glance down at Josie, watching her cheeks flush as she says, "It's nice to meet you all."
"So, you're Micah's friend, huh?" Jordan grins, and if I weren't on the opposite side of the room, I would have knocked him in the back of the fucking head for the dumbass grin he's sporting as he looks her up and down. "Do you want any more friends?"
"Jesus, Jordan." Trey shakes his head, backhanding our little brother on the side of the head with a what the fuck is wrong with you look.
"Okay, get out. Go, out, out, out," Mom snaps, pointing at the door as she glares at Jordan. "I don't know who raised you to have those manners, but it certainly wasn't me. Get out, go ahead. In fact, Trey, can you just drive them home, please? They need to get started on their homework anyway."
Trey nods, pulling out his keys from his pocket as he motions for Jordan and Mac to start walking. When they pass by, I grin at how Mac's ears go red when his eyes flick up from the floor to look up at Josie. When the door clicks shut behind them, Mom motions toward the door.
"I'll go get a few extra blankets from the nurses' station. Josie, sweetheart, would you mind coming with me?"
Josie's eyes widen a little, but she doesn't object as my mom ushers her out of the room alongside her, complimenting her dress as they go. I'm about to step out of the room, too, just so I don't have to be alone with my dad, but when I take a step back, his voice echoes through the room, stopping me in my tracks.
"Nice shiner. What? You've gone soft? I spent twenty years training you to be a fucking lethal weapon, and you still get hit?"
I clench my jaw and shake my head, willing myself not to get baited into his trap, but when I look up to see him raising his brows like he's disappointed, I can't help it. I don't want to talk about fighting with him, so I make something up.
"It's from basketball. I got hit with an elbow on a jump ball."
A sharp, humorless laugh shakes his shoulders, and he jerks his head. "I know a hit when I see one, son. That's from a solid hook, right on the cheek. Had to sting like a bitch, didn't it? Make you see stars for a few seconds. Those are the best to land. Impacts brutal, but it gets the job done. Did it drop you?"
I turn, ready to walk out of the room, but the part of me that feels like I need to defend myself — that needs him to know that I've still never lost a fight — wins out, and I turn back to glare at him.
"What the fuck do you think?" I snap back.
He grins and relaxes into his bed. "Good. If you're going to be out there fighting, you've got a hell of a reputation to uphold. What gym are you training out of? Who's been coaching you?"
I hesitate before sighing inwardly and running my hand over my jaw. "Not fighting like that. Just a few low-key fights here and there. Not enough to fight out of a gym or get trained."
He considers that for a moment before his brows raise. "You're fighting underground."
I shrug and look back at the door, praying to all that is fucking holy that Josie and my mom will walk through any second and save me from making awkward small talk right now. When the door doesn't swing open, I look back to my dad and run a rough hand through my hair a few times. "Yeah."
"What's your record?"
"Twelve-oh," I say quickly. Soon to be thirteen. I have a fight tomorrow night.
"You're fighting regularly and you haven't been training? No gym time? No sparing? You know, I should have known I was wasting my time with you. All of those years, those hours of training, and for what? What came out of it? Nothing. You got twenty fucking years of world-class training just to waste it on playing with balls on a court. No fucking dedication, not even training anymore. How the fuck you haven't lost yet, I have no clue. You're a fucking dipshit, you know that? A fucking waste of my time."
I shake my head, but I can feel the smirk pulling at my lips when I look down at him. I know I should just walk out and not let him bait me like this, like he always fucking has, but when his eyes meet mine and he sneers at me, I can't help it.
"Wasn't a waste, Pops. I knew what I was training for. I beat the shit out of you, didn't I?"
The sound of the door clicking shut echoes loudly. Turning, my lungs deflate at the sight of my mom and Josie standing by the door. I know they heard at least the tail end of that comment because Josie's eyes are wide as she clutches a small stack of blankets to her chest.
Fuck.
"You're an ungrateful son of a bitch. A fucking mistake. You're a fucking mistake, you know that?" He calls back louder than before, but I don't bother staying to get into the same fight we've had more times than I can count. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk toward the door. Reaching down, I take the blankets from Josie and drop them onto the floor before looking him dead in the eye and flipping him off.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and lead her out of the room, already heading toward the elevator when my mom's hurried footsteps echo behind us. "Micah, wait. Please."
I want to keep walking until I'm in the fucking parking lot and then never look back again, but I can't bring myself to actually walk away from her, so I stop.
"I'm so sorry, Mikey. I don't know why your father is acting like this, he must not be feeling well, or maybe he's tired since it's getting late —"
"He's not tired." I cut her off. "He's just a fucking asshole. He's always been an asshole."
