Chapter Twenty-Four
KINSEY
Sickness had a smell. I couldn’t really describe it other than a mixture of medicine, sadness, and sterile equipment. The minute I’d walked into the house, I knew something was wrong.
All because of the smell.
It smelled like a hospital had been set up in my home. The patient, my father. And the fact that he was slowly deteriorating made me want to scream and then cry until my voice was hoarse.
Miller hadn’t said a word the entire drive.
Which was fine with me, because the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my feelings—talking about the sadness only made it feel bigger and if it was bigger, it was harder to combat, at least in my mind.
Dad was sitting in the living room, hooked up to an IV.
“Hey.” I winked and sat down on the couch. “Looking good.”
“Liar.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve got this robot contraption piece of crap hydrating me, makes my arms feel cold.”
I grabbed a blanket.
“Put that blanket on me like I’m a child and I’m going to tell your mother about the time you snuck out of your room and got drunk in the tree house.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Paula!” The man might be sick, but he still had his lungs.
I winced.
Miller let out a chuckle.
My dad turned his eyes to Miller. “How long, son?”
“Uhhh,” Miller gulped. “How long . . . what?”
Dad grinned and leaned back. “Oh, I see how it’s going to be, I’ll have to spell it out then. How long have you been sleeping with my daughter?”
To his credit, Miller didn’t as much as flinch. “What makes you think I’m sleeping with her?”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “You look too happy for a man who’s going without sex.”
“A guy can’t be happy?” Miller shrugged. “What if I’m just high on life?”
“Bullshit.” Dad wiped at his nose. “You hurt her, I’ll make it my personal afterlife goal to haunt your ass and send you into an early grave, you hear?”
Miller bit down on his lip and then grinned. “Yeah, well, if I hurt her, I may just give you permission to do that.”
“Permission?”
Oh no. I was just getting ready to tell Dad to stand down when Mom came flurrying in with a tray full of coffee. “I have hot scones.”
Miller had two in his mouth before I could warn him that they weren’t going to taste like they smelled.
He swallowed, chugged his coffee, and glared at the offending pastries.
“My dad’s on a sugar-free diet,” I said. “It’s supposed to help him live longer.”
“Live longer my ass.” Dad made a face at the scones. “If this was my last meal, I’d ask for a redo. Honey, why don’t you hop back in that kitchen and make some chocolate chip cookies? The kind that go gooey in the middle.”
I made a little noise in the back of my throat. That sounded amazing.
Mom put her hands on her hips. “But sugar—”
“I could go for some cookies,” Miller said, coming to my dad’s defense. “In fact, I can even help if you want?”
“Good man.” Dad winked at Miller. “I knew I liked you.”
Ah, how easily Dad switched sides when food was involved. If he wasn’t careful, Miller was going to take over Jax’s spot on the couch and be invited over for ESPN time. Yeah, my brother would probably murder his teammate before letting that happen.
Miller gave my shoulder a squeeze and followed my mom out of the room, leaving me, my dad, and the silence.
I looked away.
He grabbed my hand.
I squeezed back and fought the hot sting of tears.
“How’s the squad this year? You whipping them into shape?” While I appreciated the subject change, and the fact that he wanted the focus to be on me, I wanted to talk about him.
“Good.” I scooted closer to him then laid my head on his shoulder and let out the breath I’d been holding since walking in the front door.
Dad rubbed circles around my palm. He smelled like cologne and licorice, ten bucks said he probably had a few pieces of candy hidden in his pocket for emergency purposes. “You know”—Dad’s voice was low, it rumbled through his body, tickling my ear with its vibration—“you used to sit here for hours with me when you were little. The damn TV never even had to be on. I think . . .” He swallowed. “Well, honey, I think you just wanted to be close to someone—anyone.”
I squeezed my eyes closed as memories washed over me—of an empty stomach, the sound of fighting, violence too horrible for a little girl to witness on a daily basis. I used to watch Jax’s TV programs by sitting on my windowsill and spying into his room, since I wasn’t allowed to watch what I wanted. I hated it when it rained because the blinds were pulled. Then one day, even though it was raining, they kept the blinds open, and even though I was drenched, I sat there.
That was the same day Jax invited me over to play even though I was only five to his fifteen.
I was so desperate for any sort of attention that I jumped at the chance to spend time with anyone who would listen to me.
Luckily, it was Jax, basically the nicest, most gold-hearted male in the world, next to my dad, my adopted dad.
So when I came over that first day, I was surprised to see the table set for dinner, and I had a spot, they always made sure I had a spot.
I sniffled.
“You’re the same now as you were then, honey,” Dad murmured. “You need . . . to feel, to be touched, held.” He kissed the top of my head. “And that’s okay, you know. That’s okay to want to be . . . treasured.”
My dad and I didn’t have conversations like this.
