You know, it’s weird. I spent all these years wishing he was dead, and now that it’s happening. . . I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m not happy, but I’m also not sad. As far as I’m concerned, the poor bastard killed himself.
It just took him thirty years to do it.
Savannah places her hand on my arm. Her face is pinched with worry, and it dawns on me that I never even told her my old man was sick.
Aw, hell.
We’re having a kid together and I didn’t even bother to tell her my dad’s dying. That’s kind of fucked up.
Sighing, I bend down and pick up my shirt from the floor, the one she’d used to hit me with, and hand it to her.
I feel like a jackass for not telling her something so major, especially since she’s shared everything with me, even the truly awful things that she didn’t want to tell another living soul. Savannah might be pissed or hurt, or both, and she has every right to be.
Frowning, I stare at the floor and her perfectly painted toes, then clear my throat and mumble, “He’s been sick for a while. Cirrhosis.”
“I know.”
I look up, seeing her wince at my confusion. “I overheard you and Blake talking about it a while ago. I didn’t want to pry, and I figured you’d talk to me about it when you wanted to, so. . .”
She shrugs before stepping closer to wrap her arms around my waist. I pull her tighter, resting my chin on top of her head.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against my chest. “I know you’re not close with him, but it’s still got to suck.” Pulling away from me, she says, “Let me grab another shirt and I’ll be ready to go.”
“You’re coming?” I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does.
She stops halfway to the closet and turns back to me. Now she looks hurt. “You don’t want me to?”
Shit, not the pout and the puppy dog eyes.
“No, no, no, baby, it’s not that,” I say, tripping all over myself to backtrack as quickly as I can. Savannah’s tough as nails, but this pregnancy has her hormones all out of whack. She cries at the drop of a hat nowadays, and nine times out of ten, it’s over absolutely nothing.
The other day she cried for half an hour because the ice cream machine at McDonald’s was down for maintenance.
Half. An. Hour.
Then when I—gently—asked why she didn’t just go to another one, she cried even harder because it hadn’t occurred to her.
I love this woman to death, but if this is what the next eight months are going to be like. . .fuck. I thought she was irrational before, but now she’s got crazy pumping through her veins.
Taking her face in my hands, I try to smooth out the hurt and rejection I inadvertently put there. Her expression right now fucking kills me and makes me feel like the biggest dick on the planet. Because even though I might think she’s being oversensitive lately, that doesn’t change the fact that—to her—I just shit all over her feelings.
And really, her feelings are all that matter.
She leans into my touch, letting me wipe away the lone tear dripping down her cheek. My chest tightens as she stares up at me, emotion clogging my throat.
I love this girl so fucking much. Crazy hormones and all.
Leaning down, I press my lips to hers, but I don’t have time to kiss her properly. I groan as I force myself away from her. “You know I’d glue you to my side if I could. But you said you were tired, and I really don’t know how long I’m gonna be gone. You should stay and get some sleep.” My hand moves from her hip to her still-flat belly. “You’re sleeping for two, you know.”
Savannah shakes her head emphatically. “You’re always there when I need you, and I want to be there for you. I’m going to be there for you. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
I smile at the determined look on her face and the stubborn set of her jaw.
She would’ve done anything to get out of being someone’s support system a few months ago. Now she looks ready to fight any obstacle that threatens to keep her from my side, even if that obstacle is me.
And damn it if that doesn’t make me proud.
“You okay?”
I tear my eyes away from the taillights of the car in front of us and look over at Savannah. I’ve been lost in my thoughts on the drive to the hospital and probably haven’t said two words to her since we got in the car.
Taking a hand off the wheel, I thread my fingers through hers. “I’ll always be okay if you’re by my side.”
She bites her lip, shadows moving across her face as we drive down the dark road. “This has to be hard for you. I mean, I can’t even. . .” Her eyes widen as she puffs out a breath, looking as overwhelmed as I should feel right now.
But I’m not. I’m still pretty numb to it all.
Maybe that’s a good thing. If I’m numb, then it can’t hurt, right?
Moving into the turning lane, I shrug. “I don’t know. Memories of him keep popping into my head. A lot of them are ugly and not worth remembering, but some. . .some are good.
“Like this one time, he took me and Blake to a Phillies game. I must’ve been seven or eight, and I was stoked. I even brought a ball with me, hoping for some autographs after the game. But we pigged out on hot dogs and popcorn, and Blake ended up puking all over the person sitting next to him, so we had to leave early.”
I smile at the memory of having to drive home with the windows down, because Blake smelled awful. Dad kept teasing him, telling him he was going to pull over at any second to strap him to the hood of our station wagon like a dead deer, because “Dead things don’t get to ride inside the car, and you smell like somethin’ died, boy.” Then he pinched his nose, made a sour face, and pulled into a gas station.
Blake busted out crying, blubbering about how he “wasn’t no dead deer,” but really, Dad just needed to stop and get gas. It took him about ten solid minutes to convince Blake that he wasn’t going on the hood.
Savannah chuckles. “Aww, that sucks. I’m sorry you didn’t get any autographs. Did they at least beat the Red Sox?”
“The Red Sox?” Glancing over at her, I frown. “They weren’t playing the Red Sox.”
She looks just as confused as I do. “Wait, so he drove you guys all the way down to Philly for a baseball game? That’s like a five-hour drive.”