Her shoulders fall, and her eyes widen as she considers my comment. "He's sick, Micah."
"Yeah, in the fucking head."
"Micah."
I take a deep breath and shrug because honestly, I'm out of fucks to give here.
"I know that things are...difficult between you two. I know that. But, Micah, please, please don't let this be the last time you see your father. Don't let those be the last words you ever say to him. I know it doesn't seem like it now, not after that, but I know you being here, you showing up tonight, it really meant a lot to him. And I know he doesn't show it, but not having you around has been killing him, slowly eating away at him, even more than the cancer."
Her eyes are pleading and desperate as she takes a step closer. "Please, Micah. Please don't let this be the last time. Don't do it for him. Do it for yourself."
Jesus fuck. I don't want to be here anymore. And I sure as fuck don't want to be talking about this. Not right now. Not in the lobby while onlookers watch curiously from their seats in the waiting area. Glancing down at Josie, her eyes meet mine instantly, and when her face settles into a sympathetic smile, I sigh inwardly and look back up at my mom.
"I don't know, Mom. I'll think about it. But I have to go."
Her eyes widen slightly like she wasn't expecting me to actually consider her plea, and then after pulling Josie in for a long hug, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tightly. I feel numb to it all — to the thankful smile she offers me before she turns and walks back to the room, to the cold breeze that blows past us as we walk into the parking lot, to the same four words that are echoing over and over and over again in my head — you're a fucking mistake.
It's not the first time he's said it, but it's been a while, and fuck if it didn't sting.
When we get to my bike, I look down to catch Josie watching me, trying to gauge how I'm feeling. I think she can tell what's running through my head because when she takes a step closer to me so I can ease the helmet over her head, she smiles up at me softly.
"I'm so sorry."
I raise a brow at that as I keep my eyes on the buckle I'm trying to clasp under her chin.
"I'm so sorry he said that to you." Her voice is soft, so quiet it's nearly lost in the cool night breeze pulling past us. I nod, not wanting to get into it, but when her hand comes up to cup my cheek, the one with the bruise, the warmth of her instantly soaks through my skin. I lean into her palm, savoring the feel of her touch. When I meet her gaze, her honey eyes are soft, searching, and searing all at once, and the sight sends a shiver down my spine.
"Micah." Her thumb caresses my cheek once, light as air before she pulls away. "I know the line between us is kind of...blurred now that we're friends with — well, you know — but, regardless of that, I just want you to know that I really do want to be your friend. I want to be here for you. I want to be someone you can lean on, and talk to, and count on. And I know things are complicated, and I understand if you don't want to come back. I do." Her eyes flick up to mine, and I focus on them, losing myself in the way they damn near glow in the street lights above. "But if you do want to come back, that's okay, too. And if you want me to come with you, you know, so you won't be alone, then I'll be there. No questions asked. I promise. I want to be here for you, Micah, if you'll let me."
I watch her cheeks warm in the cool breeze, and when a shiver shakes her shoulders, I sigh, tugging off my hoodie to hand to her. She slips it on quickly, and I can tell she was colder than she was letting on because the second she pulls it over her head, it falls down her thighs, nearly longer than her dress, and the instant sigh of relief makes me smile as I watch her damn near drowning in my hoodie. When her eyes meet mine again, I can't help the grin on my face as I reach out and pinch her side, hoping to coax out one of those bubbly, intoxicating laughs. She swats my hand away with a laugh, and when she looks back up at me, she's grinning.
"You promise?" I tease, reveling in the way her eyes are narrowing at me. She pulls her lip between her teeth, trying to decide if she wants to tease me back, but when she holds up her pinky between us, all traces of humor are gone.
I consider her pinky for a moment before looking back into her eyes. Even without the promise, I know she means it. That even after the complete shit show she just witnessed, she would still come back with me if I asked. That she wants to be here for me. That she genuinely wants to be my friend. I would usually just shrug something like that off because I highly fucking doubt I'm even going to come back to this hell hole, but when her lips quirk and she wiggles her finger, waiting for me to intertwine my own, I cave.
Her finger is warm against mine in the chilly air, and when she grins up at me, eyes soft and warm while the rosy hue of her cheeks shines in the street lights above, I can't hold back my dumbass grin when her words echo softly around us.
"I pinky promise, Micah Costa."
A/N:
This was the last chapter posted on WP previously when I was writing online. I am so, so, so excited to share the rest of the story with you as I write it now. Thank you again for reading, voting, and commenting as you go. Seeing comments pop up on my phone was the thing I missed the absolute most when I was writing offline, so I appreciate it even more now. Just now, every time I get a comment, I smile like an absolute idiot at my phone. So thank you for that.
XO,
B