We had similar personalities in that we used sarcasm to shield our feelings, which meant only one thing, this was one of those talks, the ones you have with people you love before it’s too late. I’ve never wanted to run so bad in my entire life.
“I know, Dad,” I finally squeaked out.
“He good to you?”
I nodded and then answered, “Yes.”
“He watches you, every movement. His hands aren’t even at his side. He always seems like he’s bracing for impact. I just don’t know if he’s waiting to run in the opposite direction, or into your arms.”
“Hah!” I playfully pinched my dad’s side. “Wish I knew.”
“Men are stupid.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I burst out laughing through the tears collecting on my cheeks.
“Try not to hold it against him, honey.”
Our laughter faded as my dad released my hand and pulled back so he could look at me. “You are my little girl.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, to make light of the situation. Instead, I felt myself crumpling, my stomach heaved.
“You . . .”—Dad tilted my chin toward him—“are the best thing that’s ever happened to this family. Through sickness, through health, come hell or high water, you are the glue. Your brother and mom are going to need you, you’re going to need each other. And honey, it’s okay to need to rely on someone else when you feel like you’re about to break—that’s life. Remember your promise back when you were in the hospital and we didn’t know what was wrong?”
“To live,” I whispered, “no matter what.”
“So live.” He shrugged and smiled. “Live well.”
“What about you?”
Dad chuckled. “Oh honey, I’m the richest man in the world.” His grin was infectious. “I have your mom, Jax, you, that old goldfish that died a few years back, what was his name?”
I rolled my eyes. “It was a beta named Todd, and you forgot to feed it.”
“Right.” He grinned. “Honey, a father never wants to outlive his kids. This”—he took a deep breath—“is the easy part. Living? That will always be the hardest thing you will ever do. It hurts like hell, it’s full of bumps down every road, and you’ll take wrong turns, but it’s a blessing to have the chance to fail in the first place, am I right?”
I nodded again.
“Good talk.” He winked. “Now, find out when those cookies will be done, and while you’re at it, you swipe some dough on a medium-sized spoon and bring your dad a big glass of milk.”
I rolled my eyes. “So basically I have to do your dirty work?”
He shrugged, grabbed the newspaper, and held it up so I couldn’t see his face. “Well, I’m sick, come on, give a dying man his last wish!”
I stuck my tongue out at him. Unfair!
“Saw that.” He sounded bored. “Remember, medium spoon with extra chocolate chips, don’t let me down.”
I grinned and walked into the kitchen in search for a serving spoon instead, only to find Miller holding my mom in his giant arms.
Her face was pressed against his chest.
And he looked pale, like he’d just seen a ghost.
“I’m so sorry!” Mom hiccupped. “I slipped and I haven’t been sleeping and . . .”
Miller opened his mouth to speak and gave his head a little shake.
“Mom?” I called. “Why don’t I finish the cookies? You go hang out with Dad on the couch, maybe lie down a bit?”
She nodded, wiping at her eyes, and left us in the kitchen.
“What happened?” I rushed over to Miller, who was braced against the countertop with both of his hands, his giant body still shaking like he was either going to punch something or pass out. “Miller?”
“Don’t.” He gritted his teeth. “I just need a minute.”
I didn’t listen, just touched his back, only to have him jerk away from me and run his hands through his hair.
Finally, he licked his lips and looked at me, his eyes haunted, cold. “I, uh, I have to go.”
“Okay.” My throat swelled. Sure, run, he was good at that, right? Or was it just pushing people away? Forcing them to be the ones that want to quit on him? “I guess I can have Jax come and grab me later.”
“I’ll call him.” Miller gave me one last look and left.
The kitchen suddenly felt too small for the emotions I was feeling, the sadness of my conversation with my dad, the rejection from Miller when I needed touch.
I clenched my eyes shut.
All I’d wanted was a hug.
And for someone to tell me everything was going to be okay.
That came much later, when my brother found me huddled in my old bedroom, in the corner. It was the same corner I used to sit in when I first came to live with them. I was too afraid to want anything nice, because when you want nice things, when you like them, they can be taken away, right? My biological parents used to tell me that all the time—that nothing was free and if it was given freely it would most likely get taken away.
I’d been so afraid.
And I’d thought I was over it.
It was years ago.
So why? Why did Miller’s haunted expression suddenly bring me back to that place? Where all I wanted was to be noticed, and instead—I was ignored? A part of me recognized that something was wrong with his expression, but my fragile heart could only concentrate on one thing—he ran.
Away from me.
Jax muttered a harsh curse then sat down next to me.
I put my head on his shoulder.
He grabbed my hand.
Silence.
And touch.
All I needed.
And yet, not enough.
Because I didn’t want my brother—for the first time in my life, I wanted someone else, I wanted more.
I wanted Miller.