I glance back at the road before shifting to look at her better. “We lived in Philly. That’s where Blake and I grew up.”
I’ve told her that before, haven’t I?
Savannah blinks, looking completely blindsided.
“Shit, I never told you that, did I?”
She releases my hand, muttering, “Does this look like the face of someone in the know?” as she points to herself.
“It looks like the face of someone beautiful,” I say, leaning over to kiss her.
Not surprisingly, she sees right through my weak attempt at smoothing things over and places her hand over my face, pushing me away.
“Oh my god.” She groans, resting her head in her hands. “What have we gotten ourselves into? We’re having a baby together and I don’t even know where you’re from. I don’t even know what your middle name is!”
Panic makes her voice rise with every word, and it makes me panic because I recognize this for what it is: a classic Savannah freak-out.
Thankfully we pull into the hospital’s parking lot, and I whip into the first spot I see. I have to nip this in the bud, because when she freaks out, she runs, and I can’t have that. Not now, not ever again.
Putting the car in park, I undo my seatbelt and scoot toward her, taking her hand in mine. “Hey—look at me.”
Her wide eyes lift to meet mine. It’s scaring the piss out of me to see how unsure and frightened she looks.
I clasp her hand tightly, lacing our fingers together. “It doesn’t matter, okay? Those are just details. What matters is this, right here,” I say, holding up our joined hands between us. “As long as we have this, we’re golden. Okay? Everything else is just details.”
I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself at this point.
She swallows and nods. “Okay.”
My heart re-starts itself and I take my first breath in what feels like minutes. “Okay.” I take her face in my hands and kiss her until I’ve lost my breath all over again.
When I finally pull back, I press my head to hers. “It’s Michael, by the way. After my pops.”
“Declan Michael Whitmore. . .” I watch her mouth curve into a smile as she says my name. I think I want her to address me by my full name from now on, so long as she always smiles like that when she says it. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “I’m Savannah Marie Ryan.”
“Savannah Marie.” The corner of my mouth tilts upward. “Figures,” I say, chucking her under the chin. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
I fucking hate hospitals. They’re cold and impersonal, and they smell weird. Maybe it’s all the cleaning agents they use to disinfect, or hell, maybe it’s what needs disinfecting.
All I know is that I don’t want to be here right now. I don’t want to be walking down this bright, sterile hallway that feels smaller and smaller the farther we go. It’s suffocating.
Wait, no. I’m suffocating.
My dad’s room comes into view up ahead on the right. My dad. I haven’t seen the man since he walked out on us twelve years ago, and now he’s less than thirty feet from me. All that separates us is a panel of wood and glass.
My feet become glued to the floor as everything I’ve been trying to ignore hits me like a ton of bricks. The lack of oxygen coming into my lungs causes my heart to panic, making it thrash against my chest like it’s trying to break through the cage of bone and tissue surrounding it.
I can’t do this.
Fear hemorrhages inside me, choking me like internal bleeding. I try to swallow past it and glance around me, looking for the nearest exit.
I don’t see one.
Where the hell is it? Isn’t this some kind of fire hazard? Aren’t they supposed to have so many per floor or some shit?
Just when I spot a sign for the stairwell, Savannah grabs my face and forces me to look at her. “Don’t even think about it,” she says fiercely, holding my stare as her eyes search mine. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you walk out of here right now. God, do you even know how lucky you are? I’d give anything for the chance to ask my mother why. Why was she such a shitty parent? Why did she love drugs more than her own daughter? Why did she even fucking have me? That’s the million-dollar question for kids with parents like ours—why?” She releases my face and slaps me on the chest. “And you still have the chance to get answers. You can pretend like you don’t want them all you want, but I’ve lived it, Declan, and I know it’s bullshit.”
Her face softens as she lowers her voice. “This is an opportunity, baby. Use it. Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to find the answers, when all you have to do is go in there and ask.”
She’s right, of course.
Sighing, I lean against the wall. “What if he can’t give me a good answer?” My voice is quiet as I finally give credence to the biggest fear I’ve secretly carried with me for twelve years. “What if. . . What if he just didn’t love us enough?”
The corners of Savannah’s mouth turn down as she steps closer, placing her hands on my chest. “It’ll hurt, but at least you’ll know it wasn’t your fault. Some people just aren’t meant to be parents, and it’s the kids who end up paying for their shortcomings, unfortunately.” She bites her lip, as if she’s preparing to say something that I might not want to hear. “Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t stick around.”
Before I can respond, she rushes to say, “Declan, you’re amazing. You’re beyond generous, and kind, and such a good-hearted person. If he really is that horrible of a person, then it’s a good thing he got away from you when he did. You could’ve ended up a whole lot different if he’d stuck around, and the very thought of that breaks my heart because you’re absolutely perfect just the way you are.”
I frown, remembering a similar speech not too long ago from my brother. “Have you been talking to Blake?” I wouldn’t put it past him to try and use Savannah against me. Bastard’s pushy, but he’s also smart.
Her head cocks to the side as her brows furrow. “No—”
The door swings open, cutting off Savannah’s words. A pissed-off Blake barrels out of the room, and when his eyes land on us, he stops in the middle of the hallway. Angrily hitching his thumb behind him, he hisses under his breath, “Get your fucking ass in here and say goodbye to your dying father, you little shit.”
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Blake in big brother mode, so this is not good. Shit’s about to get real.