“That one is so ugly. Are you serious?” I think she’s lost her mind. I stare at the picture on the computer and just shake my head. The dog is a mess. A rescued pit bull used as a bait dog in dogfights. One ear is half torn, the other almost gone; her face is covered in scars with one eye permanently closed. She’s so damn ugly she’s adorable.
“We’ve both been battered and bruised in this lifetime, but that doesn’t mean we’re not worthy of love, does it?” she asks with tears welling in her eyes; reinforcing every word she’s said.
I put my arm around her waist and pull her into me. She’s going to need this in the months to come. Something to comfort and hold. To snuggle with as she watches her dad slowly slip away. I plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“She’s perfect,” I say, knowing I’ll never be able to resist giving Scout what she wants. “What’s her name?”
“Daisy.”
“Daisy?” I laugh. “She does not look like a Daisy.”
“Everyone deserves some pretty in their life regardless of the scars they bear.”
Damn woman.
“Daisy it is, then.”
She yelps and jumps into my arms. Legs around my waist. Kiss on my lips. God, this woman is going to be my welcome undoing.
The buzzer sounds and we both groan. “Just ignore it,” I say then begin to kiss her again.
“What if it’s important? What if it’s Finn with contracts to look over so you can make your final decision?”
“He would’ve called.” I go back in for another kiss, but she drops her legs from my hips and steps back despite my good arm trying to hold her near.
“You don’t answer it, we don’t have sex. You answer it, we have sex.” My arms drop. “Good sex. Hot-for-the-teacher sex.” Now, she’s talking. “Baseball-cage-net sex.” Definitely fucking talking. “Or maybe we invent an all new kind of sex.”
“Like what kind?” I say as I take a step toward the elevator.
“Hmm. I could be your bat girl and make sure I handle your balls just right.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Oh, Kitty . . .” My words fade off as does her laughter when the door slides open and I see my dad standing there.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
“Cal,” Scout says with a nod, acknowledging him. I’m not quite sure how I feel seeing him here. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
I hear her feet pad down the hallway and hate that I don’t know what to do or say or even how to act. The hurt comes back instantly. The confusion not far behind it. The feeling of being sacrificed to save him.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“Sure.” I step back but don’t invite him farther into my home. We stand and stare at each other. He looks tired. Old.
“I’ve come here almost every day for the past two weeks. I’ve walked into the lobby, then I’d second-guess myself—that you might want to see me and talk about things—and then I’d leave. Today, I told myself I was to talk to you whether you wanted to see me or not.”
“You’re seeing me now. You satisfied?”
His face falls at the disinterest in my voice. And I hate that I care. Other than talking briefly about it with Scout, I’ve successfully pushed this out of my mind for the better part of two weeks. I’ve tried to anyway, but hell if my daily runs through the city haven’t turned into all-out sprints to ease it eating away at my insides.
“Are you going to the victory parade today?” he asks. The nervous shifting of his feet tells me he’s stalling, needing something simple to talk about before diving into the deep shit.
“Yep. Scout’s a part of the team so she’ll be there. I’ll get to watch from the sidelines.” Yeah. That’s a dig meant for you. A little reminder why I’m on the sidelines.
“I never knew about your reading problem, East. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shouldn’t have had to. “Because you weren’t around much when I needed it to matter.”
He nods, accepting my comment. “I deserve that. I could give you more explanations to why and that your well-being was my greatest concern, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. I’m your dad, and I should have known. I should have been there for you. I’m sorry, son.”
All I do is stare at him and hate that my throat feels like it’s closing up. Words I’ve never thought I’d hear him say, he just said.
“How did you . . . high school, college–you know what, it doesn’t matter why or how,” he says. “All that matters is that you did. I’m proud of you for working on it, trying to fix it, but I’m also proud of you for admitting it. People are still talking about it. Boseman has proposed that I spearhead some community outreach projects between the Aces and your charity to—”
“Enough, Dad. Enough.” Enough with the small talk. Enough with the I’m proud of you. Doesn’t he get I used to crave his approval and now I could give two shits what he thinks of me?
