Monday morning before Delilah was even out of bed, my bed, I was pounding out miles on the treadmill downstairs. She’d stayed with me all weekend after we had gotten in from our long flight, and this week was the start of play-offs. We watched games together, dissected plays and players, fucked like we would lose our minds if we didn’t—and I was pretty sure I would—and spent every waking moment together.

I had to be at the field by one today, but I couldn’t miss a day on the treadmill, so I’d pecked Delilah on the cheek, left her a note on the coffee pot because I knew that would be her first stop in the morning, as was watching ESPN highlights while I worked out.

Jogging on the treadmill got adrenaline coursing through my veins as I worked over the game in my head. I liked to visualize victory, imagining the plays and all the different possibilities. Just as I bumped up the incline, my phone rang in my gym bag on the floor.

I narrowed my eyes, wondering who in the hell would call this early. It wasn’t even seven a.m., but I stopped to pick it up, anyway. Maybe it was Delilah telling me to save my post-workout shower for her. I would be into that. I was into anything with Delilah.

I answered on the third ring, prepared to hear her voice, but a stranger spoke. “Cash Greenwood?”

“This is he.”

“I’m a nurse at Jacksonville General. Is Leonard Greenwood your father?”

A pit of dread formed in my stomach. “Yes.”

“There’s been an incident. The doctor would like to speak with you. Do you mind if I put him on?”

By the time I’d hung up the call five minutes later, my chest ached, I felt out of breath, and I was booking the first flight I could find to Florida.

I rubbed at the ache emanating from my chest as I rode the elevator up to my apartment. I opened the door and went right for my room where Delilah still slept soundly. With a gentle kiss, I woke her up, dreading telling her I would have to leave her.

“Delilah, baby?” She roused, smiling when she spied me. “I’ve got to go to Jacksonville. It’s my dad.”

“What?” She shot up, instantly awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Alcohol poisoning. Someone found him passed out in the front yard of his house. I’ve got to go. I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I can come with you. Just give me five minutes to throw some stuff in a bag.”

“No, Delilah, the team needs you. Play-offs start in a few days and I don’t know if I’ll be back.”

“Cash, you have to be back.” Her eyes rounded. I knew I did. I was under contract to play, unless I had an injury.

“I know. I’m going to do my best, but I’ve got to get down there and help him. And you’ve got a job to do here. Do your best for the team while I’m away. I need you here so I can take care of stuff there.”

Delilah frowned, her eyes burning into me. She wrapped me in a hug and I held her like that for long minutes, not caring that the car was probably just pulling up outside to take me to the airport.

I fucking hated leaving her. Now of all times, just when we were good, just when play-offs were starting, just when life was seeming to finally work out for me.

“Call me every night, okay?”

“I won’t be gone a minute longer than I have to,” I reassured her, kissing her slowly, trying my best to leave my imprint on her lips.

“I love you, Cash.”

My heart thundered at her words. “I love you so damn much, Delilah.”

We rested our foreheads together, sharing the last few stolen moments before we’d have to be a country apart. “Watch out for Rod for me, ‘kay? He acts tough, but he really isn’t.”

“We’ll be fine here. Go help your dad.”

I stood, wishing she was coming with me. “You’ve got the keys right? Stay here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re at my place.”

“Sure thing, boss.” She smiled, trying to lighten my mood. I grinned, pulling her in for one last long kiss. “See you soon?”

“It won’t be too long, baby. I can’t spend too many nights without you in my arms,” I said, leaving her all alone in my bedroom, all alone in my apartment, all alone while I went to deal with old baggage. All I really wanted to do was stay there with her and create happy new memories to drown out all the darkness from our pasts.

The car service pulled up outside Jacksonville General later that day. I threw my bag over my shoulder, then walked in, anxious for details on my father’s condition.

“Leonard Greenwood?” The woman behind the desk typed into her computer. “Looks like you missed him by a few hours. He checked himself out this morning.”

“What? I was just on the phone with his doctor. I thought they were keeping him.”

“Well, this doesn’t give me details, but if that’s the case, he may have left against doctor’s wishes. It’s not uncommon.”

“Christ, that old bastard,” I grit, spinning and heading back out where I’d come from, hailing the driver that was just about to pull away. “1525 Casnovia, please.”

“Change of plans?” the driver inquired with a nod.

“Something like that,” I murmured as the car took off again, headed for my childhood home. The one I hadn’t stepped inside of in over a year.

So much for leaving the past in the past. I was about to confront it head-on, and I had no idea what I might find.

“You need me to hang around?” the driver asked a few minutes later as he pulled up to the curb of my father’s house. I looked at the ill-maintained lawn, weeds growing everywhere, my father's old Ford parked in the driveway.

“Nah, thanks, though.” I handed him an extra tip before getting out, my feet heavy with dread. This place felt oppressive. I’d felt it as a kid, and it still weighed on me now.

My father had pretty much locked himself up in that place after my mom passed, and if I had to guess, I’d bet he checked himself out of the hospital to go have a drink.

I knocked once on the front door, hoping for a quick resolution so I could get on the next plane back home. After all, I had a girl and play-offs to think about.

“What?” my father’s haggard voice called as the door swung open. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“You can turn right around the way you came from. Go back to that fancy life you got and mind your own business. Thought I told the hospital not to call.”

“You were unconscious, Dad. They had to call someone.”

“I'm fine.” He shifted his arm, and I noticed for the first time the small amber bottle. He’d stopped at the liquor store on the way home. Not even noon and he was already wasted.

“I’m just here to help. Anything you need, you know I’ll do what I can.”

“Don’t want your help.”

“Dad—”

“Listen, boy, I don’t know what brought you all the way down here, but I sure as hell know it wasn’t me, considering you ain’t been down here in a year.”

“You can’t even be bothered to pick up the phone!” I cried, feeling like I was twelve and we were having a row again. This was exactly why I hadn’t come back. “I knew it was gonna be like this.”

“What? You expect me to be grateful you came to play the hero, sit by my bedside and feed me soup?” My father shook his head. “You know things ain’t been normal between us since your momma died. I made peace with it a long time ago. Can’t turn back time, son.”

“I never asked you for anything, you know. Not a damn thing,” I grit between my teeth.

“Like hell you didn’t!”

“Like what?” I challenged him as his hazy eyes swam back at me.

“You asked for more than I could give.” He shook his head.

“Love? A father? That’s all I recall ever wanting from you.”

My father shook his head, rubbing at his forehead wearily, then swiped the keys from the counter and pushed past me onto the porch.

“Where ya going? What do you need? I’ll go to the store for you.”

“Not going to the store. Get out of my way.”

I thought fast and pulled the keys from his hands, sending him spinning before he righted himself on the porch and leveled me with his gaze. “Give me my keys back, boy.”

“I can’t. You’ve got no business driving. You almost killed yourself last night, and you may do it again if you get into that truck.”

“Bullshit! What do you know? You’re never here, bailed on me the first chance you got.”

The old man swiped the keys from my hands, shoving me into a porch beam as he did. I shook my head, following him when he reached his truck. I caught the door just as he was about to slam it, wrenching it open and doing my best to wrangle the keys from him. The old man slammed the door on my hand instead.

“Fuck!” I swore, feeling the muscles in my hand swell instantly. My catching hand. Jesus Christ this was bad, and he was so wasted he didn’t even register that he’d done it. “Don’t fucking do it, old man.” I pulled the door open just as the truck roared to life. My father’s eyes held mine for a long moment before he stomped on the clutch and threw the shifter into gear, backing out and leveling me with the driver side door as he did.

My head slammed against the concrete, and then everything faded to black.