I should invite him in, offer him a seat, but I can’t. Not yet. So we stand like strangers, face to face, a few feet apart, in the entrance of my home.
“And you did great in the booth. Rumor has it they might offer you a guest spot next season.”
“Not a guest spot.”
“No?”
“No. A permanent place with their on-air team.” I wait for his reaction and hate that a small part of me hopes to see that he’s proud of me. Still. The other part of me watches to see him connect the dots.
“So the rumors are true then?” He looks surprised.
“I haven’t decided anything yet.”
“Well, it’s always good to have options. Good for you. You’ll do great at whatever it is you de—”
“This isn’t what you came here to talk about is it, Dad?”
“No.” He looks down for a beat and takes a big breath before looking back up. “I can’t change the past, son. I can’t undo the things I’ve done, and I don’t ever expect you to forgive me for them, but I’m hoping in time, maybe we can be okay again.”
There are tears in his eyes and I can’t remember ever seeing him cry. It makes me feel like a little kid, flailing around in an adult world when I have no clue what to do there. When I don’t speak, he continues.
“I went to visit your mother the other day.”
“What? Why?” Fuck. Will she drown herself in alcohol now that the love of her life resurfaced just to end up leaving again?
“I felt I owed it to her to tell her face to face. About Santiago finding me. About all the hurt it’s caused you. To apologize again to her.” He looks out the window and then back to me. “She’s still beautiful.”
“She always has been.” My voice is unforgiving because even though I can forgive him for his reasons why he left her, I can’t forgive him for leaving me. Old wounds are hard to heal once they’ve been busted open.
He looks over his shoulder, back to where Scout went. She’s not going to save you.
“I don’t know how to fix this, East. Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll do it,” he pleads, desperation owning his voice.
I’ve thought about what to say to him while on my runs. How I’d scream and yell and blame him for everything, but seeing him here, like this, the fire has burned out.
“The things you told me, about Mom being sick back then, I never knew. And knowing that, I still blame you, Dad, but at the same time I can’t blame you. I know what it’s like to love her but to be disappointed that she loves alcohol more. It’s damn lonely at times. I don’t know how to feel and that’s the hardest part.”
“I understand.”
“No, actually you don’t. I didn’t have an out like you did. I was left behind to deal with it all while you continued being you. And now . . . now I’m left to deal with a whole different kind of fallout that again I have no control over and yet completely controls my life. And once again, you will continue being you.”
“There’s nothing more I can say than I’m sorry. I screwed up.”
“Yes. You did. This can’t be fixed with an apology. Don’t you see that, yet? He ruined my career, Dad.” My voice escalates in pitch with each word. “He ripped my shoulder apart because he hated me for something I had nothing to do with. Because we share the same blood. He didn’t get a raw deal because of me. He’s a piece of shit as far as I’m concerned, yet for the life of me I still can’t fathom why you gave him the opportunity to do more damage to me. You opened the door. You saw firsthand the damage he caused and yet you let him in. And . . . want to know him. This son got screwed in the deal. Not sure how if you love me, you can be okay with him, knowing what he did. Talk about twisting the knife in my back. So have a relationship with him if you must to ease your guilt and curiosity. Find out if there is anything redeeming in him. Just never fucking talk to me or Scout about him.”
His expression is stoic but his eyes reflect a resigned devastation.
“As for you and me, it’s going to take time. So yeah . . .” I move around the space to work out the anger inside me. “I need time.”
“Okay.” He nods again, compliant when he’s never been that before in his life. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I love you, son.”
Without another word, my dad walks to the elevator and steps inside. When the door shuts, it takes everything I have to not go after him as the familiar feelings return. Love and loathing. Side by side.
I love you too, Dad, but right now, it feels like hate.
Love and loathing.
Now just on a whole different scale.